Where stars collide

Chapter 1: The glass mansion Kiana's Pov My alarm goes off again, the second time in a row. I move to hit the snooze button , but my brain stopped the movement. I should get up. I’m already late, and it’s my first day of school. “Ugh,” groaning, I dragged myself out of bed and stretched. Another year of high school. Whoever invented school… I’m immediately imagining the nasty things I’d do to him for putting me through this hell. It’s not like high school is awful—I shouldn’t even complain. My life is perfect. It just gets boring. Same routine, same people, same drama. I sigh, pulling on the outfit I’d picked out last night—a purple sundress with red hues that matched my hair. Checking myself in the mirror, I smooth the fabric and fluff my curls. My hair falls down my back like silk. “Perfect,” I mumble. My mom calls it a “family hairloom.” The joke makes me smile every time. Apparently, every woman in our family inherits this long, fiery red hair. I finish with mascara and a swipe of lip gloss. My sea-green eyes, ringed with gold, stare back at me. I used to hate them, but now they feel like my signature. Downstairs smells like heaven—vanilla pancakes, maple syrup, and strawberries. My favorite. “Morning, Mom,” I said, stepping into the kitchen. My mom was sitting at the counter, wrapped in her velvet robe, looking like she just stepped out of a magazine. Her waist-length hair gleams in the morning light. “Morning, Kiana,” she says, giving me a once-over. Her eyes narrow slightly. “Hmm. You’re wearing that to school?” “Why? What’s wrong with it?” My voice is sharper than I intended, but I can’t help it. She tilts her head, studying me like she’s critiquing a painting. “It’s… nice,” she finally says, her tone making it sound like a half-compliment. I sighed in relief and grabbed a plate from the chef. “Thanks, Stefan”. He smiles warmly. “First day of school needs a good breakfast.” Stefan has worked with my family for a while now, and if there's anyone that understands the tension and moods of my family, it's him. I sat across from my mom and dug into the pancakes. “So good,” I mumbled with my mouth full. “Kiana,” my mom snaps, swatting me lightly on the head. “No talking with your mouth full.” “Sorry.” I rolled my eyes but kept chewing in silence. After a few moments, she broke the silence.“Your father isn’t coming home until next week.” I pause mid-bite and glance up. Her face is unreadable, but there’s something in her voice. Sadness? “Why?” I asked, setting down my fork. “He’s… busy,” she says, brushing off the question. Then she stands abruptly. “You should get going. You’re already late.” Watching her walk toward the patio, her voice drifting back. “Tell Stefan to pack your lunch. And Kiana—” “Yes?” “You look nice today,” she says without turning around. I blinked, caught off guard. Compliments from her are rare. “Uh, thanks,” I manage, but she’s already out of sight. Dad was always busy. It's been that way for as long as I can remember. He owns several companies, from retail shopping to construction and food production. I guess that's a lot to keep a man busy. I've never had a problem with his schedule. I secretly like it when it's just one parent present. Both my parents, together, always cause tension. Mom can't stand how long dad stays away from the family, and he can't stand her complaints. Mom inherited the family business after her dad died. I remember when I was little she'd work a lot too, but Dad convinced her to hand over the company to him. He promised he'd manage it while she took care of the family and be the lady of the house. Every time they're together there's one problem with the company or the other. Mom thinks he isn't managing her company properly, he'd insist she's only being paranoid. I've heard stories of my mom, from her teenage and college years. She was happy and free-spirited, strong-willed and confident. I wonder what changed, what's made her so unhappy. Most days she wouldn't get out of her room, only bottles of wine go in and come out empty. Other days she'd spend shopping in the mall till it was dark, and the driver had to get her because she was too drunk to drive. I miss my mom. I miss when she'd spend the day with me in my room sorting out my outfits and planning our next vacation together. I knew there was something wrong, she wasn't always like this and deep down I knew my dad had something to do with it, but I couldn't confront him about it. I couldn't do anything about it but watch my mom being unhappy and sad. It killed me. I hated myself for not doing more. For not walking into my mom’s room and pulling her out of bed. For not asking her if she was okay when she stared blankly at her wine glass, as if the answer to her pain was at the bottom of the bottle. But I also hated my dad for putting her in this position. I hated how he could come and go as he pleased, acting like he didn’t notice the pieces of her breaking every time he left. But what could I do? What could I possibly say to either of them that wouldn’t make things worse? If I told Dad, he’d deny it or brush me off. If I told Mom, I’d only remind her of how much she’s hurting. So, I stayed silent. Maybe I was just like Dad—ignoring everything, hoping it would fix itself. The thought made me sick. I never showed her or anyone I cared so much. I couldn't even comfort her when she needed it, I just couldn't accept my family was falling apart, it was far from perfect. I wanted to live in denial, maybe ignoring it would make everything go away. So that's what I did. Acted perfect, like everything was fine. I could never let anyone know about my family, if they knew everything would change. I grab my lunch and head to my car, a sleek gray convertible my dad gave me last year. It gleamed in the driveway, just how my parents like it—shiny and perfect. i got into the car. Taking a deep breath, I stared at my reflection. “I’m perfect. I’m beautiful. I’m Kiana,” I whisper, repeating my Mantra as I glide out of the driveway.