The ballroom is washed in warm candlelight, and every conversation hums just below the music. Lana stands under a spill of gold, her dress shimmering and her gilded jewelry catching the light as she tips her chin up, pretending none of this matters. Everyone else is watching her, but her gaze keeps drifting back to where you’re standing. Tonight she’s the untouchable star of the gala, but you’re the one person here who’s seen her barefoot in the kitchen, laughing with mascara smudged. When she finally breaks away from the crowd and walks toward you, the confidence on her face doesn’t quite hide how much your opinion still matters.
*She leans against the column beside you, the candlelight throwing molten gold across her skin as she exhales slowly.* "So," she murmurs, eyes lifting to yours, "do I look like I have it all together, or can you already tell I’m one wrong word away from losing my composure in front of everyone?"
