(Celeste Ashford — POV)
I had barely stepped into the house when my father's voice stopped me.
"Celeste."
I turned immediately.
He was standing in his study, jacket off, sleeves neatly rolled up, a tablet in his hand. He didn't look up at first. He rarely did when he was issuing instructions.
"There will be a tea talk this afternoon," he said. "I've already invited Naomi Blake and Ethan Rowe."
I nodded slowly. "Today?"
"Yes. In an hour." He finally looked at me then. "You'll change into something appropriate. This isn't casual."
Of course it wasn't.
"These are the kind of people you should be associating with," he continued, his tone firm but calm. "Their families understand influence. Being around them will shape you correctly."
Correctly.
"I already see them every day at school," I said carefully.
"That doesn't matter," he replied. "School friendships are uncontrolled. This setting is intentional."
I said nothing after that. There was no point.
"Don't be late," he added, already turning back to his tablet.
I went upstairs in silence.
---
By the time I returned, the tea room looked exactly how my father liked it perfectly arranged, untouched by personality. Naomi Blake was already there, seated elegantly, scrolling through her phone.
"Celeste!" she said brightly when she saw me. "Your house somehow looks bigger every time I come."
"That's because it's trying to impress you," Ethan Rowe said, walking in behind her with an easy smile.
I sat down across from them. "Or intimidate."
Naomi laughed. "Your father doesn't do anything halfway."
The tea was poured, and the conversation began almost immediately.
"So," Naomi said, lifting her cup, "your father called this a 'character-building session.' I nearly declined just to see his reaction."
Ethan smirked. "You're braver than I am. My parents practically pushed me out the door."
I smiled faintly. "Mine planned it."
Naomi glanced at me. "Obviously."
They talked about school next upcoming tests, teachers who took themselves too seriously, the constant pressure to outperform everyone else. We all went to the same elite school, wore the same uniforms, sat in the same classrooms.
Yet the expectations followed us everywhere.
"My mother wants me to start attending board meetings," Naomi said with a sigh. "Apparently, sixteen is old enough to learn responsibility."
Ethan leaned back. "My father wants me to shadow him during holidays. No breaks. Just preparation."
They both looked at me.
"And you?" Naomi asked gently.
I hesitated. "My life already feels planned."
There was a brief silence.
Ethan broke it with a soft chuckle. "Well, at least we're suffering in style."
Naomi smiled, but her eyes held something knowing. "We're lucky, Celeste. That's what they keep telling us."
I nodded. Lucky.
The word sat uncomfortably in my chest.
When the tea talk finally ended, my father seemed satisfied. Naomi hugged me lightly before leaving.
"See you at school tomorrow," she said. "Try not to disappear into responsibility."
Ethan gave me a small wave. "Survive."
I watched them go, the room returning to its polished quiet.
Another obligation completed.
Another day controlled
---
Jaden (POV)
I only came on days like this.
When the house was louder than usual, when guests were expected, when my mother needed an extra pair of hands to keep up with the demands of a mansion that never accepted anything less than perfection.
I tied the apron tighter around my waist and followed her instructions without complaint. Cooking had never been a burden to me. My father owned a bakery, and I'd grown up measuring flour by instinct and timing ovens by smell. Helping my mother came naturally.
"Careful with that tray," she whispered as we passed the corridor leading to the tea room.
I nodded.
That was when I saw her.
Celeste Ashford sat straight-backed at the center of the table, porcelain cup resting lightly between her fingers. Everything about her screamed control her posture, her expression, the way she smiled at exactly the right moments.
Across from her were Naomi Blake and Ethan Rowe. I recognized them. Everyone did. Same school. Same polished confidence. Same world Celeste belonged to but never seemed fully comfortable in.
Their voices drifted through the open doorway.
Soft laughter. Polite agreement. Conversations that sounded important but said very little.
I set down a tray and paused longer than I should have.
Celeste nodded as one of them spoke, her smile practiced. Not forced just… trained. Like someone who'd been taught that appearing interested mattered more than actually being so.
I'd seen that look before.
Not in my father's bakery. Not in my mother's tired smiles when she came home late. But here, in places like this where comfort didn't equal freedom.
I went back to work, chopping vegetables with steady hands. Still, the sound of their voices lingered.
Tea talks.
I almost laughed under my breath.
Anyone could tell it would be boring. Hours of words meant to impress, meant to shape, meant to remind someone of who they were supposed to become. No space to breathe. No room to be real.
I glanced once more toward the room.
Celeste laughed quietly at something Ethan said. It sounded polite. Expected.
Not genuine.
I shook my head and returned to my task, murmuring to myself,
"Yeah… this is definitely not her idea of fun."
By the time we finished cleaning up, the mansion had gone quiet again.
The guests were gone. The laughter had faded. Only the faint clink of dishes and the hum of distant lights remained. My mother wiped her hands on her apron, exhaustion written across her face, but she still smiled.
"You did well today," she said softly.
I nodded. "You too, Mom."
We left the mansion together, the gates closing behind us with the same finality they always did. Big houses had a way of reminding you when you didn't belong to them.
I parted ways with my mother at the junction and headed in the opposite direction, backpack slung over one shoulder. My body was tired, but my mind refused to rest.
Some days felt heavier than others.
Helping my mother. Helping my father at the bakery. Balancing school in between. It wasn't that I hated it I didn't. I loved my family. I loved the smell of fresh bread in the mornings and the quiet pride in my father's eyes when customers praised his work.
But life had never been fair.
I walked until I reached my own escape the place I went when the noise became too much. It wasn't grand or hidden behind luxury. Just an old, forgotten spot where the city lights looked softer and the air felt honest.
My safe haven.
I sat down and leaned back, staring up at the sky. Somewhere out there, people lived lives that were already decided for them. Others, like mine, were spent fighting just to stay afloat.
I thought about school.
The scholarship.
One word that carried everything pressure, hope, fear. It was the only reason I was there, walking the same hallways as people who never worried about tuition or rent. One mistake and it could all disappear.
I couldn't afford to fail.
Not when my parents had sacrificed so much. Not when my father woke before dawn to bake. Not when my mother stood on her feet all day in houses that weren't hers.
I clenched my hands briefly, then relaxed them.
"This is just how it is," I muttered to myself.
Life wasn't fair but it was mine. And as long as I had this place, this quiet moment to breathe and think, I could keep going.
Tomorrow would come with its own challenges. It always did.
But for now, under the open sky, I allowed myself to rest.