Morning comes too soon.

By 7:00 a.m., I'm dressed in black wide-leg trousers, a fitted

turtleneck, and sharp-heeled boots that make me feel like I

own the city. My hair is sleek, makeup flawless. I glance in the

mirror before stepping out the door, my reflection staring back

like a stranger.

This is what success looks like, I remind myself.

The subway ride into Manhattan is a blur of steel and bodies, of

high-energy tension and the scent of burnt coffee. I step onto

Fifth Avenue with the sun bouncing off the glass skyscrapers,

and for the first time all morning, my pulse quickens with

excitement instead of nerves.

House of Veyron looms ahead. Tall. Monolithic. The heart of

everything I've ever wanted.

I square my shoulders and push through the revolving doors.