David swallowed the sting.
He had never been ashamed of his work. He rebuilt kitchens, repaired storm-damaged roofs, and once drove hours to help an elderly woman install a wheelchair ramp so she could leave her home again. But standing there among tailored suits and luxury watches, he suddenly felt smaller than he ever had on a scaffold.
Lily squeezed his hand.
“My dad built my bed,” she said proudly. “And he painted it pink because he knows that’s my favorite color.”
David’s chest tightened.
Vanessa offered a thin smile.
“That’s adorable. Though someday you’ll probably want a real bed from Bloomingdale’s instead of something built in a garage.”
The laughter around them grew heavier.
David knelt beside Lily.
“Ready to go inside, sweetheart?”
She nodded, unaware of the storm in his chest.
Just then, a quiet engine sound drifted through the lot.
It wasn’t loud—but it drew attention instantly.
A black Rolls-Royce Phantom glided slowly to the curb. Conversations stopped as heads turned.
David stepped aside automatically, assuming someone important had arrived.
The door opened.
And out stepped a man most people had only seen in Forbes.
Michael Bennett.