New York’s skyline shimmered in soft amber light as the city slipped from afternoon into evening. From the tall windows of her small office in the gallery, Gigi watched the reflection of herself in the glass — tired eyes, a faint smear of charcoal on her wrist, and a tension in her shoulders that hadn’t left since the night at Jason’s office.
She’d told herself not to think about it, not to replay the way he’d slammed his hand against the table, or how cold his eyes had looked when he’d barked orders at the man across from him. But no matter how hard she tried, the image stuck.
She loved his fire — the confidence that commanded rooms — but what she saw that night reminded her too much of her father before everything had fallen apart.
Her father, the man who’d built an empire and lost it
