After finalizing the dress and leaving the boutique, we decided to stop by Velluto, a sleek rooftop café nestled on the top floor of a luxury department store. The kind of place with marble tables, gold-trimmed menus, and a view of the entire skyline. Paparazzi didn't bother showing up here. Too exclusive.
Skye slid into the booth across from me, pulling her sunglasses off and setting them beside her phone. "You need something carby and comforting. You haven't eaten since breakfast, and emotional retail therapy only goes so far."
"Fine," I said, scanning the menu. "But I'm not eating anything with truffle oil again. Last time I nearly gagged."
She snorted. "That's because you tried it with oat milk. You offended Italy."
I laughed, the sound coming easier than it had in days. Maybe even weeks.
We ended up splitting a plate of pesto pasta and a burrata salad, sipping iced lattes with oat milk that actually tasted decent this time. For a while, the conversation stayed light—clothes, travel, some harmless gossip about who might be sneaking into the gala uninvited.
But somewhere between bites, the mood softened.
"Do you ever think about texting him?" Skye asked quietly, like she already knew the answer.
I didn't look up from my fork. "Every day."
She nodded, didn't press. Just let it sit in the open.
"But I won't," I added after a beat. "Because if he cared, he'd be here."
Skye reached across the table, her fingers brushing mine. "Then let him stay gone. You've got bigger things ahead."
I nodded, letting her words settle in my chest like armor.
•
We were finishing up, waiting for the bill, when I saw a flash of movement near the café's entrance. I didn't think much of it—until I heard Skye's voice drop into a low, sharp whisper.
"Tell me I'm hallucinating."
I followed her gaze—and felt my stomach drop.
It was him. My ex. In the flesh. Dressed in a navy button-up, sleeves rolled, laughing at something with the girl beside him. Saying she is pretty, in that effortless, soft-glow kind of way. The kind of girl who probably never had to fake a smile in a crowded room.
Skye stiffened. "Seriously? He shows up here?"
I quickly turned my face away, heart pounding in my ears. "He doesn't know we're here."
"You sure you don't want me to cause a scene? Spill coffee. Trip over a chair. I can improvise."
I huffed out a breath, half-laughing, half-panicked. "Please don't. I am not letting him ruin my iced latte."
I could feel his presence even without looking. Too familiar. Too recent. Like a wound I thought had scarred over, aching again in the light.
"Let's go," I said, tossing my napkin on the table and slipping my sunglasses back on like armor. "He already took too much of me. He doesn't get my peace, too."
Skye stood with me, chin high. "Now that's the Sterling energy I signed up for."
We walked right past him—me not sparing a glance, even though my pulse screamed otherwise. I didn't need closure. I needed space. Distance. A future that didn't include him.
And maybe—just maybe—that future would begin with a certain gala, and a certain Ashford.
•
The car ride was quiet, but not heavy. Just... thoughtful.
Skye sat beside me, scrolling absently through her phone, while I leaned against the window, watching the city blur past. I could still feel the aftershock of seeing him—like a ghost I wasn't expecting to run into in daylight. But I didn't cry. I didn't break. That had to mean something.
"You okay?" Skye asked, not looking up.
"Yeah," I said softly. "I think so."
She gave a small nod. "You handled that like a queen."
I smiled faintly. "He looked happy."
"He looked boring," she said with a snort. "That girl beside him? Forgettable. Meanwhile, you're out here looking like a queen with plenty of money and revenge."
I laughed—just a little. "Thanks, Skye."
"Anytime," she said, nudging my shoulder. "You wanna hang out for a bit?"
I shook my head. "Not today skye, sorry. I think I need a minute to be alone. In my room."
Skye respected that. She always did.
•
By the time the car dropped me off in front of our family estate, the sun had already started dipping, casting golden streaks over the marble steps. I gave the driver a small nod, told skye "see you next time" with a small smile.
The house was quiet, just the faint sound of classical music coming from one of the upstairs lounges. I bypassed everything—my parents, the staff, the noise—and went straight to my room.
Once inside, I kicked off my shoes, shrugged out of my jacket, and collapsed back onto my bed.
For a few minutes, I just stared at the ceiling, letting everything catch up to me. The boutique. The dress. The encounter. The ache. The pride.
I thought about his laugh. How easily he'd shared it with someone else—especially when we had just broke up last month. And then I thought about mine—how real it had felt today, with Skye, despite everything.
I reached for my phone, scrolling past his contact name like it wasn't there.
I didn't need him.
I just needed time.
And a plan.
Because if this gala was going to be my comeback—it had to be unforgettable.
•
I changed into an oversized tee, washed off the city from my skin, and tied my hair up in a loose bun. Everything felt heavier in the quiet. The kind of silence where thoughts echo louder.
I walked over to my window, pulling the curtains back just a little. The skyline shimmered in the distance, and somewhere beyond that glow was the life I wanted—one not dictated by legacy, expectations, or the ghosts of heartbreaks I didn't ask for.
Part of me wished I could disappear into that night. Start fresh. No names, no stories, no pasts.
But I wasn't that girl anymore.
I was Lena Sterling.
And I'd show them all exactly what that meant.
Tomorrow, I'd start fresh.
But tonight, I let myself feel it—quietly, fully, alone.
Then I turned off the lights and climbed into bed.
Ready for whatever came next.