“Okay.” I nod more to myself than Mom, letting out a nervous breath. “Okay. Let’s finish packing before I have another emotional breakdown.”
“But the packing cubes need the hydration!”
I pick up a pillow from the couch and toss it at her, laughing. Together we get back to work, folding clothes, choosing outfits, and filling tiny toiletry bottles. The apartment always feels different when Mom is here, brighter somehow. Full of optimism, possibility, and love.
So much love, I swear it could lift the whole building a few inches off the ground.
Mom squeezes me one last time at the doorway before she heads home for the night.
“You’re ready,” she murmurs into my hair, hugging me a little tighter. “Go make your mark.”
After she’s gone, silence settles around me. My suitcase waits by the door. My apartment feels a little emptier now that Mom is gone and all my essentials are packed. A little lonelier.
A little like it knows I’m leaving.
I rest my hand on the knob and give the room a soft smile.
“Goodbye, little apartment,” I whisper aloud. “Try not to miss me too much, I’m off to make our dreams come true.”
I lock the door behind me, straighten my shoulders, and step forward into whatever comes next.
CHAPTER 4: ALEX
The soft chime of the seatbelt indicator pings on, and the flight attendant’s voice cuts through the cabin.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we’ll be landing at Los Angeles International in about twenty minutes. Due to congestion in the airspace, we’ll need to circle until a landing slot becomes available. Please return your seats to the upright position and fasten your belts.”
Incredible.
Regular traffic isn’t enough; LA has to bring its overcrowding problem to the sky, too. I shift in my seat, feeling the plane dip through a smear of haze that hangs stubbornly over the city. From my window, the sprawling chaos below spreads out like an invasive species. Freeways twist and overlap, crisscrossing the beige and gray monotony. Even the water looks muted, like someone drained it of its color.
I lean back with a low groan and snap my laptop closed. Already regretting leaving Vancouver. Back home, the city isn’t perfect, but it has breath.Life. Shimmering sapphire waters curl around inlets, emerald forests climb the hills, and mountains loom majestic, their peaks lost in pillowy clouds.
The spring drizzle has its own appeal, a charm the sun here could never quite achieve. LA doesn’t illuminate. It assaults you, pressing against your skin and clogging your senses.
God, I cannot stand this city.
The second I step out of the airport in search of the car the producers arranged for me, my hatred for the city is confirmed. The air hits like a ton of bricks—too warm, too bright, too everything. Vancouver smells of cedar and rain. LA smells of car exhaust and desperation simmering in a smoggy haze.
Anxiety tightens my chest as the driver opens the trunk for my bags. I shove them inside without waiting for help. Slidingacross the leather seat, I glare in the direction of the honking, crawling traffic beyond.
Stop-and-go brake lights stretch like a river of red lava, punctuated by oversized billboards and construction zones that feel permanent. A convertible zips past my window and cuts in front of the SUV with inches to spare.
Five miles takes half an hour.
According to GPS, this wassupposedto be the faster way.
Hours of life are wasted, stranded out here on this damned freeway. Everyone acts like this is normal. I don’t understand it—and I don’t want to.
Finally, we reach the Hollywood Hills area. The air feels a little cleaner, though that might just be the elevation. Streets narrow, houses climb the hillside, each screaming wealth and architectural one-upmanship. Palm trees sway, and the SUV pulls into a gated driveway.
The house is enormous, its glass walls reflecting the city sprawled below. Immaculate landscaping surrounds an infinity pool that seems to spill seamlessly into the valley. Inside, sunlight floods the open-concept living room through towering floor-to-ceiling windows.
I step out onto the patio, taking in the sweeping view below. Everything about this is designed to impress.
“Gorgeous at this hour, right?”
I flinch, arm flying up across my chest. “Fuck, when did you get there?”
