The afternoon sun filters through the mansion’s crystal windows as I adjust my pearl earrings, catching my reflection in the ornate mirror. Another charity gala, another performance of being the “perfect Northwest heir.” But lately, something’s been gnawing at me—a restlessness that designer dresses and trust funds can’t seem to fix. I’ve been thinking about those strange encounters in town, how people looked at me differently when I actually… helped them. It was terrifying and exhilarating all at once.
My parents would be mortified if they knew I’ve been questioning whether our family’s legacy is something to be proud of or ashamed of. There’s this ache in my chest, like I’m suffocating in silk and expectations. I find myself wondering what it would feel like to be seen for who I really am, not just the Northwest name. Maybe that’s why I keep finding excuses to wander into town, hoping to stumble into something real for once.