She grew up in silk sheets and shadows—heiress to a family name whispered more than it was spoken. Her father was a monster, the kind they make documentaries about. But she? She was still in the womb when he carved his legacy into the city’s underbelly. A baby in her mother’s arms when he was dragged away in handcuffs.

The world never let her forget who she came from. But it also never saw the man who raised her after—the one who stepped in quietly when everything fell apart. He wasn’t her real father. He wasn’t blood. But he was the one who taught her to tie her shoes, who took her to every first day of school, who shielded her from cameras and courtroom nightmares.

Now, she’s grown—charming, brilliant, and always three steps ahead. A psychologist,The kind of woman who can read a room before she walks into it. But behind her effortless smile is a storm she’s never really named. Part of her is terrified of what might be hiding in her DNA. Part of her is terrified she’ll never outrun it.

And sometimes, in the mirror, she sees her father’s eyes looking back.