Far Away — Dalton Estate
The bathroom was excessive in that way only old money could afford to be.
Marble floors. Gold fixtures. A bathtub the size of a small swimming pool that probably cost more than most people's cars.
And in the center of it all, lounging in steaming water like some kind of Roman emperor, was Victor Dalton.
Twenty-three years old. Mayor's son. Heir to a political dynasty built on corruption, backroom deals, and carefully maintained public image.
He had the kind of face that looked good in campaign photos—sharp jawline, neatly trimmed hair, the practiced smile of someone who'd been shaking hands and kissing babies since he could walk.
But right now, that face was twisted into an expression of pure, petulant irritation.
