The strip hit me like a migraine. Too many colors, too much noise. Screens the size of buildings flashed jackpots, cocktails, and dancers in sequins, each brighter than the last. Billboards promised paradise while the sidewalks reeked of stale beer and smoke. Dry heat clung to my skin, desert air pressing down even after midnight.
I sat stiff in the back seat of the BMW. Sophie had insisted on the dress, a slip of white satin, simple but expensive, timeless if anyone saw us. Her cool voice still echoed in my head: image is survival. The fabric whispered every time I shifted, smooth against my thighs, cool against overheated skin. To anyone else, I might have looked like a bride. Inside, I felt wrapped in a disguise thin enough to tear.
I didn’t feel dressed. I felt contained.
Ryan hadn’
