Page 9 of No Longer Mine

“Thank you all for coming out today to witness a monumental occasion,” I began, pausing for effect. I let out a small, calculated breath and allowed a flicker of emotion to cross my face—practiced, rehearsed, and convincing.

“My name is Dimitri Cristof,” I said, my voice steady. “I come from a long line of businessmen.”

The words hung in the air for a moment, their weight heavy. The Cristof name had carried influence for generations, but this moment would redefine it—or at least, that was the goal.

“My family has built a legacy here in New York, one that I’ve been proud to be a part of. But over time, I’ve realized that a legacy isn’t enough. Our city deserves more than the status quo. It deserves leaders who are willing to fight for the people, for fairness, and for opportunity.”

I let my gaze sweep over the crowd, meeting the eyes of a few individuals in the front row. The gesture was personal.

“For too long, our city has been controlled by systems that favor the powerful and silence the voices of the many. That ends today.”

The applause started tentatively, building into something louder and more confident.

“I am here to announce my candidacy for New York City Council,” I declared, my voice rising over the growing noise. “I’m running to be your champion. To fight for economic reform, root out corruption, and restore integrity to this city. Together, we can build a better New York—one that isn’t built on the backs of lower-income families but instead lifts them up.”

The applause erupted, filling the air with a deafening roar. Cameras clicked faster, reporters shouted questions I wasn’t ready to answer, and my team behind me exchanged smiles—part pride and part calculated approval.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, but I ignored it. I knew it was either my mother or Ace.

I leaned into the microphone one last time. “Thank you. I look forward to working together to bring a better future to all the people of this city.”

I stepped back from the podium, shaking a few hands as I descended the stage. Benson moved quickly to my side.

“You’re a natural,” he muttered under his breath, his tone carrying an amused edge.

I raised a brow. “You wouldn’t have said that a year ago.”

He adjusted the glasses perched on his nose and chuckled. “I wouldn’t have. If I recall correctly, there’s still a video of you crashing a golf cart into the hedges at your parents’ estate.”

A grin tugged at my lips as we made our way toward the ice cream shop set up behind the stage. The shop was my least favorite part of this entire day—an idea from my PR team to make me appear “relatable.” I hadn’t wanted the public to know about my sweet tooth, but this campaign wasn’t about my comfort zone. It was about winning.

“Don’t remind me,” I said, still grinning. “I was nursing the worst hangover of my life for days after that.”

“Those were simpler times,” Benson said, holding the glass door open for me.

I glanced at him, my grin fading into something sharper. “Maybe. But I can’t afford to go back now.”

He tilted his head, a knowing look in his eyes. “You don’t have to be a good person to win, Dimitri.”

The wicked grin that split my face came without hesitation. “Who said I was going to be a good person?”

I let the press snap a few pictures of me eating my favorite ice cream—Mint Chocolate Chip. The cold sweetness was a rare indulgence in a life otherwise consumed by calculated moves and relentless ambition. The rest of the family that had beeninvited was sitting around eating their ice cream as if the rest of the city wasn’t watching us.

Sometimes, when I was feeling nostalgic, I’d indulge in Cookies and Cream. It was the flavor I always shared with my mother growing up, sneaking bites after she’d convinced the kitchen staff to smuggle it in for us.

Sweets were a rarity in my childhood. My father didn’t believe in indulgences. Ice cream at the Cristof dinner table was limited to vanilla bean—always vanilla bean. Plain, predictable, and devoid of fun. Chocolate was out of the question.

That’s what made this moment, this place, the perfect backdrop for my announcement.

I licked the ice cream slowly, pretending not to notice the cameras snapping away. They loved the image: the young, relatable candidate enjoying something simple and human. I hated it, but I couldn’t deny its effectiveness.

This wasn’t just a campaign launch. It was a statement. A subtle defiance against everything my father had built and the rigid world he had forced us to live in. I pulled my phone out of my pocket to see how much more time I had at this farce and noticed the text still waiting on the screen. It wasn’t from my mother or even Ace. It was from the person I least expected. Guilt flooded me as my eyes scanned the words.

Carina

I’m watching you on TV right now! What is happening? I see Audrey up there with you, but why weren’t we invited?

I slipped my phone back into my pocket, unsure how to respond. I hadn’t invited Carina because that meant inviting Ace, and Ace was still firmly under my father’s thumb. Hewouldn’t have just come to observe—he would have come to question, to interfere, and to report back.