The sun hovered low over the western edge of New Coral City, spilling long shadows over the towers and glass fronts that made up the elite heart of the district.
Orange bled into gold across the skyline, diffused by the salt-thick air that rolled in off the coast. The penthouse terrace caught every inch of it—one of those oversized, overdesigned platforms developers loved calling a "sky veranda."
Andrew Barclay stood at the edge of it, sandals planted just shy of the rail, a glass dangling loosely from his fingers.
His shirt fluttered faintly in the wind—brown linen, casual but expensive, with a pair of aviators clung to the collar like a punctuation.
He didn't move much. Just stared, jaw tight, brows sunk into a scowl that hadn't left his face since the news cycle turned on his last name.
Beside him, Ashley leaned into his shoulder. The breeze caught the hem of her sundress, teasing it around her legs, but she didn't bother fixing it.
