I live in

ked away behind iron gates and winding driveways, just far enough from the chaos of Manhattan t

lways loved

ke something pulled from a forgotten Italian fairytale - roses climbing along stone archways, marble fountains hummin

y own. Growing up, I thought that was normal - to have guards at the gates and men in b

t t

ad freedom in other ways.I had

ong time, th

, while the estate is still asleep. Wrap myself in a shawl, grab my sketchpad, and walk barefoot into the garden. I

f the day. Out there, I

ve had so much

of quiet study and meticulous planning, I finally have a degree with my name on it. It

he ceremony. "Business," he

ys later, he

from the villa windows. He opened a bottle of wine I'd never even seen him touch before, and for the

belie

ry upstate. That it was mine, start to finish. I nearly cried. I've always wanted

ore everything I'd only ever read about. It felt like everything I'd wor

... somethi

explain it. It's like

rs now, and when I pass by, the voices inside lower to whispers. The guards - the ones who used t

here's

ive-looking, with tinted wi

across the stree

e gets in or out. It's

agining that par

my chest, but I always do. Just a quick glance. Just enough to see i

soms, my bare feet brushing against the cold stone, trying to chase the unease away. I told myse

the t

ike somethi

t past the edg

is... it alread