Garrison Vance

The private executive elevator rose toward the fiftieth floor with smooth, silent speed that did nothing to calm the unchained riot beneath my ribs.

Inside the small, mirrored capsule, the air was suffocatingly hot, thick with the scent of vanilla, rain, and the raw, electric chemistry we had stopped trying to suppress. Julian stood a step behind us, his eyes fixed intently on his silver terminal as he monitored the court filings, but his presence barely registered. My entire universe had shrunk to the sharp, ragged intervals of Roxie’s breathing beside me.

The corporate armor I had worn all morning was rapidly turning to ash. The fake sibling...