Midsummers was never about summer. It was about money. White tents covered the Cameron lawn, fairy lights tangled through oak trees, and the richest families on Figure Eight floated around in linen and diamonds pretending they weren’t sizing each other up. Ward Cameron’s construction empire. Andrew Grace’s realty empire. Old money, new money—everyone pretending it was tradition and not strategy. Aaliyah Grace stood near the terrace railing, fingers curled around a sweating glass of sparkling water. Seventeen and already exhausted by it all. Her father was across the lawn with Ward, laughing like they hadn’t just spent the past month arguing zoning permits. They’d been best friends before she was born. Before Alex was born. Before her mother died bringing her into the world. Andrew Grace never remarried. Never dated. He raised his kids and built an empire instead. Sometimes Aaliyah wondered if that was easier. “You look like you’re planning an escape,” Sarah said, appearing beside her in a pale pink dress. Sixteen, sharp-eyed, and just as unimpressed. “I am,” Aaliyah replied. “There’s a boat docked on the south end.” Sarah snorted. “Tempting.” They’d grown up together—summer barbecues, forced vacations, joint birthday parties. Sarah was the only Cameron Aaliyah actually liked. Across the lawn, Rafe stood with Alex near the bar. Nineteen and twenty. Both in black tuxes. Both pretending they didn’t hate these events. They looked like rivals in a country club war. Rafe leaned against the bar, jaw tight, eyes scanning like he was looking for something to break. Alex stood straighter, calmer, but just as guarded. They’d been circling each other for years—never friends, never enemies, just permanently competitive. Aaliyah followed Rafe’s gaze when it flicked toward her. Their eyes met. Instant tension. They’d never gotten along. Even as kids. Rafe thought she was judgmental. She thought he was reckless and entitled. They didn’t fight loudly—they didn’t need to. It lived in the looks. Rafe excused himself from Alex and walked over. “Grace,” he said flatly. “Cameron.” Sarah looked between them. “You two are exhausting.” “We’re not doing anything,” Aaliyah said. Rafe gave a humorless smile. “You’re judging the entire event.” “I am judging the entire event.” “It’s how things work.” “It’s how rich people pretend they’re saving the island while carving it up.” His jaw ticked. “You’re here.” “Because my father expects me to be.” “And mine doesn’t?” That hit closer than she expected. Before she could answer, Andrew tapped his glass for attention. The crowd quieted. Ward stepped forward beside him, hand clapping Andrew’s shoulder. “We’re proud to announce a joint development along the north marina,” Ward said smoothly. “Grace Realty and Cameron Construction.” Applause rippled. Aaliyah felt her stomach drop. Rafe went still beside her. More shared dinners. More “next generation involvement.” More pressure. Alex joined them again, eyes narrowed slightly. “You heard.” “Yeah,” Rafe muttered. Andrew beckoned his children closer. Ward did the same. “This,” Andrew said warmly, resting a hand on Alex’s shoulder, “is for the future. One day it’ll be yours.” Aaliyah swallowed. The weight of it pressed heavy—inheritance dressed up as opportunity. She never knew her mother. Only stories. Only photographs. Sometimes she felt like half her life had been decided before she could speak. Rafe stared at the marina lights in the distance. “You don’t even want this, do you?” she asked quietly. He glanced at her, surprised by the softness. “Doesn’t matter,” he said. “It’s happening.” Alex crossed his arms. “We’ll be dragged into meetings by next week.” “Already on my calendar,” Rafe replied dryly. Sarah huffed. “Great. Family bonding.” The adults resumed talking investments, laughing like this was simple. Aaliyah looked at her father—strong, respected, relentless. He built everything from nothing after losing his wife. She knew the story by heart. She knew what it cost him.