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I stared at my reflection in the gilded mirror, my gaze filled with self-loathing. I was a model. The world called me beautiful.
And I hated everything about myself.
Blond waves framed my face, a cascade of hair that others might admire, but all I saw were imperfections—strands that never seemed to fall just right, a perpetual messiness that clashed with what everyone wanted from me. My dark blue eyes stared back, their hue an exotic anomaly that was almost violet, yet all I could think about were the dark circles that blemished the skin beneath them, a reminder of sleepless nights and anxious days.
And then there were my lips, oversized, drawing attention I didn't want. I despised the way they looked when I smiled, as if they were shouting for attention, betraying my discomfort with the mask I wore. My reflection seemed to taunt me, every detail an assault on the confidence I struggled to hold onto.
When I stared at my body, I saw bulges and angles that seemed to amplify my flaws. The neckline that was supposed to exude allure only made me feel exposed, my bare skin a testament to my vulnerability.
I pinched at the fabric near my waist, the critical thoughts in my mind forming a symphony of self-doubt. Everything felt wrong—my hair, my eyes, my lips, my body—each aspect of my appearance a gateway for relentless scrutiny. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't silence the chorus of negativity that echoed within me.
The bathroom door swung open then, and Michelle, my best…frenemy sauntered in with an air of all the confidence that I lacked. Her dark brown hair cascaded in sleek waves around her shoulders, her doe-like brown eyes held a glint of mischief, and her lips were adorned with a bold shade of red lipstick.
Her figure-hugging black dress clung to her curves perfectly, a daring slit revealing just enough to leave an impression. She moved with a grace that was both captivating and enigmatic, an embodiment of self-assuredness that had always drawn people to her.
"Blake," Michelle greeted, her voice carrying a blend of warmth and sarcasm that only she could manage.
I glanced up from the mirror, meeting her gaze with apprehension. "Hey, Michelle."
She leaned against the counter, her eyes scanning me with a hint of amusement. "Oh, wow, Blake. You look…different."
I sighed at her comment, because it was par for the course with her, trying to ignore how her words were a direct hit to my already fragile state. "That’s…nice to hear," I said sarcastically. You couldn’t show weakness with Michelle. She was like a shark constantly on the hunt for blood.
And I’d been her favorite target since our days at the orphanage. She’d been adopted by one of the Shepfields’ friends…and I’d been stuck with her for better or for worse.
Her red lips curled into a sly smile, her gaze never leaving my face. "Well, I've never seen you wear so much makeup before. It's like you're trying really hard tonight."
Her words stung like a slap, sending me further down the spiraling path I’d already been on. I glanced away, unable to meet her gaze as the knot of humiliation tightened in my chest.
"And that dress…" Michelle continued, her tone light, "Did they send the wrong size?"
I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms as I struggled to contain my rising anger. "You look gorgeous as well, Michelle," I drawled, stepping away from the mirror and moving past her.
She shrugged casually, her gaze shifting to her perfectly manicured nails. "Don’t be like that. I’m just speaking what everyone’s thinking, Blake. You need that in a friend."
Taking a deep breath, I finally met her eyes, a mix of hurt and frustration simmering beneath the surface that I did my best to hide. "Right."
Michelle's gaze was triumphant as she watched me.
She knew every button to press, every insecurity to pull at.
And she was great at doing both.
I turned away from her, but my reflection in the mirror seemed to support everything she’d just said.
Michelle moved on frommeand started chatting about the event, her voice a distant echo in my ears.
She didn’t even notice when I walked away, doing my best to lock up the weakness, determined to hold my head high and face the gala once more.
Clark lifted an eyebrow when I reappeared in the crowd, silently asking me if I was okay. I nodded, letting him take my elbow and lead me to our table in the center of the room, a seating arrangement that couldn’t be more suffocating. The table was set with pristine white linens and glittering crystalware. Plates adorned with meticulously arranged delicacies were presented like works of art as soon as we sat. The soft glow of candlelight danced across the faces of the attendees, casting an enchanting spell over the proceedings. I’m sure the food would taste delicious.
If I allowed myself to actually enjoy it.
Which I would not.
I’d never hear the end of it from Maura.
As the courses were served, Maura took the stage for her keynote address.
