Chapter 92 The Glass Ceiling
The invitation sat on the edge of the kitchen table, its gold seal mocking me under the flickering fluorescent light. It looked entirely out of place next to a half-empty box of generic cereal and Grace’s discarded math homework. I had spent the last hour staring at it, my mind a chaotic loop of ambition and terror.
"You’re doing that thing again," Eliza said, sitting across from me. She wasn't rushing off to a shift tonight; she’d come over specifically to help me breathe, bringing a bag of takeout and enough gossip to drown out my thoughts. But even she had gone quiet when I’d slid the cream-colored envelope toward her. "The thing where you try to solve a problem by glaring at it until it catches fire."
"It’s Alpha Sigma, Eliza," I whispered, finally reaching out to touch the embossed paper. "Scarlett says it’s the only way the Salvatores will ever see me as more than a charity case. A 'temporary distraction,' she called it."
Eliza reached out, snagging a fry from the container between us, but her expression remained uncharacteristically serious. "Scarlett Tate has a black belt in psychological warfare. She knows exactly which buttons to push. Mila, look at this place. Look at your grades. You’ve already proven you’re enough. You don't need a snake-and-sword club to validate you."
"But that’s just it," I said, standing up and pacing the small kitchen. "In our world, I’m enough. I’m more than enough. But in their world? I’m the scholarship girl who got lucky. If I don't go, I'm just hiding in Brooklyn. If I go, I'm standing on their turf and telling them they can't push me out. If I stay, I’ll always be the girl standing three feet behind Nate at every event, waiting for permission to exist."
"Or," Eliza countered gently, "you’re playing their game on their terms. And they’ve been playing it since they were in diapers. You're walking into a lion's den with a paper shield. I just don't want to see them dim that light of yours because you're trying to fit into their shadow."
I didn't have an answer for her. I just knew that the gap between Nate’s world and mine felt like a canyon, and this invitation was the only bridge I’d ever been offered.
Later that afternoon, I met Nate in the quiet corner of the Alverstone conservatory. The glass walls were fogged with the damp cold of the afternoon, and the scent of damp earth and orchids felt like a strange, suffocating sanctuary. I showed him the invitation, watching his face closely.
His reaction wasn't what I expected. He didn't look excited or proud. Instead, his jaw tightened, and a shadow of something that looked remarkably like concern—or perhaps warning—crossed his eyes.
"Alpha Sigma," he murmured, tracing the seal with his thumb. "Scarlett gave this to you?"
"She said it’s because of the Endowment shortlist. She said I need to be in that room if I want to be taken seriously. That I need to be a peer."
Nate sighed, looking out at the gray sky through the glass. "It’s a big deal, Mila. I won’t lie to you. That society holds the keys to half the internships and boardrooms in the city. My father was the president of it in the nineties. It’s a machine designed to keep the elite, elite."
"Then I should go," I said, searching his face. "If it's that important—"
"No," Nate interrupted, stepping closer and taking my hands in his. His grip was firm, grounding me. "You don't need it. You’re already a shortlist candidate for the Evergreen on your own merit. You have nothing to prove to those people, especially not to a society that thrives on exclusion. Mila, you’re already more impressive than half the legacies in that room. Don't let them make you feel like you need their stamp of approval."
"Is that because you think I can't handle them?" I asked, my voice rising with a sudden, sharp edge of insecurity. "Because I'm the 'commoner' and they're the 'bluebloods'?"
Nate’s expression softened, and he pulled me into his chest, his chin resting on the top of my head. "No. It’s because I know how they operate. They’re sharks, Mila. And I don’t want you to have to bleed just to show them you can swim."
"I’ve been swimming with sharks my whole life, Nate," I whispered against his sweater. "I’m just tired of doing it in the dark. I want to stand on my own feet for once, without everyone assuming I’m only there because you paved the way."
He held me for a long time, his heartbeat steady against mine. He didn't tell me not to go again, but the silence between us felt heavy with the things he wasn't saying. He wanted to protect me, but I didn't want to be protected. I wanted to be his equal.
When I got back to the apartment, Eliza was still there, helping Grace with a social studies project while Zoe napped. She looked up as I walked in, her eyes immediately finding the invitation still clutched in my hand.
"He told you not to go, didn't he?" she asked.
"He said I don't need it. But he also confirmed it's the center of everything at Alverstone." I went to my room and pulled out the dress. It was a simple, deep navy silk—the one Nate had bought for me weeks ago. It was elegant, understated, and looked like it cost more than my entire life's savings.
Eliza followed me in, leaning against the doorframe. "If you go, do it for you. Not for the Salvatores, and definitely not for Scarlett."
I looked at myself in the cracked bathroom mirror, the navy fabric clinging to my curves. I looked like I belonged at Alverstone. I looked like a girl who could handle an induction gala.
"I'm going," I said, my voice finally steady. "I have to know if I can hold my own. If I'm always scared of their world, I'll never really be a part of his."
Grace walked over and handed me a small, silver pin—a tiny, antique butterfly that had belonged to our mother. It was the only thing of hers we had left that hadn't been sold or lost during the leanest years.
"Wear this," she said. "So you remember who you are when you're in there with all those dragons."
I pinned the butterfly to the inside of my dress, right over my heart. The fear was still there, a cold weight in the pit of my stomach, but beneath it was a fierce, burning defiance. I wasn't going to the Alpha Sigma gala to join them. I was going to show them that they couldn't ignore me.
"You look like a queen, Mila," Eliza whispered, her hand on my shoulder. "Just remember—queens don't ask for permission to sit at the table."