I knew something was off the moment I came downstairs.
The house smelled like roses and champagne. Soft music floated in the air, the kind that plays during expensive charity events where everyone claps politely and no one says what they really mean.
"Claire!" Mom's voice rang out from the bottom of the stairs. She looked radiant—hair done, makeup glowing, dressed in a wine-colored cocktail dress that hugged her like a second skin. "You're just in time."
"For what?" I asked slowly.
James appeared beside her, holding two flutes of champagne—one for her, one for him. "Your welcome party, of course."
I blinked. "You… threw a party for me?"
Mom grinned, clearly pleased with herself. "We wanted to introduce you properly. To James's circle. To our circle now."
I hadn't even been in LA a full week.
Before I could protest, guests began pouring in—smiling, dressed in diamonds, polished to perfection. People I didn't know. People who already seemed to know me.
A man in a tailored navy suit leaned in. "You must be Claire. Your mother's told us so much."
A woman with sharp red lipstick whispered, "You look just like her when she was your age."
I tried to smile. Tried to play the part. But I felt like a doll on a shelf—beautiful, quiet, posed.
Adrian arrived late.
Of course.
Wearing a black dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up just enough to be infuriating. The second he walked in, the air shifted. People turned. Conversations lowered. He didn't smile. Didn't greet anyone beyond a short nod to his father.
Then, his eyes found mine.
And lingered.
Long enough to make my heart flutter. Long enough for me to forget I hated parties like this.
The crowd hushed as James stepped forward, tapping a spoon gently against his glass. His voice carried easily across the room.
"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for joining us tonight. It's not every day we get to welcome a new member into our home, and our family."
My throat tightened.
He turned to me. "Claire, you may not carry my name, but you carry something just as important—my trust, and my respect. You're part of this now. And I couldn't be prouder to call you my daughter."
A few guests clapped. My mom wiped at the corner of her eye like it was the most beautiful thing she'd ever heard.
Then she stepped forward, champagne still in hand.
"I've watched Claire grow into the most compassionate, quietly brilliant young woman. She's been through more than most people know, and she still walks through life with so much grace. I know this change hasn't been easy. But Claire, I believe in you. And I know this world will too."
I wanted to melt into the floor.
The clapping grew louder, and all I could do was nod, trying to look touched instead of overwhelmed.
Then, to my horror, James turned to Adrian.
"Son, would you like to say something?"
A pause.
Adrian looked like he might say no.
Then he stepped forward, glass in hand, and silence followed him like it always did.
His eyes flicked to me—just for a moment—and then he spoke.
"Claire and I don't know each other well. Yet. But I've seen enough to know she doesn't need anyone's approval to belong here. And she's not the type to ask for permission to become who she's meant to be."
A few people murmured their approval. But his eyes were still on mine.
"She doesn't wear this world like a coat—she walks through it like she's studying it, deciding if it deserves her attention. And for that reason alone, I think we're lucky to have her here."
Then he looked away, raised his glass slightly, and added, "Welcome to the madness."
Everyone clinked glasses. People smiled. But I stood frozen.
Because no one had ever spoken about me like that before.
And Adrian? He said it with a voice that told me he wasn't just talking about me—he was warning me. Or maybe, warning everyone else.
Either way, I heard it loud and clear.
This world didn't own me.
But neither did he.
Not yet.
The party blurred after that.
Polished smiles. Perfume clouds. Too many congratulations from strangers who didn't know my last name a week ago. Somewhere between the third flute of champagne and Mom's fourth story about how I used to sing to the dishwasher as a kid, I slipped away.
Out through the side terrace, onto the balcony that wrapped around the back of the mansion.
The city stretched below like a spilled galaxy—too bright to feel real.
The music was muffled through the glass. The air out here was cooler, quieter. I leaned on the railing, kicked off my shoes, and let myself breathe for the first time all night.
"You made it through the night without slapping anyone."
I turned.
Adrian was there—shadowed by the soft lights along the balcony's edge, a drink in his hand and his shirt sleeves still rolled. Watching me with that unreadable look again.
"Barely," I muttered. "Do you always get dragged into speeches like that?"
He smirked. "Only when my father's trying to prove we're a functional family."
"Mission failed."
He leaned on the railing beside me, his shoulder inches from mine. "You hate parties."
"Is it that obvious?"
"You were holding your glass like a weapon."
I laughed—quietly. He smiled, the kind of smile that's rare and unguarded and gone too quickly. Then he looked out at the city again, and something shifted in the silence between us.
"You didn't have to say what you did," I said softly.
He glanced at me. "I meant it."
I looked away. "You don't even know me."
"I know enough."
I turned back to him, heart beating too fast. "Like what?"
He stepped a little closer. Not touching—but near enough that I felt the warmth radiate off his skin. His voice dropped, smooth and low.
"I know you hate attention but need to feel seen. I know you don't trust easily, but when you do, it's with everything you have. I know you watch people—study them—not to judge, but to protect yourself. You smile when you're nervous. You keep your hands in your pockets when you feel small. And when you're alone, really alone, you press your thumb against your palm like you're trying to ground yourself."
I froze.
Because everything he said was true. And no one—not even my mom—had ever noticed those things.
"How do you know that?" I whispered.
He looked at me, eyes darker now. "Because I've been watching."
The air thickened. My breath caught in my throat. The city buzzed below, but up here—on this balcony—there was nothing but us and the kind of silence that says too much.
"You're dangerous," I said quietly.
He leaned closer, just enough for me to feel the whisper of his words.
"So are you."
Then he stepped back, breaking the spell, and walked away—leaving me standing barefoot under a golden sky, heart racing like I'd just touched fire.
And maybe I had.