HER LIFE

Too Late Now

THIRD PERSON POV

As Valentina stepped out of the car, the cool evening breeze brushing against her skin, she felt an odd mix of excitement and dread wash over her. The grand venue loomed ahead, glittering under the soft lights, a stark contrast to the storm brewing inside her. Tristan was already bounding ahead, practically glowing with enthusiasm, while Juliette and Andre trailed behind, laughing quietly.

Val hesitated for a moment, standing at the entrance. The weight of her gown, the eyes that would be on her the second she walked in—it all felt like a trap. She had never liked being the center of attention, and this night, meant to celebrate her, felt more like a performance she hadn't prepared for.

Her fingers grazed the fabric of her dress. It was beautiful, bold even, just as Tristan had said. But it felt like armor, something to shield her from the inevitable questions, the expectations, the eyes. She straightened her posture, putting on the facade she had perfected over the years: confidence, indifference, control.

I can get through this, she told herself, taking a deep breath. It's just a few hours.

As the grand doors opened and she stepped into the ballroom, her senses were immediately assaulted by the murmurs of admiration, the soft clinking of glasses, and the low hum of music. Chandeliers sparkled overhead, casting a warm, golden light across the elegantly dressed guests. Tristan turned to her with a wide grin, his eyes practically screaming I told you so.

"See? You already look like you've stolen the show," he whispered, nudging her playfully. Val gave him a small smile in return, though her mind was elsewhere. She scanned the room, feeling a familiar tightness in her chest. No matter how beautiful the setting or how perfect the evening seemed, there was always that gnawing voice at the back of her mind.

The night was moving along as planned—or so Valentina thought. The music swelled, guests swirled around her in dazzling gowns and suits, and for a moment, she allowed herself to get lost in the noise. But as she moved deeper into the ballroom, an uneasy feeling settled in her stomach.

Something's off, she thought, glancing around. And then she saw them.

Her family.

They stood near the far corner of the ballroom, a cluster of cold, familiar faces. Her heart sank as she locked eyes with her older brother Andrew for a split second before tearing her gaze away. Next to him was her father, Victor, his imposing figure as stoic as ever. And beside him, the rest of them—people she had once known so well, people she had run away from.

Valentina's heart raced. How had she forgotten they would be here tonight? Of all nights?

Without missing a beat, she turned sharply, pretending not to have seen them. Her feet carried her in the opposite direction, mingling with other guests, smiling when necessary, but all the while trying to keep her distance. Not now, she told herself. I'm not ready.

Tristan appeared by her side again, as if sensing her distress. He gave her a questioning look but didn't press, respecting her silence. She appreciated that about him—he knew when to step in and when to step back.

Minutes passed, maybe more, and she had successfully dodged her family by slipping into conversations and carefully avoiding their gaze. But the knot in her chest was tightening with every passing second. She couldn't keep this up forever.

And then, her escape ended.

Victor, her father, appeared in front of her, blocking her path. His face was unreadable, as it always had been. Behind him, her brothers stood silently, their eyes locked on her.