I woke to the soft glow of sunlight slipping through the sheer curtains. The house was already awake—somewhere in the distance, I could hear the faint clatter of dishes and the quiet hum of staff moving through their morning routines.
A knock came at the door before I could even sit up.
"Miss Lena?" Ashley's voice, gentle but firm. "Breakfast is ready. And your schedule starts in forty-five minutes."
"Be right there," I called back, my voice still thick with sleep.
I pushed myself up, rubbing the tiredness from my eyes. I hadn't slept well—again. My dreams were a blur, but the heaviness in my chest said enough.
Dragging myself into the ensuite bathroom, I splashed cold water on my face, staring at my reflection in the mirror. I looked put-together enough, if not slightly hollow around the eyes. It was nothing a little concealer and a strong cup of coffee couldn't mask. I changed into my casual outfit—white silk button-down shirt tucked into my high-waisted, tailored soft cream wide-leg pants and my minimalist designer sneakers.
By the time I made it downstairs, the scent of fresh pastries and dark roast filled the air. The dining room was bathed in gold morning light, every detail—fresh flowers, polished silverware, perfectly folded linen napkins—executed with Sterling precision.
My mother sat in her usual spot, already dressed, her phone in one hand and a cup of warm tea in the other. My father had just set his tablet down, his expression unreadable as always.
"Morning," I said, sliding into my seat as a steaming cup of coffee was placed in front of me. I nodded my thanks to the staff.
"You have a fitting scheduled today," my mother said, without looking up. "Kelly already confirmed with the boutique."
I took a sip of my coffee, savoring the heat. "Skye's coming with me."
"Of course she is," my father said, finally glancing up. "Let's just hope she doesn't convince you to wear something that'll get you side-eyed by half the press."
I gave a small smirk. "Isn't that part of the fun?"
My mother raised a brow but said nothing.
The conversation shifted to numbers and names I didn't care to remember—meetings, deals, another charity project my mother wanted me to attend. I nodded where necessary, made noncommittal noises, and focused on my coffee.
All I could think about was getting out of here and spending the afternoon with Skye. Somewhere outside this marble box. Somewhere I could breathe.
•
After breakfast, I escaped before either of my parents could trap me in another lecture about legacy or posture or whatever else was on their agenda today.
Outside, the car was already waiting—sleek, black, and spotless, just like always. The driver opened the door for me without a word, and I slid in, sinking into the familiar leather seat.
"To Skye's Mansion," I said simply, and he nodded before pulling away from the estate.
The drive was calm, the city just starting to come alive. I leaned my head against the window, letting the morning sun warm my skin as we passed the quiet streets. My phone buzzed once—Skye.
"Tell him to stop at the coffee place. You know the one." She said.
"On it."
I smiled a little and leaned forward. "Can we swing by Hartley's Café before picking her up?" I asked the driver.
"Of course, ma'am."
Ten minutes later, we pulled up to the corner café. The barista knew my order by now—one iced oat milk latte for me, a iced caramel latte for Skye—they had it ready in minutes. I passed the cashier a generous tip and climbed back into the car, the familiar aroma already lifting my mood.
We reached Skye's place just as she was walking down her front steps, her fancy black sunglasses on, hair pulled back effortlessly, like she hadn't tried at all (even though I knew she absolutely had). The moment she spotted me through the window, she flashed a grin and jogged the last few steps.
When the door opened, she slid in beside me, grabbing her drink without missing a beat. "You're a lifesaver."
"And you're late," I teased, raising a brow.
"Fashionably," she corrected. "Anyway, I figured if we're going to survive this fitting, I better show up caffeinated and ready to bully you into something scandalous."
I laughed. "You always know how to keep things classy."
Skye smirked. "Only the Sterling way, babe."
And just like that, the tension of the morning eased. We were on our way downtown, the car weaving through traffic while the city opened up around us, one boutique closer to disaster—or a perfect outfit—for the gala.
•
The car eased to a stop in front of Lunette Atelier, one of the most exclusive fashion houses in the city—tucked behind high glass windows and guarded by discretion. If you didn't make a appointment or uninvited, you could never take a step inside.
As we stepped out, an attendant opened the door before we could even reach it. "Miss Sterling, Miss Skye—welcome back. Everything is prepared upstairs."
We were led through the private entrance and up a curved staircase into a velvet-draped fitting room that looked more like a luxury suite than anything retail. Racks of gowns and couture pieces waited, handpicked for the event, each one more stunning—and dramatic—than the last.
Skye walked over to a rack and immediately pulled out a striking, deep burgundy dress with a high slit and structured shoulders. "Try this one first."
I raised an eyebrow. "It looks like it's about to walk the runway without me."
"Exactly," she said, tossing it at me. "You need to remind the entire room who you are."
I took it and disappeared behind the screen, pulling off my blouse and sliding into the gown. It hugged my frame like it was sewn on me. When I stepped out, Skye gave a low whistle.
"Okay, yeah. That's the one."
I turned to the mirror, smoothing the fabric along my hip. It was bold, definitely not the "quiet elegance" my mother always preached. But standing in it… I felt powerful. Like maybe, just maybe, I could handle this entire night—Ethan Ashford, my family, the whispers. All of it.
"What do you think?" I asked Skye, watching her in the reflection.
"I think your ex is going to regret every second he fumbled the bag," she said, sipping her latte.
I smirked, letting myself enjoy the thought.
For the first time in a while, I didn't feel like I was performing. I felt ready.
Almost.
I stepped back behind the divider to try on the next look—a softer, champagne-colored gown with delicate embroidery that shimmered when it caught the light.
As I changed, I heard Skye flopping onto the velvet lounge couch with a dramatic sigh. "So, are we gonna talk about him? Or are you just gonna keep pretending he's some bad fashion trend you outgrew?"
I froze for a second, fingers brushing over the zipper.
"…Which 'him' are we talking about?" I said, even though I already knew.
"Mmhm. Exactly," Skye replied. "You haven't said his name in weeks. That's your tell."
I pulled the dress up and stepped out. "There's nothing to say. It's done."
She sat up, giving me that look—the one that peeled past everything I tried to keep hidden. "Lena. You loved him. First love kind of loved him. And he left you shattered. That doesn't just go away because you put on Valentino."
I glanced at my reflection. The dress was beautiful. I looked flawless. But underneath it all… my chest still ached when I thought of him.
"I gave him everything," I said quietly. "And he still walked away like none of it mattered."
Skye stood, walking over to adjust the strap on my shoulder. "You didn't lose him, Lena. He lost you. And no one gets to make you feel small in your own story."
I met her eyes, grateful. "You always say the right thing."
"I know," she grinned. "That's why you keep me around."
I chuckled, finally breathing a little easier. "Alright. What's next? Something scandalous?"
She perked up immediately, grabbing the most daring gown from the rack. "Now we're talking."
•
In the end, we circled back to the first dress—the deep burgundy one. None of the others came close. It didn't just fit me, it spoke for me. It said: I'm not here to be overlooked.
Skye nodded as the tailor pinned it for adjustments. "This is it. It's giving rich, untouchable, maybe-dangerous energy."
"Perfect," I murmured, watching myself in the mirror. "Exactly what I need."