By the end of her third week, Elena had earned enough to contribute to rent.
Brielle tried to refuse.
"You're my guest."
"I'm your roommate," Elena corrected gently.
Something about saying that felt grounding.
She wasn't a lost tourist anymore.
She had an address.
A routine.
Even if it is fragile.
One evening, while scrolling through her growing social media page, she noticed something surprising.
A small but steady increase in followers.
Not bots.
Real engagement.
Real comments.
Women asking about her skincare.
Asking how she moved to Vegas.
Asking how she stayed confident.
Confidence.
She almost laughed at the irony.
Confidence wasn't something she woke up with.
It was something she built piece by piece.
Like stacking bricks while pretending the wind wasn't strong.
She opened her camera and recorded a short video.
"Hi. I'm Elena. I just moved to Las Vegas three weeks ago…"
Her voice was soft but steady.
She didn't exaggerate her life.
She didn't pretend it was glamorous.
She talked about adjusting. About learning. About small wins.
When she posted it, she expected nothing.
But by morning, the views were higher than usual.
People liked honesty.
That realization settled deeply in her chest.
Maybe she didn't need to compete with Vegas glitter.
Maybe she could stand out by being real.
That night, she stepped onto the apartment balcony.
The city lights shimmered endlessly.
Three weeks ago, she slept on the sidewalk.
Now she had direction.
Not security.
Not success.
But direction.
And sometimes, that was enough to keep moving.
She touched the necklace gently.
It lay quiet against her skin.
It had opened the first door.
But she was the one walking through the rest.
And somewhere beyond the neon skyline, opportunities were aligning quietly.
She couldn't see them yet.
But Vegas was watching.
And this time…
She was ready to be seen.