The moment I stepped into the lobby of the Sterling family building, the cold, modern elegance of the space immediately hit me. The polished marble floors gleamed under the soft, ambient lighting. The walls were adorned with abstract art pieces, all carefully selected to reflect the family's wealth and taste.
I walked past the security desk, nodding at the guard who barely acknowledged me, and made my way to the elevator. The elevator doors opened with a soft chime, and I stepped inside, the smooth metallic walls reflecting my tired expression. As the doors closed and the elevator hummed upwards, I took a deep breath, mentally preparing myself for the silence that awaited me on the top floor.
When the doors finally opened, I was greeted by the familiar sight of the penthouse hallway—an immaculate stretch of space with sleek, minimalist design. The long corridor led to the open living area, framed by floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the glittering city below.
Skye, my best friend, was already lounging on the oversized sofa in the corner, a mess of papers and her phone scattered across the coffee table. She glanced up as I walked in, giving me a quick, knowing look.
"Well, well, look who decided to escape the family circus," she said with a smirk, sitting up and tossing her phone aside. "You look like you've been through a war zone."
I let out a small laugh, though it didn't quite reach my eyes. "Feels like it," I muttered, taking a seat across from her, the tension still hanging in the air.
Skye leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, her expression softening. "Let me guess—your mom gave you the planner stare, and your dad brought up 'discipline' again?"
I exhaled slowly, rubbing my temples. "Right on cue. It's like they rehearse it. Honestly, I don't know how they expect me to be everything all at once—perfect daughter, flawless image, and now, apparently, the face of the Sterling name at the gala."
Skye raised an eyebrow. "Ah yes, the glamorous art gala where everyone pretends to care about art while secretly measuring each other's net worth. Can't wait."
I laughed, but it was short-lived. "And of course, they brought up Ethan Ashford."
Skye gave a dramatic gasp. "Not the golden boy himself. Let me guess—they want you to dazzle him?"
"'Make an impression,'" I echoed, mimicking my mother's icy tone. "As if I'm just another move on a chessboard."
Skye leaned back, folding her arms. "You know, you don't have to play their game. You're not just some Sterling puppet."
I nodded, but my gaze drifted to the city lights outside the window. "I know. But sometimes, I wonder if I've been part of the game so long, I don't even know who I'd be without it."
Skye didn't say anything for a moment, then stood and walked over, sitting beside me. "You'd still be Lena. The one who stayed up with me during my worst night. The one who cared when no one else did. The one who fell in love like it was the end of the world."
I flinched slightly at that last part.
Skye noticed. "Still thinking about him?"
"…Yeah."
There was a long pause between us, filled only by the faint hum of the city.
"He wasn't worth you," Skye said quietly. "And definitely not worth the scars he left behind."
I didn't respond. I didn't need to. Because in that moment, with Skye beside me and the rest of the world behind thick glass walls, I could finally breathe—for just a second.
Skye nudged me gently with her shoulder. "So what's the real plan for this fancy art gala? Gonna smile pretty, sip champagne, and shake hands with people who pretend to care?"
I let out a breath, somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. "That's the script. Show up in something expensive, look like I'm enjoying myself, say the right things to the right people… and definitely avoid disappearing halfway through like last time."
Skye smirked. "You did ghost that charity dinner after, like, ten minutes."
"In my defense, one of the board members asked if I was 'finally ready to follow in my mother's footsteps and settle down.'"
She groaned. "Rich people and their obsession with matchmaking. It's like living in a modern-day royal court—just with better lighting and more expensive champagne."
I chuckled and shook my head. "But seriously… I hate how fake it all feels. Everyone in those rooms wants something—from my family, from me, from the Ashfords. No one talks like they mean it. No one even looks at the art."
Skye tilted her head. "You used to love events like that, remember? Before…"
I looked down at my hands. "Before him."
Silence again. Not heavy this time, just… honest.
"I don't know, Skye," I said after a moment. "Maybe I'm just tired of being someone I'm not. Of pretending I'm fine when I still feel like I'm falling apart."
Skye didn't try to fix it or tell me to cheer up. She just leaned her head against mine and whispered, "Then screw the script. Go, wear the dress, make your appearance—but play the game your way this time."
I looked at her, a small, real smile forming. "My way, huh?"
"Yeah," she grinned. "Lena Sterling style. Smart, bold, with just enough confidence to make them wonder what you're really thinking."
I chuckled softly, feeling a weight lift off my shoulders. "I think I can manage that."
Skye's smile widened. "Good. No need to pretend to be something you're not. Just go, do your thing, and don't let them push you into a box."
I nodded slowly, her words settling in. Maybe it wasn't about pulling off some grand statement. Maybe it was just about being comfortable in my own skin, even in the middle of all their expectations.
"You're right," I said, feeling a bit more certain. "I'll show up, do what I need to do, but this time, I won't let them decide who I am."
"That's the spirit," Skye said, giving me a soft but encouraging smile. "You've got this."