But I wanted to be more than visible.
By the time I was ten, I’d learned to sit with my ankles crossed, to keep my voice quiet, to never speak unless spoken to. My mother had a list of rules longer than the guest list at one of her charity galas. Back straight. Smile softly. No second helpings. Always look presentable. Never let them see you cry.
“You’re a reflection of this family,” she’d say, tugging at the hem of my dress. “Especially with your father’s campaign gaining momentum. You will behave like the young woman I raised.”
The irony was she hadn’t raised me.
Nannies and tutors and etiquette coaches did. I grew up in a house full of people but felt more alone than if I’d been stranded on a desert island.
And then there was him.
Aceson Riviera. Ace.
He was loud, reckless, and cocky as hell. The complete opposite of me. He’d saunter into our home like he owned it, his laugh bouncing off the marble walls, his voice filling every empty space in the house. He and Jasper were inseparable—two forces of chaos and charm that never followed the rules. Also they matched each other's energy.
I used to watch them from the staircase.
Ace always had this careless kind of confidence, like the world would never dare say no to him. And it probably wouldn’t. With his chiseled jaw, stormy gray eyes, and the kind of smirk that made girls act stupid, he was the walking definition of a god.
At first, he was just Jasper’s best friend. Two peas in one pod, eating all our snacks and putting his muddy sneakers on the white couch.
But then I turned thirteen.
And I started noticing things I wasn’t supposed to.
Like the way Ace’s voice dipped when he was serious. Or how his eyes crinkled at the edges when he laughed,really laughed, not that sarcastic scoff he gave teachers.
I noticed how he protected Jasper without making it obvious. How he looked at the world like it was a game, and he was always winning. He was the smartest handsome guy I have known besides my brother.
And suddenly... I wanted him to notice me too.
But to him, I was just Brit. Jasper’s quiet little sister.
The one who barely spoke. The one who disappeared into rooms like she’d never entered in the first place.
“You’ve grown,” he said once at dinner, his gaze flicking toward me across the table. I nearly dropped my fork.
Jasper grinned. “Told you she’s not the annoying runt anymore.”
Ace chuckled. “Still quiet though.”
I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t.
My throat had gone dry, and my heart was thundering like a stampede.
That was the first time he looked at me. Like, really looked. And I carried that one moment with me for days, replaying it in my head like a favorite song.
But my mother had other plans for me.
At fourteen, she started dragging me to galas, fundraisers, fashion luncheons,places where smiles were fake and eyes sharper than knives. I was expected to be a showpiece. The perfect daughter of the perfect political family. I’d stand next to her like some pretty prop while she smiles at donors and spoke in her overly rehearsed tone.
“She needs to learn how to carry herself,” she told my father.
“Especially if she’s going to be in the public eye.”
“She’s fourteen,” he said, flipping through a file. “Just make sure she doesn’t say anything stupid.”
They never addressed me directly when they talked about me.
