The knock on my dorm room door startles me out of my thoughts. I glance at the time and frown—no one’s supposed to be coming by, and Jasmine still hasn’t shown up. Opening the door, I freeze when I see my parents standing in the hallway, looking both annoyed and expectant. My mother, impeccably dressed in a cream-colored suit, taps her foot lightly, while my father, looking every bit the stern businessman, crosses his arms. “Lily,” my mother says, her voice clipped. “We’ve been trying to reach you.” I wince at the use of my nickname. “It’s Lillian,” I correct, but she waves it off as if it’s inconsequential. “Whatever,” she says, stepping into the room and glancing around. “We were worried. You haven’t answered our texts in days.” “I’ve been busy,” I mutter, closing the door behind them. “Classes started, and I’ve had a lot going on.” My father, ever the pragmatist, cuts straight to the point. “Your roommate hasn’t arrived yet?” “No, but I’m sure she’s just running late or something,” I say quickly, not wanting to get into it. My mother narrows her eyes, clearly unimpressed. “This is unacceptable. We’ll speak to the housing office and have it sorted out. You can’t be expected to live alone. It’s inappropriate.” My father walks into the room, his sharp gaze sweeping over my dorm as if he’s assessing a new acquisition. He’s dressed in his usual tailored suit—navy blue with a crisp white shirt and an expensive watch that catches the light as he moves. To him, everything is a transaction, including this moment. “Lily,” he says, not even looking at me as he scrolls through something on his phone. “We’ll handle this roommate situation. I’ll have someone from the university reach out, and it’ll be taken care of by the end of the day.” “It’s Lillian,” I mutter under my breath, but the words die as soon as they leave my lips. There’s no point in arguing with him, not when he’s like this—always in business mode. “I don’t need you to ‘handle’ anything,” I say louder, trying to keep the edge out of my voice. He finally looks up from his phone, his expression hard and unreadable. “ Your assigned roommate isn’t here. Do you think that’s acceptable?” “I think I’m fine,” I say, crossing my arms defensively. “I’m not some fragile thing that needs protecting.” My father raises an eyebrow, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly, the way he does when someone challenges him in a boardroom. I’ve seen this look a thousand times before—on the rare occasions when I’ve questioned him, or when my mother tries to disagree with one of his plans. “This isn’t about fragility, Lily,” he says, his voice steady and controlled. “It’s about ensuring that the situation is handled properly. We expect things to be done a certain way, and if that means stepping in, then that’s what we’ll do.” I bite my tongue to keep from snapping back. I know what he means by “we.” It’s never been about what _I_ expect or want; it’s always about what _they_ expect—what the family wants. I’ve been groomed for this my entire life. ==Riverton==, the business dinners, the social circles. My father treats everything like a transaction, including me. To him, I’m a part of the Prescott legacy, a future asset to the family empire. “Fine,” I say tightly, not wanting to prolong the argument. “Do whatever you need to do.” My mother steps in, sensing the tension. “Lily, darling, we’re just trying to make sure you’re comfortable. It’s a big year, and there’s a lot riding on it.” I give her a thin smile. My father pockets his phone and looks around the room once more before settling his eyes on me. “We need to discuss your major.” I stiffen, knowing this was coming. I’ve been avoiding the topic for weeks, hoping that by the time they found out, it would be too late for them to intervene. “I’ve already switched,” I say quickly, trying to keep my tone neutral. “I’m moving from economics to .” The words hang in the air, and for a brief second, everything is quiet. My father’s face is unreadable, but I can see the tension building in his jaw. My mother’s smile falters, and she looks between the two of us as if trying to decide whether to intervene. “Good.” My father’s voice is calm, but there’s an edge to it that makes my skin prickle. “To think you were going to waste your education and our investment designing buildings?” I clench my fists, keeping my voice steady. “It’s not a waste. I’ve always been interested in design. You know that.” He steps closer, towering over me as he does in every boardroom meeting, his eyes cold and calculating. “This isn’t a hobby, Lily. We didn’t send you to ==Riverton== for you to play with your interests. You’re here to secure your future—and the future of this family. j is practical. Architecture is… frivolous.” I swallow hard, forcing myself relax. My father’s eyes bore into mine, and for a moment, I feel like I’m back at the family dinner table, being lectured on the importance of making the right connections, saying the right things, and choosing the right path. “We have a business dinner this weekend,” he says suddenly, his voice cool and detached, as if we weren’t just in the middle of an argument. “You’ll attend. And you’ll be prepared to discuss your future—_our_ future.” I blink, momentarily thrown by the shift in topic. “What business dinner?” “A gathering of the families,” he replies, already checking his phone again. “You’ll be expected to attend, and I don’t want any more discussion about this architecture nonsense.” My stomach twists in knots, the familiar feeling of dread creeping in. These dinners are never just about food or socializing. They’re a game—strategic networking, alliances, deals made over expensive wine and thinly veiled conversations. And I hate every second of them. “I’m not—” I start to argue, but my father cuts me off with a sharp glance. “You’ll be there, Lily. That’s not a request.” I grit my teeth, swallowing the retort that’s on the tip of my tongue. I can feel my anger simmering beneath the surface, but I know better than to push back too hard. My father is used to getting his way, and fighting him on this won’t end well for me. “Fine,” I say through clenched teeth. “I’ll go.” “Good.” My father nods once, satisfied. “We’ll see you this weekend.” Without another word, he turns and strides out of the room, leaving my mother and me standing in silence. She gives me a small, apologetic smile before following after him, and I’m left alone in the dorm room that suddenly feels too small, too suffocating. Later that afternoon, I text _Henry_ and ask him to meet me by the fountain, the same place where I met Grace yesterday. I need to clear my head, and I know Henry will understand. When I arrive, Henry’s already there, sitting on the stone edge of the fountain, sipping from a coffee cup. His easy smile greets me, and I feel some of the tension in my chest loosen. “Rough day?” he asks, handing me a second cup of coffee, just the way I like it—black with a hint of sugar. “Something like that,” I mutter, sitting down beside him. Before I can launch into the details of the argument with my parents, I spot Grace walking toward us, her bright red hair catching the sunlight. She waves as she approaches, and I feel a small spark of relief. I like Grace. She’s easy to be around, and right now, I need that. “Hey, Lillian,” Grace says with a grin, sitting down next to me. “What’s up?” “Just… family stuff,” I say, trying to sound casual, but the bitterness seeps into my voice. “This is my friend Henry. Henry, meet Grace.” Henry extends a hand, his smile widening. “Nice to meet you.” Grace shakes his hand, her eyes twinkling with curiosity. “Nice to meet you, too. So, what’s this family drama?” I sigh, taking a sip of coffee. “My parents aren’t thrilled about my life decisions. Apparently, architecture isn’t ‘practical’ enough for them.” Grace laughs, shaking her head. “Let me guess—they wanted you to be an economist or something equally boring?” I groan. “Pretty much.” Henry leans back, his expression sympathetic. Grace nods in understanding. “My dad wanted me to be a lawyer. Architecture was a hard sell.” Hearing them talk about their own family pressures makes me feel a little less alone. Maybe we’re all fighting our own battles in this place—each of us trying to carve out a path that’s different from what our families expect. “Well,” I say, forcing a small smile, “at least we’re all in this together.” Henry chuckles. “Yeah, and at least we’ve got a little time before they try to pull us into their worlds for good.” Grace grins. “Exactly. Let’s enjoy the freedom while we’ve got it.” As we sit by the fountain, talking about everything except our families and futures, I feel a strange sense of calm settle over me. For once, I’m not thinking about my father’s disapproving gaze or my mother’s constant hovering. I’m just… here, with people who get it. And for the first time in a while, that feels like enough.