Episode1
1812 Words
By seven o’clock, the Bennett house already looked like a hotel preparing for royalty.
Fresh white roses had been arranged across the dining room. Catering staff moved in and out through the back entrance carrying silver trays and crates of champagne. Somewhere upstairs, Vanessa Bennett was screaming at someone over a dress zipper.
Maya stood at the kitchen island slicing strawberries into perfect halves while two women from the event company rushed past her arguing about lighting placements.
“No, the gold candles go near the staircase—”
“If we put them there, the photographers won’t get the reflection effect—”
“Maya.”
Her aunt’s voice cut cleanly through the noise.
Maya looked up immediately. “Yes?”
Diane Bennett swept into the kitchen without slowing down, phone pressed to her ear, perfume lingering in the air behind her. Even at eight in the morning, she looked immaculate. Sharp cream blazer. Diamond earrings. Not a strand of hair out of place.
“The floral arch for the entrance still hasn’t arrived,” Diane said into the phone before pulling it away briefly. “Did you polish the champagne glasses?”
“Yes.”
“All of them?”
“Yes.”
Diane studied her for a second like she expected imperfection on principle.
“Good. And stay out of sight tonight.”
The words were casual.
Practiced.
Like she’d said them a hundred times before.
Maya lowered her eyes back to the cutting board. “Okay.”
Diane returned to her call without another glance. “If the sponsors aren’t happy, somebody’s getting fired.”
The kitchen doors swung shut behind her.
One of the catering staff muttered under her breath, “Your aunt scares me.”
Maya smiled faintly without looking up. “You get used to it.”
The woman snorted. “I don’t think I want to.”
Maya almost laughed.
Almost.
Instead, she focused on the strawberries again, dragging the knife carefully through the bright red fruit.
It was easier to pay attention to little things.
Little things didn’t hurt.
---
By noon, the house had transformed completely.
The Bennett mansion sat high above the city in one of Manhattan’s wealthiest neighborhoods, all glass walls and polished stone, the kind of place magazines loved photographing during Christmas charity galas.
Tonight’s event wasn’t charity.
It was visibility.
Vanessa Bennett had recently signed a collaboration performance for the Aurora Music Awards with Adrian Vale, which meant every entertainment blogger in New York suddenly cared about her existence.
So Diane was hosting a private pre-awards party.
Industry people only.
Photographers.
Stylists.
Influencers.
Music executives.
People who smiled too hard and looked around rooms calculating who mattered most.
Maya carried garment bags upstairs toward Vanessa’s room, careful not to wrinkle the fabric.
Halfway down the hallway, the bedroom door flew open.
“Oh my God, finally.”
Vanessa stood there in silk shorts and a cropped tank top, makeup half-finished, irritation already written across her face.
“You took forever.”
“I had to steam the silver dress first.”
“Well, now the curling iron isn’t hot enough.” Vanessa grabbed the garment bag from her hands. “Honestly, Maya, you move like you’ve been sedated.”
Maya stayed quiet.
Vanessa tossed the bag onto the bed before noticing Maya’s plain black T-shirt.
“You’re wearing that tonight?”
Maya glanced down automatically. “I’m working.”
“Still. At least try not to look depressing.”
The comment landed lightly, almost lazily cruel.
Not sharp enough to start a fight.
Just enough to leave a mark.
Vanessa turned back toward the mirror. “And don’t come downstairs while the livestreams are happening. Last time people kept asking who you were.”
Maya blinked once.
“Okay.”
Vanessa met her eyes in the mirror then, smile thin and pretty.
“I’m serious.”
For a second, neither of them spoke.
Then Vanessa picked up a lipstick tube and the moment disappeared as quickly as it came.
“You can go.”
Maya nodded and stepped back into the hallway.
The door shut in her face.
Softly.
Still somehow humiliating.
---
Her room sat at the far end of the third floor beside the laundry area.
Small.
Quiet.
Forgettable.
Maya closed the door behind her and leaned against it for a second.
Just breathing.
The noise downstairs sounded distant up here.
Muted laughter.
Music testing through speakers.
The constant movement of people preparing for something important.
She crossed the room slowly and knelt beside her bed.
Then reached underneath.
Her fingers brushed against canvas before she pulled the duffel bag free.
The zipper caught halfway.
It always did.
Inside were pieces of a life nobody downstairs knew existed.
Dance shoes.
Practice clothes.
A stack of old competition ribbons.
And a black notebook thick with choreography notes written in messy handwriting.
Maya opened it carefully.
Pages filled with movement sketches stared back at her.
Counts.
Transitions.
Music cues.
Ideas she only allowed herself to have in private.
She traced her thumb across one page absentmindedly.
When she was younger, she used to imagine herself onstage constantly.
Not famous.
Not adored.
Just… there.
Visible.
The thought embarrassed her now.
Dreams looked childish when nobody else believed in them.
A sharp knock rattled the door.
“Maya!”
Vanessa.
Maya closed the notebook immediately.
“What?”
“I need the backup heels!”
“They’re in your closet!”
“Well, get them!”
Maya stared at the ceiling for one long second before standing.
By the time she reached Vanessa’s room again, two makeup artists and a hairstylist were inside.
Vanessa sat in front of the mirror scrolling through comments on her phone.
“She’s trending already,” one of the makeup artists said excitedly.
“Well, obviously,” Vanessa replied.
Maya silently retrieved the heels from the closet.
As she turned to leave, one of the stylists looked at her curiously.
“Wait,” she said. “Are you related to Vanessa?”
The room went oddly still.
Vanessa answered before Maya could.
“She’s my cousin.”
The stylist smiled politely. “You guys don’t look alike.”
Vanessa laughed lightly. “Trust me, I know.”
The room joined in.
Not maliciously.
Which somehow made it worse.
Maya tightened her grip on the shoes.
Then walked out before anyone noticed the color rising in her cheeks.
---
By evening, the house glowed gold beneath chandelier light.
Music floated through the halls while guests arrived in sleek black cars outside the gates.
Maya moved quietly through the crowd carrying trays, collecting empty glasses, fixing decorations before anyone noticed they were crooked.
Invisible.
Efficient.
Easy to overlook.
Exactly how Diane preferred it.
Near the staircase, two influencers were whispering excitedly.
“Do you think Adrian’s actually coming?”
“He never shows up to these things.”
“He’s rehearsing with Vanessa. He might.”
Maya kept walking.
Still, she found herself listening.
She didn’t follow celebrity gossip much. She barely had time for her own thoughts most days.
But even she knew who Adrian Vale was.
Everybody did.
Singer.
Actor.
International obsession.
His face covered billboards across half the city.
And yet every interview clip she’d accidentally seen online carried the same strange thing in his eyes.
Exhaustion.
Like fame had become a room he couldn’t leave.
“Maya!”
She turned quickly.
Diane stood near the bar area, expression tight.
“The champagne on table six is warm.”
“I’ll replace it.”
“Then do it faster.”
Maya nodded and headed toward the kitchen.
On her way back, laughter erupted near the entrance.
A shift moved through the room instantly.
Subtle but immediate.
People straightened.
Voices sharpened with excitement.
Phones appeared discreetly in manicured hands.
Maya slowed near the hallway arch just as the front doors opened.
And there he was.
Adrian Vale stepped inside wearing black from head to toe, security trailing behind him while camera flashes burst from somewhere outside the gates.
For a moment, the room seemed to rearrange itself around him.
Not because he demanded attention.
Because attention followed him anyway.
He looked taller in person.
Sharper somehow.
Dark hair slightly messy like someone had run their hands through it too many times. Silver rings glinted briefly beneath the chandelier light as he greeted a producer near the door.
Beside Maya, one of the servers whispered, “Jesus Christ.”
Maya almost smiled.
Almost.
Vanessa crossed the room immediately, radiant and practiced.
“Adrian!”
He turned toward her with a polite smile.
“Hey.”
Vanessa touched his arm lightly. “You actually came.”
“You sounded threatening in your messages.”
She laughed too loudly at that.
People nearby joined in automatically.
Maya shifted the tray against her palms and tried to move around the growing crowd unnoticed.
Then somebody stepped backward suddenly.
Their shoulder collided with hers.
The tray tilted.
A champagne glass slipped.
Maya caught it instinctively—
—but cold liquid splashed across Adrian’s jacket.
The room fell silent.
Vanessa’s expression changed instantly.
“Oh my God,” she snapped. “Maya!”
Heat rushed into Maya’s face.
“I’m so sorry—”
She reached for a napkin, hands fumbling slightly.
Adrian looked down at the dark stain spreading across his sleeve.
Then at her.
Really at her.
Not through her.
His eyes flicked briefly to the way her fingers trembled around the tray.
And something in his expression softened.
“It’s fine,” he said quietly.
Vanessa let out a strained laugh. “She’s honestly a disaster sometimes.”
Maya stared at the floor. “I said I’m sorry.”
“It was an accident,” Adrian replied before Vanessa could continue.
His voice wasn’t sharp.
But it ended the conversation anyway.
For one strange second, silence settled between him and Maya despite the noise around them.
She noticed then that his eyes looked different up close.
Not cold.
Just tired.
Like he spent too much time pretending he wasn’t.
“You okay?” he asked.
The question caught her off guard.
Nobody asked her that.
Not here.
Maya looked up slightly.
“Yeah,” she said softly. “I’m okay.”
Something unreadable crossed his face then.
Small.
Quick.
Gone almost immediately.
A woman near the entrance called Adrian’s n
ame, breaking the moment apart.
He glanced away. “Excuse me.”
Vanessa slipped easily back into his orbit, smiling for cameras again as she guided him toward the center of the room.
And just like that—
the moment ended.
Maya stood still for a second longer than necessary.
Then bent quietly to clean the spilled champagne from the floor while conversations resumed around her.
Invisible again.
Still…
her pulse didn’t settle for a very long time.
- Writer
