Chloe stepped into the restroom, inhaling deeply, grounding herself in the cool, quiet space.
Reset.
Control.
Composure.
She barely made it past the entrance when she spotted another figure at the sink—Aviana Lorrence, carefully dabbing powder along her cheekbones, assessing her reflection with meticulous precision.
Aviana glanced up briefly.
Then—a flicker of distaste.
Subtle. Quick. But unmistakable.
Her gaze swept over Chloe—plain jeans, fitted black shirt, effortless beauty, sharp presence.
Too simple.
Too unpolished.
Too beneath the spaces Aviana considered herself worthy of.
And yet—she was here. Dining in a private suite. Commanding attention. Unbothered.
Aviana turned slightly, voice light but edged.
"Didn't expect that type to be in these places."
Chloe smirked faintly, adjusting her sleeve, gaze flickering toward the mirror.
"Neither did I."
Aviana's fingers slowed against the compact powder.
She exhaled smoothly, recovering the moment, tilting her chin slightly.
"I suppose you're one of those lucky ones?"
Chloe hummed, brushing invisible creases from her shirt.
"I make my own luck."
Silence.
Aviana studied her.
Then—slight dismissal, slight irritation, slight retreat.
"Must be nice."
She capped her compact, adjusted her jewelry, and barely flickered another glance.
But before Aviana could secure her exit—Chloe moved first.
Unrushed. Steady. Unfazed.
She stepped past Aviana, pulling open the restroom door, barely sparing her another thought.
As she exited—she let a smirk tug at the corner of her lips, amused at how easily people decided narratives without asking a single question.
And yet—as she stepped into the hallway, heading toward the lobby—she wasn't entirely sure what settled inside her.
Irritation.
Frustration.
Bitterness.
Regret?
She exhaled sharply, adjusting her hair as she walked.
No.
Not regret.
Not yet.
And with that—she pressed forward.
Because something was waiting outside.