Rain hammered against the tinted windows of Miranda’s sleek black car as it sped through the city streets. She sat stiffly in the back seat, her hands folded tightly in her lap, fingers pressing into her skin. The sound of the storm outside was relentless, a steady drumming that matched the racing of her thoughts. The car was headed for her penthouse—a fortress of glass and steel where she could lock herself away and figure out her next move. She stared straight ahead, her sharp eyes glinting in the dim light, calculating every option, every risk, every escape she had left.
She’d barely made it out of the chaos at the docks. The moment the sirens had screamed and Margaret had hit the ground, surrounded by police, Miranda had slipped into survival mode. She’d widened her eyes, let her mout
