Anderson Price felt his stomach tilt after his sister's words.
Not literally. Or not only literally but even the scar on his face — the long, vertical line that split his forehead from hairline to chin — pulsed once with the dull throb it produced whenever his blood pressure climbed.
He stared.
Across the lobby, Phei was being received like a god.
Not a metaphor. Like a god.
Every staff member he passed was bowing. Not the customer-service nod that a seven-star hotel gave to a high-roller. Real bows. Spine bent. Heads dropped.
The welcome a feudal court reserved for a returning prince.
And Phei was walking through it casually, loose and easy, half-laughing at something Maddie had just whispered to him.
"He's done nothing to deserve what was happening around him and is somehow completely entitled to it anyway.' Anderson's hands flexed. 'The charity case.'
