By eight o’clock, Wilshire Boulevard was choked with news crews, black cars, and the most powerful people in the state — because the Grand Pinnacle gala that night celebrated the public return of Aldous Crawford, and no one who mattered would dream of missing it.
Declan arrived in a rented limousine with Seraphina on his arm.
A minute later, an ordinary taxi pulled up to the same red carpet, and I stepped out in a simple black velvet dress, holding my daughter’s hand.
Poppy wore a small velvet cape with a hood, chosen so that no stranger’s eyes would find the places where she’d been hurt.
She held my fingers very tightly.
Declan strode over, furious.
“On your knees.
Now.” Seraphina pointed at her shoes and added something so cruel about my child that I will not repeat it.
Around us, the beautiful people slowed and stared.
I raised one finger, and the hotel’s head of security appeared as though he’d been waiting all night — which, in fact, he had.