"Keep smiling, Jennie. The cameras love broken hearts."

~$~

The mansion doesn’t feel like a home anymore.

It feels like a film set.

There are stylists everywhere. Racks of silk gowns and suit jackets line the corridors like some stupid fashion parade. Tailors speak in rushed whispers. Maids rush with garment bags. Everyone is moving fast, rehearsed, and exact.

And I am standing still.

My body is here—barefoot, barely dressed, arms across my chest—but my mind is somewhere else. Somewhere quieter. Somewhere far from the polished floors and suffocating perfume and people pretending I’m a doll that needs fixing.

Adele breezes past in full gold. Not just her gown—everything about...