“We’ll build something massive here, Alex,” he had said. “Something that shows everyone who we are.”

I had thought he meant *us*.

But he had only meant himself.

My father had warned me.

“Richard is a climber, Alexandra,” he had said, sitting on the porch of his old ranch house. “A man who climbs only cares about the next ledge. He doesn’t care about the mountain he’s digging his boots into.”

I hadn’t listened then.

I had been twenty-five and in love with Richard’s ambition.

But my father had protected me anyway.

He had left the land to me, and only to me, in a trust that Richard’s lawyers couldn’t touch.

He had known.

I sat down on the edge of the bed in the spare room.

I had set it up for Chloe, with a soft pink throw blanket on the twin mattress.

Tomorrow, she would be here.

And the day after that, the work on the lot would begin.

The next morning, the sun rose hot and bright over Austin.

I woke up at six, my mind already racing.