As the night wore on, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. The laughter, the endless chatter—it all felt like a facade. Maybe it was the lingering conversation with Ethan that kept turning in my mind, or maybe it was the fact that I still couldn't fully let go of the weight I carried from my past.
I glanced over at the bar, where Skye was holding court once again. She seemed to be in her element, making everyone laugh with her effortless charm. But her eyes flickered to me, and she knew I wasn't completely present. I gave her a small wave, trying to shake off the unease.
The clinking of glasses and the soft murmur of conversation filled the room. And then, as if on cue, the sound of high heels clicking against the polished floor drew my attention. I turned to see a woman in an elegant black gown walking toward me, her presence commanding the room. She was tall, with striking features and a confidence that could rival any socialite.
It wasn't until she got closer that I realized who it was.
"Lena, right?" she said, her voice smooth but friendly. "I'm Lyla Ashford."
I blinked, caught off guard for a moment. Ethan's sister. Of course. I had heard rumors about her, seen the occasional photo in the social media's, all over the news, but we'd never crossed paths until now.
I gave her a polite smile, extending my hand. "Yes, I'm Lena Sterling. Nice to meet you."
She shook my hand, her grip firm and assured. There was a warmth to her, though, that didn't feel quite as calculated as the rest of the crowd. "I've been meaning to introduce myself. My brother has spoken about you."
My heart skipped a beat, and I had to suppress a reaction. Ethan had spoken about me? But I kept my voice even. "I'm sure he has plenty of things to say."
Lyla chuckled softly, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Well, let's just say, he's not exactly known for holding back his thoughts. But it's good to see you here. I've heard your family has been involved in the art world for a while."
I nodded. "Yes, we've been in the scene for years. My family's business has expanded into different creative outlets over time."
Lyla's expression softened. "That's impressive. I respect the Sterling family legacy."
There was something in her tone—an unspoken understanding. Was she trying to make a connection? Or was she just playing the game like the rest of us?
I wanted to ask her more, but before I could, she glanced toward the other side of the room, her smile fading slightly. "I should get back to the group," she said, almost regretfully. "But it was nice meeting you, Lena. I'm sure we'll see each other again."
I watched her leave, feeling the slight tension in the air. What was that about? I couldn't tell if she was being genuine or if she was just another piece of the Ashford family puzzle. Either way, I felt like I was being pulled into something bigger than myself. And part of me wasn't sure I wanted to be.
But there was no turning back now. Not tonight.
Skye reappeared by my side, her sharp eyes taking in the scene. "Lyla Ashford. Talk about keeping it in the family."
I shrugged, trying to play it cool. "She seems nice enough."
Skye raised an eyebrow. "You sure about that?"
I glanced back at Lyla, who was now talking to some guests near the stage. "I don't know. She's just... different. Not quite like Ethan."
Skye followed my gaze, narrowing her eyes thoughtfully. "Hmm. Maybe she's the wildcard of the family. Who knows what she's really thinking?"
Before I could respond, the lights dimmed slightly, signaling the start of an announcement from the Ashford family. The crowd fell into a hushed silence, the energy shifting in the room. I glanced at Skye, feeling a familiar sense of anticipation. This was it—the moment everyone had been waiting for.
I could almost feel the weight of expectations pressing in on me. But I wasn't about to fold under pressure—not tonight.
The moment they stepped into the grand ballroom, the weight of the event hit Lena like a wave. Crystal chandeliers shimmered overhead, casting golden light over the glossy marble floors. The place looked like it belonged in a dream—lavish, extravagant, curated down to the last flower in the centerpiece. It was exactly what you'd expect from the Ashford familia.
Skye whispered, "This place screams money and expectations."
Lena gave her a small smirk. "Which means we're right at home."
Servers moved gracefully through the crowd, offering glasses of champagne and hors d'oeuvres on silver trays. Conversations buzzed in every corner—art critics, socialites, and legacy heirs all mingling like it was just another Friday night.
Lena walked with practiced ease, her gown flowing effortlessly behind her. The cameras turned, the flashes blinked. She smiled, nodded, made brief eye contact—perfectly polite, perfectly poised.
But even as she played the part, her eyes kept scanning the room for him. Ethan Ashford.
"Stop looking for him," Skye nudged, clearly catching on.
"I'm not—" Lena started to protest.
"You are," Skye said, smirking. "And it's okay."
Before Lena could respond, a familiar voice cut through the noise.
"Well, look who finally decided to show up."
Lena turned—and there he was. Ethan, in a midnight-black tux, looking far too calm in the chaos around him. His sister Lyla stood beside him, raising an amused brow.
"Did we interrupt something?" Lyla asked, tone teasing but light.
Lena straightened. "Not at all. Just soaking in the... curated extravagance."
Ethan chuckled. "Careful, you might start enjoying yourself."
She shot him a dry smile. "Doubt it."
But despite her words, there was a flicker of something warm in her chest—an ember she didn't ask for, didn't want, but couldn't ignore.
Skye stepped in to break the tension. "Lena's just making her rounds, playing diplomat. You know how it is."
"Of course," Ethan said, eyes still on Lena. "But maybe, just for tonight, she could take a break from playing and actually be."
And with that, he walked past them, Lyla trailing behind with a grin that said she'd seen enough to be entertained.
Lena stood still for a second, her breath caught in the middle of her throat.
Skye leaned in. "Still think this night's going to be boring?"
Lena didn't answer. She just lifted her champagne glass and took a long sip.
The night unfolded in a blur of soft music, practiced smiles, and clinking glasses. Lena moved from conversation to conversation, her expression perfectly controlled—polite, poised, and just detached enough to keep people from lingering too long. That was the trick. Give them just enough to remember you, but never enough to actually know you.
But as much as she tried to stay in control, her thoughts kept drifting back to Ethan.
It wasn't even that he was particularly charming tonight. No—he was just there. Present in a way that made it hard to look away. He didn't float through the room like he owned it. He simply belonged in it, without needing to prove anything.
"Staring again," Skye whispered as they passed by another gallery room.
"I'm observing," Lena muttered, grabbing another champagne flute. "Very different."
Skye gave her a pointed look. "You used to say that about your ex too. Right before things got messy."
Lena didn't respond. That ache in her chest, the one she'd been numbing with work and distraction, tugged a little harder tonight. Maybe it was the dress, the lights, the way everyone pretended to care about brushstrokes and colors while really calculating names and fortunes. Or maybe it was just that Ethan looked at her like she wasn't one of them.
She caught him again by the sculpture exhibit—alone, hands in his pockets, gazing at a massive piece of abstract metalwork that resembled chaos tamed into elegance.
"You actually like this?" she asked, stepping beside him.
He didn't look surprised. "Not really. But I like the idea of it. Makes people stop and think. Even if they don't get it."
Lena crossed her arms. "So... like you?"
He laughed under his breath, eyes crinkling at the edges. "Touché."
A moment passed, quiet but not awkward. Lena felt the hum of tension—not romantic, not yet. Just... curiosity. Familiarity she didn't expect.
"I'm not looking for anything," she said suddenly, surprising even herself.
Ethan turned to her. "Neither am I."
That truth settled between them, oddly comforting.
Across the room, a photographer raised a camera toward them. Lena instinctively shifted her posture, a habit she couldn't break.
Ethan leaned in slightly, voice low. "Don't worry. We're just two people pretending to care about a sculpture."
Lena smiled. A real one this time.
And for a moment, that ache in her chest softened.
The evening carried on like a slow-moving current—quiet jazz spilling from hidden speakers, the clatter of glassware, and heels echoing against marble floors. Lena eventually slipped away from the crowd and found herself on the gallery's rooftop garden. The city stretched below her, glittering and indifferent.
She took a deep breath.
The cool air brushed against her skin, easing the heat of the night. Everything felt heavy—expectations, her dress, the way her parents' words still echoed in her head. And underneath it all, the quiet reminder that no matter how perfect she appeared tonight, she still hadn't healed.
"Thought I might find you here," Skye's voice broke the silence.
Lena glanced over her shoulder. Skye walked toward her with two flutes of champagne and a knowing smile.
"Thanks," Lena muttered, taking one.
"Don't thank me yet," Skye said. "Your mom's been scanning the room like a hawk. She thinks you and Ethan should 'mingle' more."
Lena rolled her eyes. "Of course she does."
Skye leaned against the ledge beside her. "You okay?"
"Honestly?" Lena looked out at the city again. "No. But I'm better than I was."
They clinked glasses gently.
The rooftop door creaked again—and this time, it was Ethan.
He stopped a few steps away when he saw them. "Didn't mean to intrude."
"You're not," Skye said, stepping back. "I'll give you two a minute."
Lena didn't stop her. She just stayed there, watching the lights and letting the silence settle again until Ethan joined her at the railing.
"You disappeared," Ethan said, voice low and calm.
"I needed a moment," she replied, eyes still on the skyline.
"Fair." He followed her gaze. "It's beautiful up here. Quiet."
"That's the best part," she murmured. "The quiet."
A silence fell between them, but it wasn't uncomfortable. It felt… understood.
"Your friend Skye said you'd be up here," Ethan added, glancing at her. "She also told me to 'keep it light or else.'"
Lena smiled—small, real. "Sounds like her."
He offered her his jacket without a word. She hesitated, then took it. The warmth was immediate, grounding.
"You don't have to pretend up here," he said. "Not with me."
She didn't respond right away. But for the first time in weeks, she didn't feel like she had to.
And there it was again—that strange comfort. No pressure, no push. Just someone standing beside her, not trying to fix or figure her out.
Lena didn't say anything more. She just stood there, letting the city hum beneath them, and for the first time in weeks, she let herself breathe.