Margot POV
The lab network went down hard, so I got out early for once.
After days of takeout and the same three microwave meals, the thought of the Vanderbilt chef’s cooking actually sounded good.
I’d gotten comfortable enough around the staff to mention a couple of things I liked.
The second I stepped through the front door, the air felt different.
A woman sat in the living room as if she owned every molecule of oxygen in the place.
A black dress that looked like it cost more than my annual rent, a string of perfect pearls, and hair pinned up so tight that not a single strand dared move.
She barely needed makeup.
She looked as if she’d stepped out of an old society portrait and decided the modern world was mildly disappointing.
Rhett Vanderbilt’s mother. No question.
Every per
