Some people are born into comfort. Others fight for every breath.
The apartment was quiet when Ethan finally made it home.
It was nearly midnight, and his feet ached from six hours of weaving between tables, balancing trays, and forcing polite smiles at customers who never bothered to look him in the eye. The tips had been decent—enough to cover this week's groceries and part of his mother's medication.
Enough to keep going.
He unlocked the door as quietly as possible, careful not to let the hinges creak. The living room was dark except for the faint glow of the kitchen light they always left on. The apartment was small—two bedrooms, one bathroom, a kitchen barely large enough for two people to stand in—but it was home.
And it was all they had.
Ethan set his keys on the counter and pulled off his jacket. His shirt smelled like fryer grease and cleaning solution, but he was too tired to care. He'd shower in the morning before class.
"Ethan?"
He turned. His younger sister, Lily, stood in the hallway, wearing an oversized hoodie and pajama pants. Her hair was pulled into a messy bun, and her eyes were heavy with sleep.
"Hey," Ethan said softly. "What are you still doing up? It's a school night."
"I was waiting for you." She padded into the kitchen and opened the fridge. "There's leftovers if you're hungry. I made pasta."
Ethan's chest tightened. "Lily, you didn't have to—"
"I wanted to." She pulled out a container and stuck it in the microwave. "Besides, Mom can't cook right now, and you work too much to eat properly."
He didn't argue. Partly because she was right, and partly because the microwave was already humming.
Lily leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching him with that too-perceptive look she'd developed over the past year. She was only sixteen, but sometimes Ethan forgot that. She'd grown up fast—too fast.
They both had.
"How's Mom?" Ethan asked.
"Better. She's been sleeping more, which the doctor said is good. I made sure she took her meds before bed."
"Good. That's good."
The microwave beeped. Lily pulled out the container and handed it to him along with a fork.
"Eat."
Ethan obeyed, sinking into one of the kitchen chairs. The pasta was simple—butter, garlic, a little parmesan—but it tasted like love. Lily wasn't a great cook, but she tried, and that was enough.
She sat across from him, chin resting on her hand. "How was work?"
"Same as always."
"That bad, huh?"
Ethan managed a tired smile. "It pays the bills."
"And school?"
"Also pays the bills. Eventually."
Lily rolled her eyes. "You know what I mean. Are people still being jerks?"
Ethan shrugged. "They're not being anything. I'm invisible, remember?"
"That's not true."
"It's fine, Lily. I don't care what they think."
"You should care," she said quietly. "You're smarter than all of them combined. You deserve to be treated better."
Ethan looked at her—really looked at her. There was a fierceness in her expression, a protective anger that reminded him of their father before he'd passed. Lily had inherited that fire, that refusal to back down.
Ethan had inherited the responsibility.
"I'm okay," he said gently. "Really. As long as you and Mom are okay, nothing else matters."
Lily's expression softened, but she didn't look convinced. "You can't carry everything by yourself, Ethan."
"I'm not. I have you, don't I?"
She smiled faintly. "Yeah. You do."
Ethan finished eating, rinsed the container, and sent Lily back to bed with a promise that he'd go to sleep soon. But once she was gone, he sat at the kitchen table for a long time, staring at nothing.
The apartment was silent except for the hum of the old refrigerator and the occasional creak of the building settling. Through the thin walls, he could hear the muffled sound of a TV from the neighbor's unit.
He pulled out his phone and opened his bank app.
Current Balance: $487.32
Rent was due in two weeks. His mother's next round of medication would cost at least $200. Groceries, utilities, Lily's school supplies—it all added up.
He'd make it work. He always did.
But some nights, the weight of it all pressed down on him like a physical thing.
Ethan closed the app and rubbed his eyes. He couldn't afford to think like this. Couldn't afford to be tired or overwhelmed or anything other than focused.
Four years. Just four years.
If he kept his grades up, kept his scholarship, worked enough shifts—he could graduate, get a good job, and finally give his mom and Lily the life they deserved.
That was the plan.
It had to be enough.
Meanwhile, across the city, in a penthouse overlooking the glittering skyline, Vanessa Monroe stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows of her bedroom, staring out at the lights below.
Her room was enormous—bigger than most apartments. A king-sized bed with silk sheets occupied one corner, a walk-in closet the size of a small boutique filled another. The walls were decorated with abstract art her mother had chosen, and a chandelier hung from the ceiling, casting soft light across the space.
It was beautiful.
It was suffocating.
Vanessa's phone buzzed on her nightstand. She glanced at it.
Group Chat: The Inner Circle
Madison: V, you coming to Marcus's party this weekend?
Sophie: You HAVE to come. Everyone's going to be there.
Blake: If you don't show, it's basically not a party lol*
Vanessa didn't respond. She turned back to the window.
Another party. Another night of shallow conversations and people who only cared about her last name. Another performance.
She was good at performing. She'd been doing it her whole life.
Smile. Be charming. Be perfect.
Her father's voice echoed in her mind: "You're a Monroe, Vanessa. People are always watching. Don't forget that."
She hadn't forgotten.
She never forgot.
Her phone buzzed again.
Madison: V??? Hello???
Vanessa sighed and typed a quick reply.
Vanessa: Maybe. I'll let you know.
She locked her phone and tossed it onto the bed.
The truth was, she didn't want to go. She didn't want to smile and laugh and pretend like everything was fine. She didn't want to be Vanessa Monroe, the perfect daughter, the perfect student, the girl everyone wanted to be around.
But what she wanted didn't matter.
It never had.
The next morning, Ethan woke to the sound of his alarm blaring at 6:30 AM.
He groaned, fumbled for his phone, and silenced it. For a moment, he lay there, staring at the ceiling, willing himself to move.
You can do this. Get up. Go.
He forced himself out of bed, showered quickly, and dressed in the same jeans and hoodie he'd worn yesterday. His wardrobe wasn't extensive—three pairs of jeans, a handful of shirts, two hoodies, and one jacket that was more duct tape than fabric at this point.
It didn't matter. No one looked at him anyway.
By 7:15, he was out the door, a piece of toast in one hand and his backpack slung over his shoulder. The bus ride to campus was uneventful, and by 8:00 AM, he was sitting in his usual spot in the back row of Introduction to Computer Science.
Professor Nguyen was already setting up his laptop at the front of the room.
"Morning, Mr. Cross," the professor said without looking up.
"Morning, Professor."
Ethan liked Professor Nguyen. He was one of the few faculty members who didn't treat him like he was invisible—or worse, a charity case. Nguyen had noticed Ethan's coding skills early on and had started assigning him more advanced problems to work on outside of class.
It was the closest thing to encouragement Ethan had received since arriving at Silverbrook.
The classroom began to fill. Students trickled in, most of them looking half-asleep, clutching oversized coffee cups from the campus café.
And then she walked in.
Vanessa Monroe.
Ethan's breath caught.
She was in this class?
He'd been attending lectures for six weeks and had somehow never noticed her. Then again, she usually sat near the front, surrounded by her usual group of friends.
Today, though, her friends weren't with her.
She scanned the room, her expression unreadable, and then—impossibly—her eyes landed on him.
For a moment, they just looked at each other.
Then she looked away and took a seat three rows ahead.
Ethan exhaled slowly, his heart pounding for no logical reason.
Get it together. She doesn't even know you exist.
Professor Nguyen clapped his hands. "Alright, everyone. Settle down. Today we're covering recursive algorithms. Pair up—you'll be working together on the exercise."
A collective groan filled the room.
Ethan didn't move. He never had a partner. People usually paired up with their friends, and by the time everyone was settled, he'd be left to work alone.
Which was fine. He preferred it that way.
"Mr. Cross."
Ethan looked up. Professor Nguyen was standing at the front of the room, arms crossed.
"You'll be working with Ms. Monroe."
Ethan's stomach dropped.
Vanessa turned in her seat, her green eyes meeting his once again.
And for the first time since arriving at Silverbrook, Ethan felt truly, terrifyingly visible.