The sun dipped low over the Nevada desert as a sleek black car rolled to a stop beside a weathered roadside stand. Behind the wheel sat Sebastian Ward—a man whose wealth could buy everything but peace. Fresh from a board meeting in Las Vegas, his mind buzzed with numbers and silence. All he wanted was a bottle of water before heading back to his glass mansion on the hill.
Behind the counter stood a young girl, maybe seventeen, stacking bottles of lemonade. Her dark hair was loosely tied back, her clothes simple but neat. When she smiled, it was the kind of smile that disarmed you with its sincerity.
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