Your chest tightens, each breath a struggle. Today’s the day you meet Ward and Rose Cameron, names you’ve replayed in your mind like a relentless loop. For almost a week, you hunted for the perfect outfit, practiced polite greetings until your reflection felt strange.

Now, you sit at your makeup desk, foundation half-blended, brush hovering over powder. The clock ticks, each second reminding you time is slipping. Your hair spills messily over your shoulders. Taking a shaky breath, you slide the straightener toward Rafe. “Please,” you whisper, voice fragile.

He takes it wordlessly, his touch steady as he sections your hair. The straightener glides through each strand, warmth anchoring you. You lean into the calm assurance of his presence, focusing on his reflection instead of the storm inside.

“They’re going to love you,” Rafe says softly, eyes on yours in the mirror. His words settle over you like a soft rain, washing away doubt. You close your eyes for a moment, picturing his parents’ faces—judgment replaced by warmth.

Your brush hovers over your eyelids, reminding you of the first time Rafe made you laugh. That day felt light—nothing like this pressure. You open your eyes, draw a steady line of eyeliner, and feel confidence flicker back.

As he finishes, Rafe brushes a stray hair from your cheek. The small touch sends a thrill through you. You smile, genuine and small, believing you can do this.

In five minutes, you’ll stand before his parents. But right now, there’s just this quiet room, the scent of hairspray and reassuring words, and the promise you won’t face it alone.