ONE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY FOUR

JOCELIA'S POV

I drove home in a daze, the streets of Manhattan blurring around me as my mind replayed the day’s events over and over again. My plans to change the narrative, to claw back some semblance of control, had crumbled. Each time I thought I was making progress, something or someone was there to push me back into a corner. The rearview mirror caught my reflection, and I saw the mess I’d become—my face streaked with mascara, mixed with the tears I’d tried so hard to hold back. My perfectly curated image, now ruined, like everything else in my life.

By the time I pulled into my father’s penthouse garage, it felt as if all the strength had drained from my body. I parked the car, took a deep breath, and tried to steady my trembling hands. The keys slipped from my grasp as I grabbed my bag, and I cursed under my breath. Leaning down to pick them up, I told myself I just needed to get inside, to find a way to piece myself together again. My father might not understand, but at least