Chapter 1

Leah

I smooth down the front of my red dress, tilting my head as I study my reflection in the mirror. The fabric hugs my curves in all the right places, the neckline dipping just low enough to be elegant without crossing into inappropriate territory for a work event.

"Come on girl, you look fierce." I adjust one of my small gold hoop earrings, trying to pump myself up. The dress pops against my brown skin, making a statement without screaming for attention. Exactly what I need for tonight's holiday party.

My coily hair is styled in a sleek bun, not a strand out of place. I've learned the hard way that Chicago winters and natural hair don't mix - especially not at formal events. The last thing I need is to show up looking like I stuck my finger in an electrical socket.

Running my hands down the dress one more time, I catch myself second-guessing the bold choice. Maybe I should have gone with the safe black number hanging in my closet. Red is so... noticeable.

"Stop it, Leah." I straighten my spine, squaring my shoulders. The view from my high-rise apartment reflects behind me in the mirror - city lights twinkling against the dark sky. This is my moment to shine at Echo Marketing. After landing that major account last month, I've earned some attention.

My phone buzzes on the dresser. Probably Monica from accounting, asking if we're still sharing an Uber to the venue. The thought of arriving alone makes my stomach twist, even though I know it's ridiculous. I'm a successful, independent woman. But something about these corporate events always brings out my insecurities.

I take one final look in the mirror, smoothing an imaginary wrinkle from the dress. The woman staring back at me looks polished, professional, ready to command a room. If only I felt as confident as I looked.

My fingers trace the hem of my dress, picking at an invisible thread. The fabric is perfect - not a stitch out of place - but I can't stop my hands from moving, searching for imperfections that aren't there. Just like I do with everything else in my life.

"Get it together," I whisper, but my fingers keep dancing along the edge of the dress. Up and down. Back and forth. A nervous habit I thought I'd kicked years ago.

The Rogers account sits prominently on my desk, the final presentation materials ready for Monday morning. Landing that deal was huge - the kind of win that puts you on the fast track. My boss's words echo in my head: "This is game-changing, Leah. You're going places."

But tonight, standing in my perfectly decorated apartment, all I can think about is how empty it feels. The pristine white walls, the carefully curated artwork, the spotless kitchen where I rarely cook for anyone but myself. Success tastes different when there's no one to share it with.

My phone buzzes again. I ignore it, knowing it's probably another group text about tonight's festivities. Everyone is pairing up, making plans. Sandra and her husband. Marcus and his new girlfriend. Even Janet from IT found someone to bring as her plus-one.

My chest tightens as I think about walking into that party alone. Again. Another year of polite smiles and "focusing on my career" when well-meaning coworkers ask about my love life. The irony isn't lost on me - I can close million-dollar deals, but the thought of another night of solo small talk makes my stomach churn.

My mother's voice drifts through my mind, clear as if she were standing right here in my bedroom. "Baby girl, all those achievements won't keep you warm at night."

I sink onto the edge of my couch, careful not to wrinkle my dress. Mom's been dropping these little nuggets of wisdom since I moved to Chicago three years ago. Every Sunday call includes some variation of "When are you going to start living your life?" or "There's more to success than that corner office."

"I am living my life," I mutter to the empty room. The words sound hollow, even to me. Dad's different - he gets it, or at least he pretends to. "Chase those dreams, princess," he always says. "Just don't forget to chase your happiness too."

My fingers trace the frame of the family photo on my nightstand. It's from last Christmas - Mom and Dad flanking me on their worn leather couch back in Rockford, their smiles genuine while mine looks practiced, professional. The kind I've perfected for client meetings and company headshots.

"Your father and I met at a community fundraiser," Mom told me last week during our weekly FaceTime call. "Sometimes the best things happen when you're not buried in work." The judgment in her voice was subtle but clear, the same tone she uses whenever she not-so-casually mentions her friend's single son or forwards me dating app success stories.

I stand up, pacing the length of my living room. The space feels too big, too quiet, like it's mocking my solitude. Sure, I've filled it with all the right things - designer furniture, abstract art, Egyptian cotton sheets that cost more than my first month's rent. But it's missing the warmth of my parents' home, the lived-in feeling that comes from sharing your life with someone. No amount of West Elm catalogs or Pinterest boards can replicate that.

"Focus on building your empire," I remind myself, straightening my shoulders like I do before every client presentation at Echo Marketing. That's what I'm good at. That's what makes sense. But my parents' words keep echoing, mixing with the hollow sound of my heels clicking against hardwood floors. Each step feels like another reminder of the path I've chosen - successful, ambitious, and utterly alone.

The truth sits heavy in my chest: they're right. I've mastered the art of climbing the corporate ladder, but I've forgotten how to build bridges to other people. My calendar is full of meetings and deadlines, but the spaces in between are empty.

I reach for my signature MAC Ruby Woo lipstick, the one splurge that always makes me feel like I can take on the world. The bold red matches my dress perfectly - a power move my marketing brain appreciates.

"Whatever. Stop stressing. Time to own this night." I lean closer to the mirror, carefully outlining my full lips. The familiar ritual steadies my hands, grounds me in the moment. One smooth stroke, then another.

My phone buzzes for the third time. I swipe it open - Monica's sent another text: "Car's 5 mins away! You better be ready to SLAY, queen."

A smile tugs at my lips as I blot them together, ensuring even coverage. Monica's enthusiasm is infectious, even through text. Maybe that's what I need tonight - to channel some of that carefree energy instead of overthinking everything.

I cap the lipstick, pressing my lips together one final time. The woman in the mirror looks ready to command attention, to close deals and break hearts. That's the version of Leah Joyce I need tonight - not the one who was just wallowing in self-pity.

"You've got this." I grab my clutch from the bed, checking its contents: phone, cards, keys, and my emergency lipstick touch-up kit. My heels click against the hardwood as I head for the door, each step building my resolve.

I snag my black wool coat from the rack, the cashmere soft against my fingers. Chicago winters don't mess around, and I've learned the hard way that style means nothing if you're shivering. The coat's length matches my dress perfectly - another detail I obsessed over when building my winter wardrobe.

My purse dangles from my wrist as I wrap a silk scarf around my neck, tucking the ends neatly into my coat. The fabric barrier will protect my hair from the wind, which has a nasty habit of undoing hours of careful styling in seconds.

"Keys, phone, lipstick..." I rummage through my purse yet again, running through my mental checklist. Everything's in place, just like always. My hand hovers over the doorknob, and I catch my reflection one last time in the entryway mirror.

The coat's tailored silhouette gives nothing away about my internal dialogue from moments ago. Good. That's exactly how I want it. Professional. Put together. Perfect.

I inhale deeply, letting the air fill my lungs. The familiar scent of my Jo Malone perfume grounds me, reminding me of countless other nights I've conquered.

"Time to shine." My voice sounds stronger now, more certain. I straighten my spine, lift my chin, and open the door. The hallway's bright lights bounce off the polished floor, creating a runway effect that feels almost prophetic. This is my moment, and I've learned to own these moments.

My heels echo against the marble as I stride toward the elevator, each step building my confidence. The coat swishes around my legs, and I can feel the evening stretching out before me - full of possibility rather than obligation. I've spent too many nights thinking about what I should be doing instead of embracing what I want to do.

In the elevator, I straighten my spine, letting the confidence of my appearance wash over me. The solitude can wait for another night. Right now, I'm just a boss in a killer red dress, ready to work the room like I work my client presentations. God knows I've closed enough deals to know exactly how to command attention when I need to.

The doors open to the lobby, and I stride out, my lipstick like war paint, my dress like armor. Sometimes the best defense against loneliness is a good offense - and tonight, I'm playing to win. Chicago's elite won't know what hit them. These networking events are my playground, and I've mastered the game of making every conversation count, every connection matter.