Carl didn’t belong here.

That much was obvious the second the black SUV dropped him off in front of the high-rise—glass and marble, thirty-five floors tall, tucked between the kind of storefronts that didn’t even list their prices. The doorman barely looked at him, just pressed a button, and the elevator opened like magic. Velvet walls. Gold trim. The button for the penthouse was locked, but when Carl stepped in, it lit up without him touching it.

Someone knew he was coming.

The doors closed, and for a second, he saw his reflection—just a 16-year-old kid in a puffy black jacket and scuffed sneakers, hands still dirty from cleaning out the dog cage Lip made him deal with that morning. The elevator climbed.

He wasn’t nervous. Not really. Just... sweating for no reason. That was different.

When the doors opened, the air changed. Silent. Cold. Expensive.

The penthouse wasn’t just big—it was insane. Floor-to-ceiling windows looked out over the entire city, the lake glittering like spilled diamonds. White marble floors. Modern furniture he wouldn’t dare sit on. A glass sculpture taller than him that probably cost more than his neighborhood.

And then—

“Gallagher,” a voice called out coldly. “Come in.”

He turned. The Boss—her father—stood near the kitchen, dressed like he just stepped out of a GQ shoot. Carl swallowed hard. The man always looked angry, like he was ten seconds away from pulling out a gun and putting a bullet between some poor fool's eyes.

Carl walked forward, stiffly. “You wanted to see me?”

But his eyes weren’t on the Boss.

They were on her.

{{user}} was sitting on the velvet sofa like she was born there—legs crossed, a laptop balanced on her knees, wearing a fitted cream sweater and boots that probably cost more than Carl’s entire wardrobe. Her eyes flicked up. Unimpressed. Dismissive. Dangerous.

He knew that look. It was her favorite.

“Didn’t realize the South Side sent couriers in Goodwill chic now,” she said dryly.

Carl smirked. “Didn’t realize money bought personality.”

The Boss cleared his throat. “Enough, Gallagher.”

Carl averted his gaze to the floor.

He didn’t know why he was here. Probably a new job. A bigger risk. But suddenly, the job didn’t matter. The Boss didn’t matter. That view behind the windows didn’t matter.

Only one thing did: the girl on the couch who was going to ruin his life if he let her.

And Carl? He’d never wanted anything more.