-Sloane Delgado:
The sunlight outside was almost too bright when I stepped out of the apartment building. I blinked against it, clutching my bag tighter as the cold morning air brushed across my face. The city was already awake — people rushing down sidewalks, cars honking in the distance, the scent of exhaust and coffee mixing into something faintly familiar.
And there he was — the chauffeur, standing by the sleek black car parked in front of the curb. His posture was perfectly straight, hands folded in front of him, eyes downcast but alert. When he saw me, he opened the back door with a small nod.
"Good morning, Mrs. Delgado."
My steps faltered slightly at the title, the word hitting harder than it should've. Mrs. Delgado. Roxy's wife. It wasn't real — none of this was — but hearing it said aloud still made something inside me twist.
"Good morning," I replied, my voice quiet.
