I didn't go to work today
For the first time in a long while, I allowed myself to stay home without guilt gnawing at me every second. The awards night loomed too close, too heavy in my thoughts, and pretending to focus on sketches and fabric patterns would have been pointless. Today wasn't about work—it was about preparation, about surviving an evening I still wasn't convinced I belonged in.
The house was unusually quiet. Mum had gone out earlier, Dad buried himself in his newspaper, and I stayed in my room, moving slowly, carefully, as though rushing would somehow make the night arrive faster.
By noon, the nervousness had settled in.
Not the sharp, panicky kind—but the deep, restless kind that sat in my stomach and refused to leave. I tried distracting myself by cleaning my room, reorganizing my wardrobe, even staring at my phone for far too long. Nothing worked.
Belle called just as I was lying on my bed, staring at the ceiling.
"Still breathing?" she asked cheerfully.
"Barely," I replied.
She laughed. "Relax. I'll see you at the event later. You'll be fine, Elera. You always are."
I wished I believed her.
When the call ended, I sat up and exhaled slowly. There was no avoiding it now.
I needed to start getting ready.
The shower helped—warm water washing over my skin, easing some of the tension I had been carrying since morning. When I stepped out, wrapped in a towel, I caught my reflection in the mirror. I barely recognized the girl staring back at me. Bare-faced. Vulnerable. Ordinary.
"Not for long," I whispered to myself.
Makeup came first. Slowly. Carefully. I took my time, hands steady despite the nerves.
Foundation smooth and even.
Eyes lined perfectly, just enough to make them stand out without screaming for attention.
A soft shimmer on my lids, mascara curling my lashes until they framed my eyes just right.
Then my lips—a peach-red gloss, paired with the perfect lip combo Belle had forced me to learn over time.
I leaned closer to the mirror.
"Goddess Selene," I muttered, tilting my head.
"Clock it," I chuckled softly.
The dress came next.
Black. Tight. Strapless. Open at the back.
For a moment, I hesitated, fingers gripping the fabric. This wasn't me. I wasn't bold. I wasn't confident. I wasn't someone who walked into rooms and owned them.
But tonight, I would try.
I slipped it on.
The girl in the mirror transformed.
Red heels followed, clicking softly against the floor as I stood. Jewelry—simple but elegant. A necklace resting perfectly against my collarbone. Earrings catching the light. I styled my hair carefully, letting it fall just right over my shoulders, framing my face.
One final touch—fragrance.
I inhaled slowly.
God damn it.
I was good to go.
It was already past eight when the door to my room opened.
Mum stepped inside.
She stopped.
For a moment, she just stared.
"You look like a princess, honey," she said quietly.
My chest tightened.
Coming from her—from my cold, emotionally reserved mum—it meant more than she would ever know.
"Thanks, Mum," I said softly.
She nodded once, then cleared her throat. "Well, your date is here."
My eyes widened instantly. "Mum? He's not my date. He's my boss."
She rolled her eyes. "Then explain why you're going out with him."
I sighed, already tired. "We've been over this. It's an awards night. I'm representing my company with him. Not a date. If I ever get a date, I'll let you know. Please stop creating stories in your head."
She frowned. "You're not getting any younger."
"Mum, I'm twenty. Twenty—not thirty. I'm still really young—"
"Enough with the chit-chatting," Dad interrupted as he walked in. "Elera, your boss is waiting."
I could've hugged him.
At least someone had sense.
I grabbed my clutch, took one last look around my room, and walked out.
Mr. Orion stood outside beside his black car, composed as ever.
When his eyes met mine, something unreadable flickered across his face.
"Well," he said, opening the car door for me, "you understood the assignment when I said 'dress appropriately.'"
I smiled, nerves fluttering. "Thank you, sir. You don't look bad yourself."
He chuckled softly, and for a moment, the tension eased.
The ride, however, was awkward.
Silent.
The city lights blurred past the window as I stared outside, my hands folded tightly in my lap. He focused on the road, calm and professional. Every now and then, I wondered if I should say something—anything—but the words never came.
Soon enough, the car slowed.
We had arrived.
Grand.
That was the only word my mind could form.
The venue glowed under bright lights, luxury dripping from every corner. Tall pillars. Shimmering glass. A red carpet stretched out before us like something out of a dream.
Thank God I dressed nicely.
Mr. Orion stepped out first, then offered me his arm.
I hesitated.
Then I took it.
Cameras flashed instantly.
Click. Flash. Click.
My heart pounded as we walked forward, arms locked, smiles practiced. I felt exposed—seen in ways I had never experienced before. The noise, the lights, the attention—it was overwhelming.
Inside was even worse.
So many people.
So much elegance.
So much power in one room.
I swallowed hard.
This wasn't just an awards night.
This was a world I had never stepped into before.
And somehow—terrifyingly—I was now part of it.