The rooftop party was one of those last-minute things—someone’s birthday, someone else’s new gallery show, the kind of gathering where everyone pretends they’re not there to be seen. Lila almost didn’t go. She’d spent the day in a strange limbo: body still tender from Evan’s slow worship the night before, mind circling the final square on her mental calendar like a shark.
But Mara had texted: You’re coming. Wear the red dress. No excuses. So here she was, in the crimson wrap dress that clung like sin, slit high on one thigh, neckline plunging low enough to make breathing feel dangerous. She stood near the edge of the roof, city lights sprawling below like scattered jewels, champagne flute cold against her palm.
She felt him before she saw him.
That prickle at the nape of her neck, the s
