Serenity
I didn't need to look at the time to know I was running late.
The penthouse buzzed with a cold efficiency I still couldn't understand. A blur of black suits, perfectly styled hair, and the hum of things I couldn't yet name. But the same emptiness filled the rooms—the same hollow feeling that had settled into my chest the moment I walked into this life.
I smoothed my dress down and stood in front of the mirror again. The person staring back at me was polished, perfect even, but every day she seemed more distant. She wasn’t me, or at least not the version I remembered. There was a version of me who used to wear vintage sweaters, walk barefoot on cold floors, and write poetry in a notebook no one would ever read. But that girl was slipping away, and the harder I tried to hold on,
