I stood in front of the mirror, fastening the last button on my crisp white shirt. The fabric was smooth, the fit perfect, as it should be.
The trousers were tailored too, hugging my frame in all the right places. I looked polished, professional confident, even. But inside, I felt none of those things.
This dinner wasn't something I wanted to do. It wasn't even something I'd agreed to out of obligation.
It was because Grandma had asked me, her quiet yet insistent way of nudging me toward doing the "right" thing, even when it felt all wrong. And saying no to her? That wasn't something I could do.
I ran a hand through my hair, slicking it back just enough to look sharp but not overly done. The reflection in the mirror stared back at me, poised and composed. A perfect picture. But behind the mask, my thoughts were a tangled mess.
Layla.