And just like that, I was initiated into the bizarre, high-stakes world of the Manhattan elite.

I watched through the cracked door as Mrs. X laughed with her friends, playing the part of the perfect wife and mother, while her actual child was heartbroken just a few rooms away. "Enough," I whispered to myself.

He lived in the penthouse of the X's building. His real name was Caleb, but in my head, he was the embodiment of every Ivy League crush I’d ever dreamed of. He was tall, had messy brown hair, and possessed a smile that made me forget my own name.

Of course, my own life was becoming a complicated juggling act. To keep my mother from having a heart attack, I maintained the lie that I was working in finance. I would change out of my sweatpants and into a pencil skirt in the subway station every evening before heading home. Then, there was Harvard Hottie.

The next morning, Mrs. X called me into her pristine, white living room. She had found a nanny cam recording I didn't know existed. It didn't show me doing anything wrong—it showed me hugging Grayer, telling him he was loved, and letting him eat pizza.

I smiled, looking at the city around me. I hadn't found the career I expected, but I had found my voice, a boy who loved me, and the realization that the best things in life can't be scheduled in a Chanel planner.

I looked up to see a woman who looked like she had stepped directly out of a high-fashion magazine. Her hair was a perfect blonde bob, her sunglasses cost more than my rent, and she exuded an air of pure, unadulterated stress. This was Mrs. X.