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“The money was good. At first, anyway,” he says.

“Until you grew a conscience?”

“Something like that. I kept running into jobs that seemed off. Found out I was enabling some shady characters. Decided it was time to pick a side, so I became a white hat.”

“White hat?”

“I realized that using my skills solely for personal gain felt empty somehow. There had to be more to life than constantly peering over my shoulder. A white hat is identifying weaknesses more than using them for his own good.”

“So now you hunt the kind of hackers you used to be.”

“In a manner of speaking. It’s more… a preventing them in the first place.” Connor smiles wryly. “But enough about my misspent youth. What about you, Blue? Any torrid tales of rebellion I should know about?”

I snort. “Not even close. My life has been painfully normal compared to yours.”

“Somehow, I doubt that. In fact, I’d wager there are all sorts of interesting layers to Mary Wempton.”

“You’d lose that bet.” I’m boring. Just as boring as the people I had dates with.

“Would I?”

I poke at my duck. “My life is pretty straightforward compared to yours. Maybe you see more than what’s there.”

“Or maybe you don’t see yourself clearly at all.”

I frown, thrown by his words. Me, Mary Wempton, daughter of Richard and Victoria Wempton, see myself clearly? I’ve spent my whole life being molded and critiqued into the perfect socialite businesswoman my parents expect me to be. Theperfect wife for an acceptable husband. Every choice measured against their lofty standards, never my own.

No, I know exactly who I am. Who they need me to be.

“Believe me, I do.” I stab a piece of duck with my fork. “I am just working, adhering to family obligations, and failed blind dates, and when I marry… I’m going to be the perfect wifey attending Saturday brunches, hosting Sunday dinners, and pretending I don’t hate all those fake, judgmental—”

“Easy there, killer.” Connor’s eyes gleam with amusement across the table. “The duck is already dead.”

“Don’t tempt me.” I take a big bite. The tannins cling to my tongue, complementing the lingering flavors of cherry and thyme.

Connor’s gaze follows the movement of my throat as I swallow. When I set my glass back down, he leans forward, voice low. “Tell me, then. If you could live any kind of life you wanted. What would it be like?”

I pause, fork hovering halfway to my mouth. It’s not a question I’ve ever really considered before. My life has always been decided for me—what to study, where to work, who to date. Even my hobbies and interests were tailored to match what a proper Wempton woman should enjoy. Dreams of my own never factored into the equation.

“I don’t know,” I finally admit. “No one’s ever asked me that before.”

His eyes widen fractionally. “You’ve never imagined a different life for yourself?”

The duck seems far less appetizing now.

“Never pictured traveling the world? Starting your own business? Falling in love, living on a vineyard in Tuscany?” He ticks each option off on his fingers.

“You have quite the imagination.” I force a small laugh, still avoiding his intent stare.

“And you have quite the lack of one, it seems.”

I bristle at his words. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Only that it’s a shame, someone like you sleepwalking through life without dreams of your own.” His eyes soften. “You deserve so much more than that.”

My throat tightens, a lump forming. I reach for my wine with a shaky hand, gulping greedily.

“It’s not that simple,” I finally rasp out. “Duty to family comes first. I can’t just walk away from that.”

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