I was an object. A brand extension. Not a person.
And so, I perfected the art of pretending.
I wore the dresses she picked. I smiled when told. I crossed my legs and kept my opinions to myself. I learned how to be a shadow in high heels.
And Ace was always there—at our house, at events, in the background of my every thought. His father was a business tycoon, filthy rich, powerful, and—more importantly—my dad’s biggest campaign donor.
Their families were tied at the hip. Every Thanksgiving, every Fourth of July barbecue, every lavish winter vacation, the Riveras were there. Which meant Ace was always there.
He saw me at my worst and never noticed.
Not when I flinched under my mother’s judgmental gaze. Not when I pushed food around my plate and swallowed guilt instead. Not when I stood silently beside my parents like a well-dressed mannequin.
But I saw him.
One night, after yet another suffocating fundraiser, I slipped out onto the back patio. The sky was heavy with stars, the night air crisp against my skin. I just needed a second to breathe, to not be the polished daughter of Senator William Langford.
Then I heard footsteps.
“You always run away after these things?”
I turned. Ace was standing a few feet away, hands in his pockets, tie undone. He looked... tired. Real. Not like the golden boy the rest of the world saw.
“Not always,” I whispered. “Sometimes I just disappear in plain sight.”
He tilted his head, studying me. “You’re not what I expected.”
“What did you expect?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Someone like your mom, I guess. But quieter.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. Was that a compliment? An insult?
“I’m not like her,” I said finally, voice low.
“Good.”
That single word knocked the air from my lungs.
He sat beside me on the stone bench, not too close but not far either.
“You always sit so stiffly,” he said.
“I’m supposed to have good posture.”
“You’re sixteen, not sixty.”
“I’m whatever they need me to be.”
He looked at me then—really looked. And for a moment, something shifted. Like he saw the cracks behind the perfect mask.
“You ever think about just... being yourself?” he asked.
I stared ahead. “I don’t know who that is.”
He didn’t say anything after that. We just sat in silence, listening to the laughter and clinking glasses inside. The world continued to turn, but for a few minutes, I wasn’t a disappointment. I wasn’t a campaign accessory.
I was just Brittany.
