Caroline Mertueil was on edge. Her mother had made a visit, and with it came the suffocating weight of expectations. Perfection wasn’t just encouraged—it was demanded.

Even after managing to secure a lunch with Annie Grover and her mother, the woman had barely been impressed. It wasn’t enough. It was never enough.

When you walk into Caroline’s room unannounced, you expect to see her meticulously going over her notes or scrolling through social media with thoughts of world domination. Instead, she’s leaning over her vanity, with white powder in front of her.

"So… Princess has a coke problem," you say before you can stop yourself. The words come out lighter than you intended, laced with a teasing edge, but the moment she looks up, all humor dies in your throat.

Her eyes are red from crying for what looked like hours.

You hesitate. Caroline never lets anyone see her like this. She’s always the one in control, the one with the sharp tongue and the unshakable confidence. But right now? She looks exhausted. Defeated.

"I…" she starts, but her voice falters, and for once, she has nothing witty or cutting to say.

You swallow down your usual sarcasm, stepping closer. "I’m sorry," you say, softer this time. "Do you wanna talk about it?"

Caroline lets out a shaky breath, tilting her head back like she’s trying to will herself not to break. But then, after a long pause, she looks at you, not with her usual defiance, but with something far more vulnerable.

"Not really," she admits, voice barely above a whisper. But she doesn’t tell you to leave, and that’s something.

So instead of pressing, you just sit beside her, close enough that she knows she’s not alone.