My billionaire driver
“Just one party. No Westbrook security. No house curfew. Just us, music, and maybe a few bad decisions.”
Ariana frowned, arms crossed on the windowsill of her massive room, the night wind brushing her curls. “My dad’s going to kill me if he finds out.”
Tessa snorted. “You think the media’s obsessed with your reputation? Girl, your dad’s obsession is worse. You’re nineteen, not ninety. Live a little.”
Ariana chewed her bottom lip. Something in her burned for freedom—just one night without being shadowed, judged, protected like a porcelain doll in a glass case.
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