SEIRRA'S POINT OF VIEW
I was seated at the long, polished mahogany table, surrounded by people in suits who looked like they had the world in their pockets. Everyone looked so sharp, so ready, so full of big words and clever plans. And yet, all eyes were on me. No, literally. All eyes were really on me.
“Sierra Morgan,” one of the officials said with a chuckle, “you’re honestly a storm in heels. How do you pull all this off and still look like you got eight hours of sleep?”
The table erupted in laughter. I smiled—small, polite—but inside, I didn’t even know what expression to wear anymore. Compliments? I’d gotten used to them. Praise? I hear it so often now it barely even made me blink. But still… it felt weird sometimes. Like I was watching someone else live this life. Like I was just
