Elizabeth's pov
I wake before my alarm, like I always do. My body sticks to a routine it learned years ago, long before university or full-time work. Responsibility has a way of training you, especially when you grow up knowing no one's coming to save you. You save yourself. You save the people you love.
For a moment, I stay still under the blanket and listen. There's the faint hum of morning traffic outside the window, and from downstairs I hear soft movements in the kitchen. That'll be my aunt, Massie. She's been getting up before sunrise for as long as I can remember, a habit burned into her from running her pastry shop.
I sit up, rubbing my hand through my hair as I adjust to the quiet. Early mornings are the only time the house feels calm. In an hour, Rose will tear through the hallway shouting about having nothing to wear, and I'll pretend not to laugh even though her closet is overflowing. For now, though, I get this small pocket of peace.
I stand and stretch, easing the stiffness in my shoulders. The bedroom is cramped, but it's home. Rose's bed is empty—of course it is. She stays up late sketching or cramming for something, and she always sleeps until the last second.
I pull a clean blouse and some tailored pants from the wardrobe, then head into the hallway. The sweet smell of vanilla and butter drifts up from the kitchen, warm and familiar. Massie must be testing a new recipe again.
When I step into the kitchen, she's at the counter, kneading dough while humming one of the old love songs my mother used to sing. It hits me in the chest for a second. Massie has always had that effect—comfort mixed with memories I can't quite touch without hurting.
"Morning," I say, my voice low.
She looks up and smiles in that soft, effortless way she has. "Good morning, Lizzie. You're up early."
"Couldn't sleep." I grab a glass of water and lean against the counter. "Big meeting today. Leonard wants everything ready before nine."
"Does he ever not want everything ready before nine?" she asks, wiping her hands on her apron.
I smirk. "Not once in the entire time I've worked for him."
She steps closer and wraps an arm around me, warm and steady. "You work too hard."
I shrug a little. "Someone has to."
She pauses, studying my face with that aunt instinct she always has. "You don't have to carry everything alone."
That familiar sentence slides between us, the one she uses when she sees the weight I pretend isn't there. I don't want to unpack it before seven in the morning. Not when she's up to her elbows in dough and her shop is barely keeping her afloat. Not when Rose needs things I haven't figured out how to provide yet.
"I'm fine," I say out of habit.
Her eyes soften in a way that tells me she knows I'm dodging the point, but she lets it go. "There's breakfast on the stove. Eat something before you leave."
"I will."
I don't move toward the food just yet. I like standing here a little longer—the warm kitchen, the smell of fresh dough, the quiet rhythm of Massie working. It grounds me before the day starts tugging me every which way.
By the time I reach the bus stop, the city is waking up. Vendors roll open their carts. Cars crowd the streets. Students hurry past with backpacks thumping against their sides. I slip into the flow easily.
The commute to Starlight Enterprises isn't long, but it always feels like traveling between two different lives. My neighborhood is small and familiar; Starlight is sleek, demanding, and full of polished people who walk like they're late even when they aren't.
On the bus, I unlock my phone and scroll through my emails. Leonard has already sent three new requests, one calendar change, and a note about a "small presentation" that definitely won't be small. HR wants something from me too. And two threads at the top of my inbox already look like they're going to explode into a mess.
I sigh quietly, slip my phone back into my bag, and rest my head against the window. The buildings blur past as I exhale.
Across the aisle, a couple sits close together, laughing at something on the man's phone. They look… light. That's the word I think of. Light in a way I've never been. Not since I was eleven. Not since everything split apart and Massie picked up the pieces and glued us into a new shape.
I don't envy them—not exactly. But there's a small ache in me when I see people who love without fear. People who don't check to make sure everything is stable before they let someone in.
For me, love has always looked like work. Like showing up. Like staying even when it hurts. I learned that from Massie, from Rose, from everything we've survived together.
Trust takes time. Maybe too much time.
I look out the window again and let the morning settle around me.
Starlight Enterprises sits in the center of the city, tall and sharp like it's competing with the sky. The building shines in the morning light, all glass and steel and a kind of polished confidence I've never quite managed to imitate. People hurry in and out through the revolving doors—sleek suits, perfect hair, clipped voices. I always feel like I'm stepping onto a stage when I walk through the lobby.
I swipe my keycard, offer a quick nod to Marcus at security, then head toward the elevators. My phone buzzes again. Another email. Leonard must have woken up with his brain in overdrive. He has a talent for sending ten separate messages that all technically relate to the same thing but arrive as if the world will end if I don't read them immediately.
The elevator doors start to close when someone slips in at the last second—a woman from accounting whose name I always forget. She gives me a polite smile, the kind people use when they recognize your face but not your life. I return it, then turn slightly to the side, already slipping into work mode.
By the time I reach the twenty-fourth floor, I've mentally sorted the day into color-coded categories: urgent, soon-to-be urgent, avoid-at-all-costs, and Leonard's version of "urgent" which usually means "I just thought of this and now you must think of nothing else."
The door to Leonard's office is already cracked open, and I spot him pacing behind his desk with a phone pressed to his ear. He's tall, silver-haired, and always looks like he's planning something three steps ahead of everyone else. At sixty, his energy outmatches half the interns.
"Elizabeth," he says, pausing mid-conversation to wave me inside. "Good. You're here. Sit. No—stand. Actually, check your email. I sent a list." Then he's back to the call without missing a beat.
I bite back a smile. I'm used to him. He's demanding, but he trusts me, and in a strange way that makes the pressure easier to carry.
I settle at my desk just outside his office, pull up the list he mentioned, and start organizing the chaos. For every request Leonard sends, five more appear from managers who need his approval or want me to "run something by him because he listens to you." It's flattering in theory, but in practice it means I spend most days playing translator for a man who refuses to slow down.
I get through the first few tasks quickly—schedule changes, budget notes, a reminder about an upcoming collaboration meeting with Global Legacy Inc. That one sticks in my mind for a moment. Global Legacy has been all over the news lately for their aggressive expansion and their new CEO, Liam Smith. People say he's brilliant, cold, and allergic to small talk. A triple threat in corporate circles.
I've never met him, but Leonard seems both impressed and annoyed by him—always a fun combination in my line of work.
While sorting through another cluster of emails, I sense movement and look up to see Rose texting me.
Rose:Did you take my brown jacket?
I shake my head and text back.
Me:No. Try under the pile of clothes you keep pretending isn't a pile.
Her typing bubble pops up instantly.
Rose:Wow. Attacked at 9:15 AM.
Me:I love you. Go to class.
Rose:Fine. Bring pastries home later?
I smile despite myself and slip my phone away. Rose is dramatic in a way I'll never be brave enough to attempt. She feels everything without apologizing for it. Sometimes I envy that.
I return to the spreadsheet on my screen, checking off items as I go. Hours pass like this—emails, calls, follow-ups, tidying messes I didn't make. It's busy but familiar, the kind of structure that keeps my mind steady.
Around noon, Leonard steps out of his office, a folder in one hand and a look of mild irritation on his face.
"Elizabeth," he says, "Global Legacy wants to move the presentation to Friday instead of next week."
"Oh." I pull up the schedule. "That gives us two days form tomorrow."
"Exactly."
"Why the sudden change?"
He taps the folder without answering, which is his way of saying the change annoyed him too.
"Prepare the draft summary by this evening," he says. "And have the final numbers ready for Mr. Smith's review."
"Mr. Smith… as in Liam Smith?"
"Yes." Leonard's brows lift. "Try not to let him scare you. He's all bark and no bite."
"That's what people usually say right before introducing me to someone who bites."
Leonard actually laughs. "You'll survive. Tell him what he needs to hear and make it sound like it was his idea."
I blink. "Isn't that manipulative?"
"Elizabeth," he says, lowering his voice, "you work in real estate development. Everything is manipulative."
He disappears back into his office before I can argue.
By three, I need air.
The office is modern and pretty, but the recycled air and constant emails make it feel like a glass aquarium. I grab my bag and head downstairs to the café Starlight shares with two other companies in the building.
The line is short, thankfully. When it's my turn, I order a chai latte and step aside to wait for it. My brain finally quiets for the first time all day.
Then my phone buzzes again, this time with a call. I see Aunt Massie's name and answer quickly.
"Hey," I say. "Everything okay?"
On the other end, she sounds out of breath. "Yes, yes. Just calling to remind you I'll be closing early today. We have that supplier meeting."
"Oh, right. Thanks for reminding me."
"And don't forget to eat something," she adds. "You walked right past breakfast like it offended you."
I grin. "I was running late."
"You're always running late."
"I'm working on it."
"No, you're not," she says warmly. "But I love you anyway."
"I love you too."
I hang up just as my chai latte is ready and head back toward the elevators.
As I step inside, two employees from another floor join me. They're deep in conversation, not bothering to lower their voices.
"Did you see the announcement?" one of them says. "Global Legacy is sending Liam Smith himself for Friday's meeting."
The other whistles. "Poor Elizabeth Williams. She works with Leonard every day; now she has to deal with him too."
I blink. They don't notice me. Or maybe they don't care. I slip into the corner and pretend I'm invisible.
"Smith is brutal," the first continues. "My cousin works at their Europe branch. Says he's sharp but impossible to please. Fired an entire design team last year."
"People say he doesn't believe in love either," the second adds with a shrug. "Cold-hearted type."
They exit on the twentieth floor, still chatting.
I'm left alone with the faint hum of the elevator and a slow, growing heaviness in my chest.
Impossible to please. Brutal. Cold-hearted.
Great. Just what I needed.
The doors open on my floor. I step out and take a long sip of chai like maybe it can fortify me for whatever Friday is going to bring.
By five, I finish the summary Leonard wanted and send it to him. He doesn't respond, so I assume it's acceptable. With Leonard, no news is usually good news.
I gather my things and step outside into the cool evening air. The city smells like a mix of traffic, street food, and the faintest hint of rain.
On the bus ride home, I glance through the presentation notes again, trying to imagine what kind of man Liam Smith is. News articles show a polished CEO with sharp features and eyes that give away nothing. Rumors paint him as ruthless. And something about the way people talk about him makes me wonder if they're exaggerating or just intimidated.
Maybe both.
Either way, Friday is going to be… interesting.
When I reach home, Rose is sprawled on the couch with textbooks everywhere. Massie's in the kitchen again, cleaning up from the supplier meeting.
"Lizzie," Rose calls, sitting up. "Did you bring pastries?"
I laugh. "Let me breathe first."
We eat dinner together—simple food, loud conversation, the comfort of belonging. These are the moments that make everything else tolerable.
Later, after washing dishes, I sit on my bed and stare at the ceiling. My day feels long behind me, but Friday lingers in my mind like a shadow. Something hums under my skin, a sense that my life is about to shift in a way I can't name yet.
Maybe I'm imagining it.
Maybe I'm not.
Either way, morning will come, and I'll do what I always do—get up, show up, and keep everything together.
Even if the world is changing around me.