3. Glorious Barricade

I had not left my room since the moment I fled last night.

Twenty-four hours of self-imposed exile in a mansion that suddenly felt like prison. The heavy oak door remained locked, the curtains drawn halfway so that only thin blades of afternoon light sliced across the cream carpet. My once-immaculate bedroom now looked like the aftermath of a very dignified hurricane: discarded heels lying like fallen soldiers near the chaise, the black cocktail dress from last night draped accusingly over the velvet armchair, and an assortment of half-eaten snacks scattered across my vanity like evidence of my nighttime crimes.

I, Ava Montgomery, queen of Greenwich Academy, captain of the cheer squad, and professional breaker of hearts, had been reduced to sneaking downstairs at two in the morning like a common thief just to steal a packet of imported Belgian chocolate biscuits and a tub of salted caramel ice cream. Pathetic. Utterly, gloriously pathetic.

I lay sprawled across my king-sized bed in nothing but an oversized silk robe, staring at the delicate frescoed ceiling as if it might offer me answers. It did not. The ceiling, much like the rest of my life at this precise moment, remained elegantly silent and unhelpful.

How had it come to this? Two boys I had once shared treehouses and secrets with had reduced me to a blushing, stammering mess with nothing more than a blink and a half-hearted smile.

If they had rejected me so easily, perhaps I should simply move on. After all, who was I to chase after anyone? I made people earn it while wearing something that cost more than most people’s monthly rent.

A dangerous warmth tried to bloom low in my belly as the memory of Ethan’s hard chest against mine flashed unbidden. The clean, masculine scent of his cologne. The brief, terrifying moment when my body had responded despite everything.

I sat up abruptly, pressing my thighs together and scowling at the empty room.

“No,” I muttered aloud, my voice hoarse from disuse. “Absolutely not. We are not doing that.”

I refused to let my traitorous body turn their rejection into some twisted fantasy. I had standards. Even in humiliation, I had standards.

A soft buzz came from my phone. I glanced at the screen and sighed.

**Madison:** Babe where r u?? Everyone’s talking about the gala. Tyler keeps asking if you’re coming to the lake house tonight. We’re getting wasted 🔥

**Chloe:** Queen, pls tell me you’re not dead. We need you to roast Olivia’s new haircut. It’s criminal.

**Sophia (I don't know her):** Party at the club tonight. VIP table. Don’t make me drag you out in your pajamas.

I stared at the messages for a long moment, then typed the same reply I had been sending all day.

**Ava:** Not tonight. Feeling under the weather. Have fun xx

Lies. All lies. The only thing under the weather was my pride, and it was currently suffering from a terminal case of mortification.

Another knock sounded on my door.

“Ava, sweetheart?” My mother’s voice carried that perfectly modulated tone she used when she was running out of patience but still trying to sound refined. “The Caldwells have invited us for dinner tonight. Sophia specifically asked for you to join. It would be terribly rude to refuse.”

I pulled a pillow over my face and groaned. “I’m not feeling well, Mother,” I called back, my voice muffled. “Perhaps another night.” There was a pause. Then, “Darling, you’ve been ‘not feeling well’ since last night. You missed breakfast and lunch. At least come down for dinner. The twins are back, you know. It will be just like old times.”

Just like old times.

The words stung more than they should have. Old times had ended the day those black SUVs drove away and left me crying into my pillow for weeks. Old times did not include being gently pushed aside like an overeager puppy.

“I said no, Mother.” Footsteps retreated. For a blessed ten minutes, there was peace. Then the door handle rattled. “Ava Grace Montgomery, open this door right this instant.”

It was my father’s voice now deep, authoritative, the same tone he used in boardrooms when closing multi-million-dollar deals. I considered pretending to be asleep, but the man had the persistence of a bloodhound when it came to family appearances.

With a dramatic sigh, I dragged myself off the bed and unlocked the door.

My father stood there in a crisp navy sweater, looking every inch the distinguished businessman even on a casual evening. Behind him hovered my mother, elegant as always in pearls and cashmere, and to my surprise my older brother Jamie, who had apparently driven up from Yale for the weekend.

Jamie leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, wearing that annoying half smirk he reserved for moments when he thought I was being ridiculous. At twenty-two, he still looked like the golden boy of the family tall, broad shouldered, with the same hazel eyes but darker hair. He had always been the responsible one. I had always been the spoiled one. The dynamic worked for us.

“Well, well,” Jamie drawled, eyeing my disheveled state. “If it isn’t the reigning monarch of the House, hiding in her tower like a dramatic princess. Rough night at the ball, Cinderella?”

“Shut up, Jamie,” I muttered, rubbing my eyes. “I’m not in the mood.”

Mom swept into the room without invitation, her gaze taking in the mess with barely concealed horror. “Good heavens, Ava. This room looks like a crime scene. And you look like you haven’t slept. What on earth happened last night?”

“Nothing,” I lied smoothly, though my voice wavered just enough to betray me. “I simply didn’t feel like socializing after the gala. Is that a crime now?”

Dad exchanged a look with Mom. The kind of look parents give when they suspect their child is hiding something juicy but decide not to press. Yet.

“Sophia has been planning this dinner for weeks,” Dad said firmly. “The Caldwells are our closest neighbors and oldest friends. You will join us, Ava. End of discussion.”

“I’m not going,” I said, lifting my chin with all the remaining dignity I could muster. “Tell them I send my regrets. Or better yet, tell them I’ve contracted a sudden and mysterious illness. Something elegant. Something Like a Victorian consumption.”

Jamie snorted. “Victorian consumption? Really? You’ve been reading too many romance novels again.”

Mom ignored both of us. She walked straight to my enormous walk-in closet and began rifling through the racks with the efficiency of a general preparing for battle.

“You are going, young lady,” she declared over her shoulder. “And you will look presentable. The Caldwells deserve better than a sulking daughter who refuses to leave her room.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but she emerged victorious, holding up a dress I had bought on a whim last month and never worn.

It was a shimmering baby-pink mini dress covered in delicate sequins that caught the light like scattered diamonds. The neckline dipped just enough to hint at cleavage yeah very tasteful, but undeniably seductive. The hem barely reached mid-thigh. It was the kind of dress that said “I am expensive, bitch and I know it.”

Mom tossed it onto the bed with the finality of a judge delivering a verdict.

“Wear this,” she commanded. “You have twenty minutes. I expect you downstairs, hair done, makeup flawless, and attitude adjusted. Do not test me tonight, Ava.”

I stared at the sparkling pink confection as if it had personally offended me.

“Mother, that dress is far too short for a family dinner.” I'm not looking for more embarrassments.

“Then perhaps you should have thought of that before you locked yourself away like a tragic heroine,” she replied sweetly. “Jamie, darling, help your sister if she tries to barricade the door again.”

Jamie grinned, saluting mockingly. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll stand guard.”

With that, my family retreated, leaving me alone once more with the glittering pink dress lying accusingly on my silk sheets.

I sank down onto the edge of the bed and picked it up. The sequins felt cool and slippery against my fingers. It was beautiful. Expensive. The kind of dress that would turn heads and make other girls whisper behind their hands.

But all I could think about was how I had thrown myself at the twins last night like some lovesick fool, only to be gently, humiliatingly set aside.

If they had treated me like that then perhaps I really should move on. And yet the thought of walking into the Caldwell mansion tonight, wearing this dress, facing those identical twins again

A strange tightness formed in my chest.

I stood up slowly and carried the dress toward the mirror. The girl staring back at me looked tired and smaller than usual, despite my blonde waves and the expensive robe.

This time, there would be no hiding.