The morning sunlight streamed through the sheer curtains, casting golden lines across my sheets. My eyes opened slowly, unwillingly. Everything still felt too raw—too fresh. The kind of morning where your chest feels heavy before you even sit up.
I stared at the ceiling for a while, letting the quiet wrap around me. No dreams last night. Just flashes of yesterday—his face, her laugh, the way my stomach twisted when I saw them together.
Then the knock came.
"Miss Lena?" Ashley's soft voice filtered through the door. "Your parents are waiting for you downstairs. They asked me to remind you—breakfast."
Of course they did.
I forced myself up and reached for my silk robe, tying it loosely around me. "Tell them I'll be there soon."
Ashley didn't press further. She never did. She was used to these mornings.
In the bathroom, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror—eyes tired, but still sharp. I washed my face slowly, giving myself a few extra seconds with each motion. Moments like this, even brushing my hair back into a sleek ponytail, felt like armor.
Downstairs, everything was as expected. The dining room was pristine, like always. The marble table gleamed. My parents sat in their usual spots—my mother poised with her coffee, flipping through today's agenda, my father already buried in the news on his tablet.
"Good morning," I said, sliding into my chair.
My mother gave me a sharp glance over the rim of her mug. "You're late."
I bit back a sigh. "I had trouble sleeping."
"Still thinking about him?" she asked, setting her cup down a little too carefully.
My father didn't even look up. "That situation is over. And it was never something worth holding onto."
I said nothing. Just sipped the coffee that had been made exactly how I liked it—strong, a little bitter, no sugar.
"It's time to refocus," my mother continued. "The gala is approaching. The Ashfords are opening their doors again, and the guest list is tighter than ever."
"I'm aware," I said, calm. "I've already arranged for fittings, confirmed the date, and blocked off the entire day."
Her eyebrows raised slightly, surprised but trying not to show it. "Good. Just make sure you look like you belong."
I didn't bother responding. I always belonged. Even when I hated it.
After breakfast, I headed upstairs, grateful to escape the sterile perfection of the dining room. Kelly was waiting in my room, seated on the edge of the couch with her tablet already open.
"Rough morning?" she asked, looking up at me with the kind of understanding that made her more than just an assistant.
"Could've been worse," I muttered, dropping onto the chair across from her.
She gave me a small smile. "I heard about what happened yesterday. Skye filled me in."
I raised an eyebrow. "Did she now?"
"She was worried. So am I," Kelly said. "Are you okay?"
I looked away, pretending to read something on her screen. "I will be."
There was a pause before she spoke again. "You don't have to pretend with me, Lena."
That was the thing about Kelly—she didn't talk much, but when she did, it landed.
"I'm not pretending," I said softly. "I'm preparing."
She studied me for a moment, then nodded. "Fair enough. Want to go over the schedule?"
"Not yet," I said, standing and walking toward the window.
Outside, the city was alive—cars moving like ants, buildings glowing in the morning sun. Somewhere out there, people were waking up with nothing but freedom on their minds.
I pressed a hand to the glass. "I'm going to make this gala mine."
Kelly's voice came from behind me, steady and certain. "Then let's get to work."
But I didn't move right away. My fingers still rested lightly against the window, the glass cool beneath my skin. The city below looked so different from this height—cleaner, quieter, almost manageable. A strange illusion considering how chaotic it all felt when you were actually down there.
"Do you ever feel like... everything is already decided for you?" I asked, not turning around.
Kelly didn't respond immediately. She didn't give me those empty affirmations I hated—she always took a second to answer like she actually cared about the weight of what I was saying.
"I think the world tries to decide," she said finally. "But people like you—people who actually see the script being written? You're the ones who can flip the page and start over."
I let out a breath, almost a laugh. "You make it sound so simple."
"It's not," she said, walking over and setting the tablet aside. "But it's worth it."
We sat there in silence for a bit longer, the soft hum of the city filtering through the thick windows. I looked down at my hands—perfect nails, not a chip in sight. Everything on the outside looked polished, together. But inside, I was still piecing myself back together from that breakup, still wondering how someone could leave such a permanent mark on your life and just walk away.
I had never told my parents the truth about it. To them, it was just another one of my "phases." A foolish decision. A mistake, as my mother so lovingly put it. But to me, it had been real. Messy, complicated, painful—but real. And that's what made it hard to let go.
"Hey," Kelly said gently, breaking me out of my thoughts. "The tailor's dropping off your dress later this afternoon. Do you want to look at accessories before your schedule fills up?"
I nodded. "Yeah… maybe we'll finally find earrings that don't feel like medieval torture devices."
Kelly grinned. "I already pulled a few options from the vault. Classic Lena—with a touch of chaos."
I smirked. "Perfect."
I stood up and stretched, rolling my shoulders back. "Okay. Let's not waste the day."
She gave me a small smile. "That's the spirit."
Before she could head out, I turned back to her. "Hey, Kelly?"
"Yeah?"
"Thanks… for not treating me like I'm broken."
Her expression softened. "You're not. You're just... rebuilding. And that takes time."
When she left the room, I found myself sitting at the edge of my bed, staring at the floor. I reached under the bed frame and pulled out the old shoebox I hadn't touched in weeks—the one filled with photos, old love notes, memories I wasn't ready to throw away but couldn't bear to keep out in the open.
I opened the lid slowly.
There he was. Smiling. Holding my hand on the beach. A blurry polaroid of us dancing in a hallway, barefoot and half-drunk. The last text he ever sent me, scribbled on a sticky note: "You'll always be the wildest part of my calm."
I shut the box and pushed it back under the bed.
That chapter was over.
Even if the scar still stung.
I glanced at the clock—barely 10 a.m. There was still time to figure out how to face the world again.
Maybe Skye was right.
If I had to play the game, then fine.
But I was done following someone else's rules.