MARION

The sun in Los Angeles had a way of showing off, brash, golden, unapologetic. I had the top down on my Rolls-Royce Dawn, the wind teasing Demetria’s black waves as she leaned her head back, oversized sunglasses shielding her eyes. Music hummed low through the speakers, something smooth with bass, the kind of song that matched the lazy pulse of the city.

She looked… free. Arms resting against the door, her face tilted toward the sky as if daring the sun to touch her more than I ...