“The press is going to swarm, and we have the upper hand. Let’s keep it.”

I nodded, taking a deep breath of the cool, salty air drifting in from the terrace.

My hands were steady now.

As we walked toward the private VIP lounge behind the stage, I saw Lila slip through the side door, her movements hurried and silent.

Just as the heavy oak door of the lounge clicked shut behind us, my phone vibrated in my hand.

I looked down at the glowing screen.

It was an automated alert from the county registrar’s portal, followed by a text from Caleb Rhodes that read: *We need to talk before the board meets at five.*

I slipped the phone into my pocket.

The VIP lounge was quiet, insulated from the main ballroom by thick, double-padded walls.

An oversized arrangement of white hydrangeas sat on the marble sideboard, casting long shadows under the recessed LED lights.

Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the Pacific fog was beginning to roll over the harbor, swallowing the yachts one by one.

The handle of the side door turned with a sharp, metallic click.