Chapter 7

The rooftop lounge smells like sunscreen and expensive perfume, all citrus and champagne and a city that thinks everything is salvageable. The tables rim the glass walls, and beyond them the skyline curves like a promise. Nicole has asked for the corner table — the one with shade and distance and the perfect view of people who think they matter. She arrives early, not because she wants to be seen, but because she likes the quiet before the show.

She picks a dress that reads ...