(Celeste Ashford POV)
By the time the final bell rang, my day was already over.
Not because I was tired of learning, or because I wanted to rush home like everyone else but because my life ran on a schedule that didn't belong to me.
I didn't walk out of school with friends. I didn't linger by the gates. I didn't laugh too loudly or waste time deciding where to go next. While others spilled into the afternoon sunlight, I walked straight toward the black car waiting at the curb.
As always.
The driver stepped out the moment he saw me, opening the door with practiced politeness. I slid into the back seat, smoothing my skirt, my posture perfect. The door shut quietly, sealing me in.
We drove away without a word.
From the outside, it looked like privilege. Comfort. Protection.
From the inside, it felt like a cage padded with leather seats and tinted windows.
At home, everything was just as it always was too quiet, too controlled. Dinner was served at the exact time my father preferred. Conversation followed a familiar pattern: school, grades, future. No unnecessary questions. No room for mistakes.
By ten o'clock, I was in my room.
By eleven, the house had gone to sleep.
That was when my day truly began.
I waited.
I always did.
I listened for the familiar sounds the distant hum of the generator, the soft footsteps of the night staff finishing their rounds, the click of my father's study door as it locked for the night. Only when the silence settled completely did I move.
Slowly, carefully, I slipped out of bed.
I changed into dark clothes, my movements quiet, precise. I tied my hair back and slipped my shoes into my hands instead of wearing them. I'd learned long ago that freedom required caution.
The back door opened without a sound.
The night air wrapped around me like a secret.
The city looked different after dark less demanding, less watchful. I walked quickly, keeping to familiar streets, my heart steady despite the risk. This routine had become mine. Sacred. Necessary.
The building waited for me like it always did.
Old. Forgotten. Safe.
I climbed the stairs barefoot, my footsteps light, my breathing controlled. When I reached the top, I pushed the door open and stepped onto the rooftop.
And finally
I could breathe.
The sky stretched endlessly above me, stars scattered like quiet witnesses. I crossed to my usual spot and sat down, drawing my knees to my chest. The wind brushed against my skin, cool and honest.
Here, I wasn't Celeste Ashford.
I wasn't my father's daughter.
I wasn't a future investment.
I wasn't a reflection of someone else's ambition.
I was just… me.
I stayed like that for a while, letting the thoughts I'd held back all day finally surface. The pressure. The expectations. The exhaustion of being watched even when no one was looking.
That was when I noticed it.
A sound.
Faint. Almost imagined.
I froze.
It came again soft, distant. The scrape of a shoe against concrete.
Someone had been here.
Not now.
But recently.
My gaze drifted to the far side of the rooftop. There was nothing obvious no figure, no movement but something felt different. The air carried the faintest trace of warmth, as though I hadn't been as alone as I thought.
I swallowed.
No one knew about this place.
At least… I hadn't thought anyone did.
I stayed longer than usual that night, my thoughts tangled with a strange, unfamiliar curiosity. When the time crept close to midnight, I stood and brushed myself off.
Whatever I'd felt, whatever questions stirred in my mind, I pushed them aside.
This place was still mine.
As I left, I didn't notice the shadow on the opposite stairwell.
And I didn't know that somewhere else in the city, another person counted the hours until night—until the rooftop was quiet again.
---
Morning came too quickly.
I knew it before I opened my eyes before the soft knock at my door, before the curtains were drawn back to let the light in. My body felt heavy, as though the night had taken something from me and refused to give it back.
I dressed carefully, the way I always did. Perfectly. There was no room for wrinkles or hesitation in my life.
Breakfast was brief.
My father sat at the head of the table, already dressed, already alert. He didn't ask how I slept. He never did.
"After school, you'll come straight home," he said, his tone leaving no space for questions. "We have a business event this evening."
I nodded.
"There will be influential people there," he continued. "People you should learn to be comfortable around. You'll represent the family."
Of course I would.
"We won't stay long. Three hours at most," he added, as if that made it lighter.
Then came the rest.
"After that, you have a commercial shoot. The brand confirmed last night." He glanced at me briefly. "You're fortunate. Many girls would kill for those opportunities."
I smiled because that was what I was supposed to do.
Three hours at the event.
Three hours under bright lights and forced smiles.
"And when you're done," he finished, folding his napkin neatly, "your private tutor will be waiting at home. Anything you don't understand in school must be addressed immediately."
I swallowed.
"Yes, Father."
The day swallowed me whole after that.
School passed in a blur lectures, notes, exams discussed in hushed excitement. Around me, people talked about their plans, their freedom, their lives after the bell rang.
When the final bell came, I didn't join them.
The black car was already waiting.
The business party was exactly what I expected. Expensive music. Expensive laughter. People who smiled with their mouths but not their eyes. They spoke to me as though I were both decoration and investment, praising my posture, my composure, my future.
I stood beside my father, nodding, listening, existing.
Three hours later, I was ushered into another world entirely.
The studio lights were harsh, unforgiving. Hands adjusted my hair, my clothes, my expression. Cameras clicked as I posed, moved, smiled on command. I'd learned how to disappear inside myself during shoots how to give them what they wanted without letting them touch what was real.
By the time it ended, my face hurt from smiling.
The tutor arrived in the evening, just as promised. We sat in the quiet of my room, textbooks spread across my desk. I answered questions. I listened. I learned.
My body stayed upright.
My mind drifted.
I kept thinking about the rooftop.
About the way the night air felt against my skin. About the silence that didn't judge me. About the strange comfort of knowing I could escape, even if only for a few hours.
That place had not been my idea.
It had been my grandmother's.
She used to take me on long walks when I was younger, away from the noise, away from the house. She never cared for the riches or the titles. She loved trees, open skies, quiet places where the world felt honest.
"This," she had once told me, leading me up the same creaking stairs, "is where you go when life becomes too loud."
She'd smiled then. Soft. Knowing.
I missed her more on nights like this.
When the house finally went quiet again, when the tutor had left and the lights dimmed, I changed into dark clothes and slipped out once more.
The rooftop waited.
And for the first time, as I climbed the stairs, I wondered if someone else was missing it too.