The door opened before I could even reach for the handle, and a flurry of flashes hit me all at once. I stepped out of the car with practiced grace, keeping my chin lifted and my shoulders squared, despite the tightening knot in my stomach.
Skye was right behind me, her camera clicking away as the press made their demands. "Miss Sterling! Over here!" someone shouted. "Lena, can we get a smile?"
I flashed a perfect smile, turning toward the photographer, then turned it on the next. The air was thick with anticipation, everyone wanting a piece of the Sterling image. Every click of the camera felt like an expectation I had to live up to, a performance I couldn't afford to get wrong. So I kept smiling.
Skye squeezed my hand. "You're killing it. They're eating it up."
I nodded, fighting the urge to roll my eyes. "They're always eating something."
As we approached the entrance, the glittering facade of the Ashford estate loomed in front of us. It was a massive building, sleek and modern with an old-world charm. A seamless blend of wealth and power. I could already hear the faint murmur of conversation spilling out from inside, mixed with the soft clink of glasses and laughter.
Once inside, the atmosphere hit me like a wave. The lighting was dim, yet luxurious, casting shadows on marble floors that gleamed beneath the chandeliers. A gentle hum of conversation filled the space, the chatter of the city's elite blending with the clinking of champagne glasses.
Skye, as usual, was already making friends. She was chatting with a group of designers by the bar, but I couldn't quite relax. The weight of the night pressed in on me. Every step I took felt calculated—every glance I caught in the mirror felt like a reminder that I was here to be seen.
"You look stunning, Lena," a voice purred from behind me.
I turned, expecting to see one of the guests, but instead, I was met with Ethan Ashford standing just a few feet away. His eyes—dark and steady—met mine with an expression that didn't quite match the forced smile he wore.
Ethan. The man I'd been trying to avoid for weeks.
"Ethan," I said coolly, keeping my composure intact. "I didn't expect to see you so soon."
He stepped a little closer, his presence magnetic. "I could say the same about you, Lena."
His gaze didn't waver, and I had to remind myself not to be caught in it. "I was just admiring the decor."
Ethan smiled, that signature confident smile that always managed to unsettle me. "If you're admiring the decor, you must be here for more than just the art."
"Actually, I'm here for the art," I said, the last word laced with just enough sarcasm. "I'm sure it's exquisite."
"Touché," he replied, his voice low, almost teasing.
The air between us shifted, as if a hundred unspoken words hung in the space, but neither of us dared to voice them. Ethan's presence was like a magnet pulling at me, but I kept my distance, forcing myself to glance away.
"Enjoy the party," I said quickly, turning toward the crowd, hoping he wouldn't follow.
But he did, just a step behind.
"Of course. Though I think we both know the real reason you're here," he said quietly, his tone much more serious now.
"And what's that?"
"The game," he replied. "It's always been about the game."
I froze for a split second, but quickly regained my composure, brushing past him. "I'm here for business, Ethan. Nothing more."
He chuckled under his breath. "Of course."
I couldn't help but feel his gaze on me, lingering, even as I disappeared into the sea of guests. It was a subtle reminder that nothing, especially this night, was ever as simple as it seemed.
I moved deeper into the crowd, pretending not to notice the glances that followed me. A few guests stopped to greet me, their voices dripping with compliments, but all I could hear was the faint echo of Ethan's words in my head. The game. It was never just about showing up, was it? It was always about navigating the power plays, the unspoken rules, and the subtle dominance of people like him.
But I wasn't ready for that.
Not tonight.
I scanned the room, looking for something—anything—to ground me in this world that had always felt more like a performance than a celebration. My gaze landed on the art pieces adorning the walls, an eclectic mix of abstract sculptures and contemporary paintings, their colors so vivid they almost seemed to pulse under the dim lights.
I admired the way the art pulled the guests in, offering them something to talk about, something to distract them from the real game they were playing. A sharp laugh pulled me from my thoughts. It was Skye, holding court by the bar, making her usual grand impression. I could almost hear the laughter in her voice even from across the room.
As I made my way toward her, I couldn't help but notice how everyone's eyes subtly shifted when I passed—eyes that were sharp, calculating, expecting something. Maybe they all assumed I was just another player in the game. Maybe they thought I'd play along.
But tonight, I wasn't feeling like a player.
I joined Skye at the bar, her smile widening as she spotted me. "Lena! Come rescue me from these pretentious art snobs. They can't stop talking about brushstrokes."
"Let me guess, you're the one leading the conversation about how innovative it all is?"
"Duh," she grinned, handing me a glass of champagne. "This is the only way to survive these things. You gotta fake it till you make it."
I took the glass but didn't drink, instead eyeing the crowd from the corner of my eye.
"You know," Skye continued, leaning in with a teasing look, "I saw you talking to Ethan."
I took a slow sip, deliberately avoiding her gaze. "I wasn't talking to him. He was talking to me."
She raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. "You looked pretty damn good doing it."
I shot her a side glance. "I'm not here for him, Skye. I'm here for work."
Skye didn't press further, sensing my mood. Instead, she sipped her drink and glanced toward the center of the room, where the most influential figures in the room had gathered. It was a sea of polished suits and silk gowns, all walking, talking, networking—maneuvering their way through the night like sharks.
"Then just work the room," she said, her voice softer. "Do your thing. Don't let anyone pull you into their game unless you choose to play."
I exhaled slowly, nodding. It was easier said than done, but Skye was right. I didn't have to follow the script tonight. I could make my own rules.
I spent the next hour drifting through conversations—some shallow, some surprisingly insightful, but all of them meticulously rehearsed. I kept my distance from Ethan, though I could feel his presence lurking in the background, like a shadow I couldn't quite shake. Every now and then, I'd catch his gaze across the room, his expression unreadable. Each time, I turned away, focusing instead on the art, the conversation, anything that could keep me grounded.
Eventually, I found myself standing by the grand staircase, taking in the view of the ballroom below. Guests were swirling, laughing, moving in time with the beat of the background music that filled the air. It was almost dizzying, the constant motion. Yet, for a brief moment, I felt like I was in control. I was here, standing on my own two feet—no longer defined by who I used to be or the expectations that had once felt so heavy.
A voice pulled me from my thoughts. "Enjoying the view?"
I turned to see Ethan standing beside me, leaning against the railing with a glass of wine in hand. The same confident smile was on his face, but this time, there was something different in his eyes. Something… softer.
"I'm just taking it all in," I said, trying to sound nonchalant. "There's a lot going on."
"There always is at these things," he said, looking out over the crowd. "But you're right. It's a lot of noise. Sometimes, you need a quiet moment to figure out what you actually want from it all."
I didn't respond right away. His words resonated with me more than I cared to admit. Was that why I was here? Trying to figure out what I wanted? Or was I just following the same path that had been set out for me?
I didn't want to think too much about it. Not now.
"So," I said, breaking the silence, "what's the Ashford agenda tonight? I'm guessing it's not just art appreciation."
Ethan chuckled, the sound warm. "You've got me figured out. But yeah, there's always something more. You're not wrong."
I turned slightly to face him, narrowing my eyes. "Something more?"
"The usual," he said. "Influence. Connections. Power plays."
I smirked, trying to keep the conversation light. "Sounds like fun."
"It is. If you're built for it."
"I think I'll pass on that part," I replied.
Ethan's gaze lingered a moment longer than necessary, his smile flickering just slightly before he straightened up. "Fair enough. But if you change your mind, the game is always waiting."
With that, he turned and melted into the crowd, leaving me standing there, more uncertain than ever.
I was still figuring things out. Maybe I always would be. But tonight, I wasn't going to let anyone—least of all Ethan Ashford—define who I was.