The tech convention was massive.
Booths lined the ballroom floor. Screens flashed presentations. Company banners hung from the ceiling.
Elena wore a fitted navy dress provided by the event coordinator. Her hair was styled neatly. Makeup is simple but polished.
Her task was basic: greet guests, direct them to booths, smile for photos.
But this time, something felt different.
She wasn't just surviving.
She was performing.
Men in suits asked where she was from.
"Philippines."
"Oh wow. You flew in for this?"
"Something like that."
She didn't elaborate.
She didn't need to.
Her presence spoke louder than her story.
By hour three, her feet were aching.
By hour five, her cheeks hurt from smiling.
But she didn't drop her posture.
She didn't check her phone.
She didn't complain.
The event coordinator noticed.
After the shift ended, he approached her.
"You handled the VIP area smoothly," he said. "We might have another event next week."
Elena's chest tightened.
"Thank you."
When she received her payment envelope that night, she stepped into the restroom and opened it.
Four hundred dollars.
Her hands trembled slightly.
This was real.
Not charity.
Not luck.
Work.
She returned to Brielle's apartment late, exhausted but glowing.
Brielle looked up from the couch.
"You survived?"
Elena smiled.
"I did more than survive."
They celebrated with instant noodles and cheap soda.
It wasn't glamorous.
But it felt earned.
Still, as Elena lay down that night, staring at the ceiling, doubt crept in.
Temporary jobs weren't stable.
They were stepping stones.
She needed something bigger.
And Vegas didn't hand out "bigger" easily.