Back home, Alessia paced her small room, rummaging through her limited wardrobe. Dresses were strewn across her bed, none of them feeling quite right. Everything she owned seemed too plain, too simple—nothing like what she imagined the other girls would wear to Regina's party.
She held up a modest black dress, biting her lip. It wasn't bad, but it felt so far removed from the glitz and glamour she associated with Westwood's elite.
"Are you okay?"
Alessia turned to see Nikki standing in the doorway, her small frame leaning against the doorframe. Her wide eyes scanned the chaotic scene of discarded clothes and shoes.
"This is the first time I've ever seen you worried about a dress," Nikki said, her voice filled with curiosity.
Alessia hesitated, unsure of how to respond. "It's... just a party," she said finally, trying to sound nonchalant.
Nikki's face lit up with excitement. "A party? Really? Can I come? Please? I want to meet your new friends!"
Alessia's heart ached at the innocence in Nikki's voice. She walked over and knelt down to her sister's level, brushing a stray curl from her cheek.
"Maybe next time," Alessia said softly.
Nikki's face fell, but she nodded. "Okay..." she said, her tone tinged with disappointment.
Their father's voice called from down the hall. "Nikki, your mom's looking for you in the living room."
Nikki gave Alessia a quick hug before scampering off. Alessia watched her go, her chest tightening. She hated disappointing Nikki, but the idea of exposing her to Westwood's cutthroat world made her stomach churn.
A moment later, her father appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame much like Nikki had. His expression was curious but warm.
"So," he said, crossing his arms, "a party, huh? Looks like you're getting along with your new friends."
Alessia gave him a small smile, brushing her hair behind her ear. "Just trying to thrive, Dad."
He sighed, stepping into the room and placing a hand on her shoulder. "You know, you don't have to try so hard. You can do it by simply being yourself."
She nodded, though her smile wavered.
"Be careful out there, okay?" he added before heading back toward the living room.
Left alone, Alessia turned back to the mirror. Her reflection stared back at her, the black dress she'd been holding dangling limply from her hand.
"Be yourself," she whispered, her voice barely audible.
But what did that even mean at Westwood? And more importantly, was being herself enough to survive the night?