Day's POV
The gates alone were enough to make most people rethink their life choices.
Polished iron. Cameras tucked into hedges. Guards that looked like they had blackmail dossiers on half the government.
And now I'm standing at the entrance of the Ashford mansion with a lunchbox in one hand and my pride in the other.
Not sure which one's heavier.
Both feel stupid.
The door swings open before I can ring the bell.
He's taller than I expected.
Taller, sharper, and far more terrifying up close.
Sebastian Ashford.
Cold blue eyes. Slate-grey suit. Watch that probably costs more than my tuition.
A man who built an empire by keeping his hands clean while the floor around him bled.
And right now, he's looking at me like he's measuring my worth in bullets.
"Day," he says, as if the word itself tastes wrong in his mouth.
"Sir." I don't flinch. I don't shift.
I look him in the eye because anything less would be worse.
A pause.
He doesn't step aside.
Then—
"Dayyy!"
Sky's voice, all sunshine and sugar, rushes down the hall like a storm made of glitter and misplaced energy.
She's running.
Why is she always running?
Barefoot again. Hair half braided, half wild—like some kind of fairy-tale chaos creature in a pink oversized hoodie. She skids to a stop beside her father, grabs my wrist like she owns it, and beams.
"Come on! I made you lunch! Well, technically breakfast-lunch-dinner, but it's all in one box so it counts."
Sebastian's eyes flick to where she's touching me.
My wrist.
My pulse.
He sees everything.
"Sky," he says, voice low. "Shoes."
She grins. "Oopsie. Sorry, Papa. Come on, Day!"
And like that, she's dragging me into a world that I don't belong in.
I glance back once.
Sebastian is still standing there.
Watching me.
Like a wolf deciding if I'm worth the bite.