The shimmering silk gown feels like a second skin, fitting perfectly but suffocating. The mirror reflects a flawless, poised, and utterly unfamiliar version of me. I adjust the pearl earrings—my mother's favorites—and smooth my hands over the dress, trying to ignore the unease in my stomach.
The Mayfields' yearly dinner is an unwritten demand in the Laurent household, one of those "legacy" tasks that my father frequently reminds me of. It is not simply dinner. It's a show, a stage where friendships are formed and fortunes are displayed, and I'm expected to sparkle like the ancestral chandelier above the Mayfields' dining room table.
But tonight, it feels heavier. Maybe because the diner, Harris, and the strange intensity of Alexander Hayes are still fresh in my mind. Or maybe because every time I look at myself in this polished, perfect mask, I feel like I'm losing the person I'm trying to become.
I press my palms to the vanity, leaning forward until the cold glass reflects my unguarded eyes. I can almost hear his voice, low and clipped, the way it was the last time I dared to question my role in this endless parade of appearances.
"Legacy is not about what you desire, Sophia. It is about what you owe. To your family. To our names."
He didn't yell, and he never does. His disappointment hurts far more than rage ever could.
Tonight's stakes are no different. The Mayfields are long-time family friends, and their influence runs deep in the circles we hang out. My father hasn't stated it explicitly, but I know he's counting on me to impress their son, Carter—a talented young lawyer whose ambition matches his lineage.
I've met Carter once before. He's polite, bland, and as predictable as the pressed suits he wears. But that doesn't matter. What matters is keeping the Mayfields in our corner.
"Miss Sophia," says a voice from the door. Eliza, my father's assistant, is peeking in like she's afraid to disturb me. "Your father asked me to remind you—promptness is crucial tonight."
Of course, he did. I nod, forcing a smile. "I'll be down in a minute."
Eliza hesitates, her gaze softening. "You look lovely, Miss."
"Thank you," I reply, though the words feel hollow.
As she retreats, I glimpse the silver bracelet on my wrist, the tiny key-shaped charm dangling faintly against the silk. It's the only piece of me in this whole ensemble that feels real.
I close my eyes, drawing in a breath. One more performance. One more night.
With a final deep breath, I exit the room, the sound of my shoes echoing on the marble floor. Downstairs, the car is waiting, neat and hostile, like the world I've worked so hard to escape.
As I go into the back seat, the driver closes the door softly, and the Laurent mansion disappears behind us.
The Mayfields' home towers in the distance, all gleaming windows and groomed perfection, a reflection of all I've been taught to love. But as we approach the circular drive, all I can think about is how much I miss working at Harris' diner, pouring coffee for strangers who have no expectations of me.
The car stops, the driver opening my door. My father's voice echoes in my head once more.
"Laurents don't falter, Sophia. We lead."
I step out, my mask firmly in place, and prepare to play my part.