Page 215 of Collide

I smile, soft and unsure, that familiar tug catching behind my ribs. “I don’t know…it still feels surreal. Like I’m about to wake up and—poof—this is all gone.”

Riley, mid-hair curl and phone in hand, glances at me from the chair by the window. “Girl, please. You’ve worked your ass off for this. Own it.”

She grins, but her eyes soften, and I know she sees me, really sees me, clinging tight to the edge of this moment.

“Ooh, social media is on fire right now,” she adds with a smirk. “Want me to read some?”

I laugh—light, breathless. “Go for it.”

She sits up straighter, holding her phone like it’s a royal scroll.

I shake my head, smiling, a small laugh escaping.

“That’s so sweet,” Philippa says, glancing over her shoulder. “You’ve touched people, Elena. You should let that sink in.”

Riley keeps scrolling, her grin growing.

My chest goes warm, tight and fluttering. That familiar hum of vulnerability before I step out and show the world something I haven’t fully come to terms with myself.

“Here’s another one—Oh my God, this one’s too good.” Riley snorts and reads it in the most dramatic voice she can muster:

She looks up, grinning. “Oh, wait, that’s me.”

Philippa and I burst out laughing.

“Wow, subtle, babe,” I tease, swiping under my eyes before any of the glam team notices I’m about to cry off my eyeliner.

“I mean it, though.” Riley sets her phone down, all the playfulness gone. “Elena, I’ve watched what you’ve gone through, and now you’re here, about to drop an album that’s going to change everything. You deserve to rise. You deserve all of this.”

Philippa nods, her expression softening. “She’s right. I know I haven’t always said the right thing—or knownwhatto say—but…” Her voice falters, trembling beneath the surface. “Seeing you now, I wish Mom could see you tonight. She would be so proud.”

The weight of it hangs between us. Heavy.

That hits me straight in the chest.

“I wish she could, too,” I whisper as Philippa steps closer, wrapping her arms around me, careful not to smudge my makeup.

“I think shedoessee you,” she adds quietly, voice shaky.

“Stop, Inga just did my mascara,” I choke on a laugh, brushing my cheek as Riley throws her arms around us in a sloppy group hug, nearly knocking over Philippa’s champagne.

“Look at us, we’re a mess.” Riley sniffles dramatically. “Who needs glam squads when we’re emotionally glowing?”

We pull back, laughing, and for a moment, I let it sink in: how lucky I am to have them. My sister. My best friend. Standing by me when I feel bothreadyandterrifiedto show the world who I really am.

Rio claps his hands, breaking the moment with a bright grin. “Ladies, let’s get our star ready to rise, shall we?”

They guide me into the chair, my girls still close. In the mirror, my reflection begins to take shape under their hands—foundation and lashes, shimmer and shadow, like layers of armor.

Once the glam team finishes weaving their magic, we’re ready.

To my left, Riley radiates in a sapphire cocktail dress that hugs every curve. It’s short enough to show off her long legs, with delicate silver straps that catch the light above us. Her wild red curls have been coaxed into glossy waves, though a few still rebel, because, of course, she would never betoopolished.

On my right, Philippa is elegance incarnate. She wears a sleek black gown that drapes off one shoulder, her chestnut hair pulled into a low bun that highlights the sharp line of her jaw and the sparkle of understated diamond studs. Where Riley looks like the life of the party, Philippa looks like she owns the building—poised, composed, her signature resting-serious face softening only when her eyes land on me.

And me? My hair is swept into a sleek high ponytail, giving the illusion of height, of strength. I feel like I canholdsomething tonight. Like I can carry it.

Dangling from my ears are my mother’s earrings—the ones she wore on that Miss Universe stage all those years ago.