The title landed heavy and electric all at once.
“I think you’d be very good at it,” she added. “And more importantly—I think you’d care.”
I swallowed. “I would.”
Natalie smiled then—decisive, satisfied. “Good. Because I think you’re exactly what this city needs.”
The words landed cleanly. Solidly.
“I need someone who understands people in crisis but doesn’t freeze. Someone who can move between departments, between situations. Someone who can show up.”
She named a salary that made my breath catch—not extravagant, but respectful. Real. A start date a month out.
“Yes,” I said without hesitation.
Natalie smiled. “Good. We’ll talk logistics soon. Welcome to Charleston.”
Holy shit. That just happened.
And the strangest part wasn’t the offer itself—it was how unsurprised I felt by it. From the moment I’d made the decision that morning, really made it, something in me had settled into certainty. Like the path had already been laid and all I’d done was step onto it. I’d felt the pull almost immediately. As if the city had already been making room for me, lining things up quietly while I caught up.
I marveled at how fast it was all unfolding. How cleanly. How right it felt.
By the time the Uber pulled back up to The Palmetto Rose, the world looked brighter. Sharper. Like someone had turned the color up one notch and I was seeing everything clearly for the first time.
Like this was what it felt like when you stopped resisting the life that wanted you back.
I walked into the lobby with that quiet, humming pride still in my chest—and stopped.
Wyatt stood near the front desk, posture tight, jaw clenched, hands flexing like he didn’t know what to do with them. He turned the second he saw me.
Relief hit his face so fast, it scared me.
“Sophie,” he said, crossing the space in three long strides.
I glanced at the desk, at Sasha, whose expression was sympathetic and calm. “I turned my phone off,” I said quickly. “What’s wrong?”
He exhaled, hard. “I couldn’t find you.”
Alarm spiked. “Sasha—do you have somewhere private?”
She nodded immediately. “Conference room. Back hall.”
Wyatt didn’t argue. Just reached into his pocket, pulled out the black credit card like he was done pretending he had limits. “Fuck it. We need a room.”
Sasha blinked at the card, then at him. “Name?”
“Wyatt,” he said, then, after a beat, “Dane.”
Her eyes widened. “The Danes? Dominion Hall?”
He looked like he might actually sit down on the floor. “Yes.”
Sasha’s tone shifted instantly. Softer. Familiar. “You don’t need to pay. Your family owns this hotel. I’ll put you in a suite.”
My head snapped up. “Your familywhat?”
Wyatt swallowed. “Yes.”
