Vanessa’s POV

The buildings outside the tinted glass of Vanessa’s car moved fast and blurred by in streaks of neon and steel. Manhattan never stopped moving, and usually, she thrived on it — the flashing lights, the snapping of cameras, the heat of gazes that always found her wherever she went. But tonight, she wasn’t basking in attention. Tonight, she was curled against the corner of the leather seat, palms sweaty, clutching her Hermès bag as though her life were inside it.

Because ...