Chapter 3

The air on the rooftop terrace was thick, heavy with the scent of roasted peanuts, spilled beer, and the metallic tang of anticipation. It was a humid evening, the kind that clings to your skin like a second layer of clothing, making the silk of my dress feel less like a garment and more like a cage. I stood near the railing, the city skyline sprawling out before us in a jagged tapestry of gold and white lights. The Fourth of July had already begun its slow, rhythmic heartbeat, the distant thud of bass from the lawn below vibrating through the soles of my heels. I had been standing there for twenty minutes, pretending to admire the view, pretending I wasn’t watching him. And he had been watching me. It wasn’t a subtle gaze. It wasn’t the polite, assessing look of a colleague or the hungry, predatory look of a stranger. It was the slow, deliberate appraisal of a man who knew exactly what he was looking at and knew he had every right to claim it. Julian. My father. The word tasted like ash in my mouth, heavy and forbidden, yet it didn’t feel wrong in the way his