I was halfway through getting ready in the bathroom when Butler John's voice boomed from outside my bedroom door.
"Miss Lena, are you up yet? You're going to be late! You know damn well your parents will be furious if you skip breakfast with them again!"
"Yeah, I'm up! Just give me a few more minutes—I'll be right down," I called back, rolling my eyes.
I turned back to the mirror, dragging a brush through my hair.
"God, why do I have to wake up this early every single day? It's always work, work, and more work," I muttered under my breath, annoyed.
Behind me, Ashley—my personal maid and the only person who actually listens to me in this house—let out a soft sigh. "Miss Lena, you already know your parents are doing this for your future. They just don't want you to suffer later."
I scoffed. "Yeah, well, I wouldn't mind a little suffering if it meant I could sleep in past 6 a.m. once in a while."
•
By the time I made it downstairs, the warm scent of freshly brewed coffee greeted me. The dining room was, as always, immaculate—sunlight pouring through the tall windows, the long marble table perfectly set for three. It all looked effortless, yet every detail was carefully curated. Just like everything else in this house.
My mother sat at the head of the table, dressed in a tailored cream blazer and diamond studs that probably cost more than most people's rent.
She didn't look up as I entered. "You're late," she said sternly, turning a page in her planner.
"Good morning to you too," I mumbled, sliding into my usual seat.
A steaming cup of coffee was already waiting for me—our chef must've prepared it the way I liked, just strong enough to get through the morning. I took a sip, letting the bitterness settle before picking up my fork.
Across from me, my father was scrolling through headlines on his tablet, expression unreadable. "Lena, punctuality isn't optional," he said without looking up. "You know how this family goes. Discipline starts at home."
"Understood," I said, keeping my tone even. No point in arguing this early.
For a while, there was only the quiet sound of silverware and the occasional rustle of a page turning. Then, inevitably, the conversation turned.
"Next month's art gala," my father began, setting down his tablet. "It's a major event. Hosted by the Ashford family once every year."
"I'm aware. It's on my calendar," I said, taking another sip of coffee.
"You'll need to represent the Sterling name appropriately. Be visible, make the rounds, and don't disappear halfway through like last time," my mother added, finally meeting my eyes.
I nodded. "Of course."
"And do make an effort with Ethan Ashford," she continued. "He's making a rare appearance. That family holds influence in every room they enter. It wouldn't hurt to... leave an impression."
I nearly laughed into my coffee but caught myself. "I'll be professional," I said instead.
"You know, I've heard some rumors," my father added, his voice cool and calculated, as though discussing business. "That Lucas person you were dating for a year wasn't it? You guys broke up last month if i can remember... people are still talking about it."
My chest tightened at the mention of his name. Lucas. It felt like my past had just been thrown at me, wrapped in judgment. I'd barely begun to pick up the pieces of what we'd lost, and yet here it was, dragged out in front of me again. I thought I'd left that conversation behind.
"People talk," I said, my voice a little sharper than I intended. I glanced down at my plate, trying to hide the sudden wave of heat rushing to my face. "It's nothing."
"You can't afford to be distracted, Lena," my mother said, her tone tightening. "You're not a teenager anymore. You need to stop clinging to old relationships, especially one that was clearly...a mistake," my mother said, her voice tight with frustration. "A mistake that clearly brought a bad reputation to our family's name. Derek's gone, and it's time you should be focusing on your future."
I felt my hands ball into fists under the table, though I kept my face neutral. Of course, my mother would frame it like that—like he was a mistake. And maybe he was, but it didn't stop the ache that had never fully gone away. "I'm aware, Mother," I said, my voice steady, though it took everything in me not to lash out.
"Good. We've got a lot of work ahead of us," my father said, leaning back in his chair. "The gala, the meetings, the Ashfords. You need to be ready. For your career. For your future."
I wanted to scream that my future didn't just consist of gala appearances and business meetings. That there was more to me than their carefully crafted plans. But I stayed silent, nodding again. "I'll handle it."
"We're only trying to help, Lena," my mother added, her tone softening ever so slightly, but still firm. "You need to move forward. And that means letting go of the past. Letting go of Lucas."
The mention of his name again felt like a reminder that I wasn't as over him as I'd like to believe. I didn't respond, choosing instead to push my chair back and stand, my movements deliberate but slow.
"I'll get ready," I said, the words coming out sharper than I intended. "I'll make sure I'm at the gala. On time."
The quiet that followed felt suffocating, but I didn't wait for another response. I left the room without looking back, feeling both the weight of their expectations and the unresolved bitterness of the past pressing down on me.
As I walked away from the dining room, their voices faded into the background. The weight of their words lingered, but there was no time to dwell on it. I had a thousand things to focus on, and the upcoming gala was the one thing I couldn't afford to ignore.