Chapter 2

I asked for an hour to consider the offer. Damien granted it with a gracious nod, suggesting I take a walk through the Town Square to "get a feel for the canvas."

I took the elevator down from the estate to the town center. The air was crisp, smelling of pine and ozone.

I walked three blocks. I saw zero cars.

I saw a bakery with fresh croissants in the window, but no customers. I saw a boutique with a mannequin wearing a dress I had pinned on my Pinterest board three years ago.

Then I saw the people.

There were maybe a dozen of them walking the perimeter of the square. Men. All of them large, all of them wearing similar dark casual wear that didn't quite conceal the bulk of muscle beneath. They didn't walk like shoppers. They walked like sentries.

When I passed a coffee shop, a barista was wiping a spotless counter. She looked up at me. Her eyes widened, not with customer service cheer, but with a strange, deferential panic. She dipped her head—actually *bowed*—and hurried into the back room.

" weird," I whispered.

I turned into the central park. This was supposed to be my project. It was immaculate. perfectly trimmed hedges, white roses, a fountain that bubbled with crystal clear water.

And in the center of the fountain was a statue.

It was marble, life-sized. A woman reaching up toward the sky, trailing vines from her fingertips.

I walked closer, the unease in my gut hardening into a cold stone of dread.

The statue wasn't generic. The curve of the nose was slightly crooked—just like mine after I broke it in third grade. The hair was textured in loose waves—just like mine. The hands... on the left ring finger of the statue, there was a small scar. I looked down at my own hand. The scar from a grafting knife slip was there, white and faint.

This wasn't a statue of a woman. It was a statue of me.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. A notification from my banking app.

*Deposit Received: $5,000,000.00.*

*Sender: Vossen Industries.*

I hadn't signed the contract.

I spun around. The town square wasn't empty anymore. The large men—the sentries—had stopped walking. They were standing at the exits of the park. They weren't attacking. They were just... watching. Waiting.

I looked up at the cliffside. The Glass Estate loomed over me, reflecting the setting sun. From this angle, it didn't look like a home.

It looked like an observation deck.

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