A/N: Thank you so much for all the love. It means the world to me.

Special thanks to Mel, and my prereaders-all mistakes are mine!

Let me know your thoughts:)

Song suggestion: Bejeweled by Taylor Swift

Stepping off the train at Grand Central Station was a rush. It had been months since I'd seen this many people. Bags in hand, almost like armor, I waited for disaster to strike. The biggest disaster that could occur would be if I were recognized. I glanced around at the huge crowd and saw a few people carrying "I heart NYC" bags, so I doubted they would have the slightest idea who I was. Tourists had more important sights to gawk at.

I never thought that I would be bothered by being the center of attention. Once upon a time, I relished the spotlight shining on me. Now I just wanted to fly under the radar. Having not been in the city for the last few months had given me not only perspective but a sense of peace.

I was really trying to change from that girl I had been before things got so out of hand. The IT girl. The tabloid girl. The girl everyone thought they knew. The girl they would never really know.

The city was a magical place. It had this chokehold on many, the second you left the UES it was as if you self-destructed. My life was currently in limbo because being spotted with me had become the worst possible scenario, so most of the people from my old life avoided me like the plague.

Staying home and laying low were foreign concepts for me. Which given that I was a former party girl and high-profile socialite made sense. I mingled with the best of the best. Not a weekend went by that wasn't filled with parties on yachts, fashion shows, cocktail hours, fundraisers, the list went on. I was the girl everybody wanted to be seen with. Heck, I was the girl many people wanted to be. On the outside, my life looked perfect and glamorous. But realistically, it was lonely and I couldn't shake the feeling like things were supposed to be different. Maybe I was the one that was supposed to be different?

Everyone was mad at me. Nobody had heard from me since my sudden departure, and I certainly hadn't heard from anyone. I didn't count my mother, Renee. She did call to inform me that she was going to be "unreachable" for the next month. She was joining some spiritual retreat in the desert, where the attendees did ayahuasca and cried about their past traumas. It sounded like my version of hell but to each their own.

Renee Higginbotham was a character. Money and status were all that mattered to her. She would then drown herself in wellness rituals to forget what an empty shell her life was. But I digress.

In a way, I was thankful to have some time to transition back into the city without Renee and her demanding ways. She would already have me lined up on some "apology tour" as if I needed to explain myself to anyone. Meanwhile, Renee never let me explain my version of events. She never let me—

I took a deep breath and remembered my mantra, repeating it in my head to calm myself down. "She's not going to change. The only thing you can control is yourself."

To all my former associates, to my family, I was a stain on their perfectly manicured life. Everybody loved a scandal until you were the one who was scandalous. Then they ran and whispered behind your back.

I walked out of the crowded building and smelled the musty New York air, and oddly enough it gave me a sense of belonging. After all, NYC was my home. I'd lived in other places, traveled, hell I even attended boarding school in Germany for a semester. Fucking Renee and husband number three, or was it number four? I always confused German Phillip and Russian Phillip. She had a thing for Phillips. But Renee only married one of the Phillips. The other one she shacked up with in Aspen for eight months, leaving my older sister Jane and me with Renata, who was our live-in housekeeper at the time.

I stuck out my hand to signal for a cab. Two pulled up simultaneously, so I waved the second one off, put my luggage in the trunk, and got into the first. "Plaza Hotel, please." I scrunched up my nose as I took in the smell in the car. The cab reeked of cheap cologne and cigarettes. Great, like I really needed an instant headache.

The Plaza was an oasis—it felt like a fortress away from the world, yet it was in the heart of Manhattan. When I decided to come back to the city, I knew I needed a place to escape. I couldn't go back to the brownstone apartment that Charles, my father, bought me for my twenty-first birthday. After the incident, it was too much of a reminder. Of everything I had and everything I would never have again.

Renee kept asking me what my intentions were with it. And my answer continued to be the same: "I don't know." I don't know much of anything anymore. My life had always seemed very mapped out, and now I was wandering blindly without any real direction.

Cover girl, off duty model had become my vibe. I secured a front row seat at New York Fashion Week. I had the clout and was pretty respected in that world without ever having an official job. Maybe I could be considered an influencer? But that sounded too niche. Socialite was what my mother was, and being in the same category as her made me feel hives coming on. Another "I don't know" to add to my list.

Pulling up to the famous hotel, my new home for the foreseeable future, I got out of the cab, searching for a bellhop. I put on my sunglasses, even though it was dusk, in an effort to remain unrecognizable.

"Welcome, Miss Swan.'' The young bellhop smirked, grabbing my Louis Vuitton luggage out of the cab.

He must have read all the tabloids. People like him thought they knew me. All they knew was a convoluted version of me. Nobody paid attention long enough to get to know me. They saw my beauty and that was enough for them. Having a brain was almost an inconvenience because then people would have to pretend to listen to what you had to say.

Sure, the last year and a half was the worst ever. I experienced loss, made a shit ton of mistakes, and hurt not only myself but people I loved. Getting out of the city helped me heal and gain clarity. The old Isabella was not the Bella I wanted to be anymore. I was aware it would take a while for people to see me differently, but it couldn't be that hard to reinvent myself. Could it?

I was once New York's IT girl. Everyone wanted to be me. Now they all didn't want to know me.

What could I do to change that?

XxXx

My suite at the Plaza was a nice change of pace from the other places I'd stayed throughout my months long, self-imposed exile.

What girl didn't love turndown service, fluffy robes, and a chocolate on their pillow?

I was used to a certain type of lifestyle, having grown up on the Upper East Side in a penthouse apartment. Renee came from old money, bred from a pair of blue bloods. My grandmother, Tilly Higginbotham, left her a huge inheritance when she passed. Gran was independently wealthy before my grandad died in the war, so she ended up having my mother raised by nannies and housekeepers. A trend that Renee would follow.

My mother used much of her fortune to fund my father's company, Swan Corp. She met him when he was still trading penny stocks. All the while, Renee continued to social climb her way to the top of every charity board from the Upper East Side to East Hampton.

Swan Corp was a typical investment firm that dealt with the uber wealthy, thanks to my mother's connections. Charles then sold it for a boatload of money and semi-retired, much to my mother's dismay.

That probably was when the cracks started for them, but I was only eight so I don't remember much of it. Only what Jane had mentioned in the middle of the night.

But it wasn't until I was fourteen when my parents divorced. Renee had found Charles in bed with none other than his best friend and former "business" partner, William Black III. Needless to say, Renee immediately filed for divorce and ran to Page Six to spin the story her way.

Jane and I were shuffled back and forth from penthouse to penthouse by the nanny or housekeeper for a year before Mom got full custody. Our parents were too involved in their own lives to actually raise us. My father specifically couldn't be bothered with playing his part and sent us a fat check for birthdays and holidays in lieu of spending time with us, our visits to see him dwindling with each passing month.

As of a few years ago, Charles and William had moved to Tuscany and made wine in their spare time. I tried to visit every summer, but obviously this past summer wasn't spent there. I had told them I needed time after everything. Nobody understood.

Now my mother only married men with private planes, who owned islands and had multiple names. Bonus points if they were shipping heirs or oil tycoons. She was a serial dater and loved being in relationships. Renee was incapable of being alone. Her society friends all stayed in their unhappy marriages for the sake of image, so Renee was judged when she decided to end her farce of a union.

Charlie wasn't the first guy to turn out to be gay after twenty years of marriage. But he was one of the first to do it so publicly in my mother's social circle. The wives usually turned a blind eye and purchased another Chanel bag or went on a ski retreat with a sexy, twenty-something-year-old instructor just to prove they still had "it." Whatever "it" was.

After crawling back to her friends and doing her own version of an "apology tour," Renee's status in high society was reinstated. Just in time for her to fly her friends to Ibiza for her "35th birthday" for the tenth time.

Renee sent me to boarding school in Connecticut when I was fifteen, and I'd bounced around schools ever since. I did a year of college at Brown before dropping out when Donatella gave me my first campaign. I was a fixture in the nightlife crowd, promoting whatever project I was working on. It never hurt to make connections and contacts, and it was easy to get them wrapped around my finger when they were drunk.

Last year, every brand I'd worked for, or still had connections with, dropped me like a bad habit.

I shook myself out of my pity party and went over to the bar area in the room and poured myself a bourbon. Maybe I could call one of my friends. One of the few who promised they would stick by me was Alice Marie Brandon. She was currently the face of multiple fashion houses, and she was regularly invited to Paris Fashion Week. Her family owned a major processed food company and retired to their Bridgehampton house. We'd known each other since we were twelve, before I got sent to boarding school, having gone to the same prep school. We dominated the party scene for years before my fall from grace.

I pressed her name in my phone and prayed that she would answer. Hotel rooms were lovely but they were also lonely, so it would be nice to have one person to talk to.

"Hello," she answered in her typical nasally voice. She hadn't sounded the same ever since she'd gotten her fourth nose job. According to her, the allergies she suffered were unbearable. If you wanted the truth, Alice thought her plastic surgeon, Dr. Stein, was hot, and she hoped she would score as a doctor's wife. Too bad Dr. Stein was more interested in checking out her dad's ass when he came with Alice to pay the bill than picking up a trophy wife.

"Hi girl, I'm back!" I held my breath, fighting the urge to bite my nails. Who knew when I could get a manicure again.

"Isabella? Is it that you?" Alice asked, sounding puzzled.

That bitch must have deleted my number from her phone. "Yes, Alice, it's me." I huffed, getting annoyed, staring at the candy on the mini bar. Maybe I could eat my feelings.

"How are you? Oh my God. Does your mother know you're back? You know Renee was so worried before she left for her retreat. We ran into each other getting Botox. You know that tiny Med Spa on 51st? Anyways, she and I got talking. It's been too long, sis." Alice let out a breath, sounding winded. Probably a side effect from all the Botox.

Alice was the poster child for too many plastic surgeries. Just because you could do it, didn't mean you should. But if it moved or jiggled, Alice wanted it gone.

I had Botox once and had a horrible reaction. My face blew up like a balloon. Never again.

"Wanna grab a drink? We can meet downstairs at The Champagne Room?" I almost sounded desperate, as I swirled the drink in my hand. Drinking alone wasn't my vibe.

"Iz, I can't risk anyone seeing me or worse—photographing me—with you. You know how it is, both of us shouldn't suffer for your mistakes. Sorry, honey. If you want, I can come to your suite. We can order room service and harass the cute bellmen, just like old times." She laughed, nervously.

I groaned and walked over to the couch, collapsing onto it. Who knew making plans with "friends" needed to be this strategic?!

"You know what, Alice, actually I'm pretty tired. I'll call you later in the week and maybe we can set up a solo shopping date. And meet in the dressing rooms?" I added quickly, knowing that she wouldn't want to risk losing her stylist at Bergdorf Goodman.

My oldest friend was not the pillar of support I'd hoped she'd be. Then again, nobody was. After all, I was wallowing in this room alone. Just like I had been for the months prior when I'd disappeared from New York.

"See, you understand! Great, Isabella, talk soon." Alice hung up and I looked around the empty hotel room.

Fuck, I screamed to the bare walls. I can't believe this was my life. I set the glass on the end table and rose from the couch, trying to resist the urge to throw my phone at the wall. There would be time for that later.

Instead of throwing myself a pity party, I changed into a new Herve Leger dress. Whoever said these dresses went out of style was seriously deranged.

I had a trunkload of clothes and some of my other belongings sent over to the hotel prior to my arrival. I really didn't want to have to go back to my place, if I could manage. I buckled the straps of my Manolos, admiring the way they sparkled. It had been a while since I was this dressed up, but the first step in feeling good was looking good…

I tousled my hair after undoing my messy bun, my signature unruly blonde hair falling around my shoulders. I used to have a deal with Sally Hershberger, but that went out the window.

Taking the elevator downstairs to the lobby, I was met with bustles of people, some holding hands, happy couples, kids probably on vacation up way past their bedtime, and a few single guys looking for their next conquest. They were cute, if you liked the typical Wall Street douche. Been there and done that.

I walked through the city for a bit, wandering around in search of a little entertainment. I could always go to Butter and have dinner solo, but that wasn't low profile. Alexis would probably give me my standing table, thinking I'd want to try and repair this clusterfuck I was stuck in.

No, I needed to go somewhere nobody I knew frequented. I twirled the chain of my small gold Gucci bag around and then spun myself in the opposite direction. Through the huge buildings, I saw the Williamsburg Bridge peeking out, beckoning me to come.

I stuck my hand out to hail a cab, and once I was settled on the seat, I spoke words that I didn't know were capable of coming out of my mouth.

"Williamsburg, please."