Ariana pov
Immediately Mom left my room, sleep left me too. I lay there for a while, staring at the ceiling, trying to calm my head. It didn't work. I got up, gathered the scattered clothes on the chair, folded the ones that weren't wrinkled, and tossed the others into the basket. My vanity looked like a battlefield of makeup brushes and hair clips, so I started fixing that too. Dad hated disorder. If he saw this, he'd say, "You can't control your world if you can't control your room." I'd heard it enough times to remember.
By the time I finished cleaning, the clock said 5:58. The dress Mom picked earlier — a short black one — waited neatly on the bed. I slipped it on, brushed my hair until it fell in soft waves over my shoulders, and added a little gloss. I wasn't doing too much. Just enough to look like I cared.
When I checked the mirror again, I barely recognized myself — calm face, dark dress, red heels. All for dinner I didn't even want to go to.
By 6:40, I was ready. I grabbed my purse and hurried downstairs, heels tapping against the marble. Mom was already waiting near the door, scrolling through her phone. Her gown shimmered faintly under the chandelier. She looked up, gave me that look — half proud, half checking for flaws.
"You look nice," she said.
"Thanks," I said, straightening my sleeve.
Dad walked in at that moment, already in his suit, phone in one hand. He paused, glanced at both of us, and smiled. "The ladies always like overdressing," he said over his shoulder to Elias, who stood near the entrance.
Mom rolled her eyes. "Oh, Beckett, stop it."
Elias didn't say anything. Just nodded slightly, that usual blank look on his face. But I saw the flicker — the brief shift in his eyes before he looked away.
Dad reached for Mom's hand. "kissed it like and told her he made the right choice by marrying her" he teased.
"You're impossible," she muttered, but she still smiled.
We headed out. Dad opened the door for her like he always did. I slid into the backseat next to Mom, smoothing my dress. Dad sat in front, and Elias drove.
The drive was mostly quiet. The hum of the engine filled the car. Streetlights flashed against the windows, one after another. Dad made a few work calls before finally turning off his phone. I watched the city blur by, half listening to the soft rumble of Elias's voice as he asked, "Right or left at the next turn, sir?"
When we pulled into Mr. Andrew's mansion, I couldn't help but stare. The house looked more like a palace — wide driveway, golden lights, and an actual fountain outside. Typical of Dad's friends. Everything had to scream money.
Elias stopped the car. Dad got out first, buttoning his jacket before walking around to open Mom's door. Elias stood quietly, hands clasped behind him. I stepped out, avoiding his gaze.
The hostess, dressed in black, smiled too wide. "Good evening, Mr. Vale. Mr. Andrew is expecting you."
We followed her inside. The hall smelled faintly of money — the kind of scent rich people pay decorators to achieve. Elias stayed behind at the door, still and silent.
"Beckett Vale," Mr. Andrew said the moment he saw Dad, stretching out his hand. "You're right on time."
Dad shook his hand firmly. "Andrew, you're looking well."
Mr. Andrew's smile widened. "You must bring your family more often." He turned to me, his tone softer. "And this must be your daughter."
I gave a small nod. "Yes, sir."
He chuckled. "No need for 'sir.' I'm Andrew." He gestured beside him. "This is my son, Zack."
Zack stood up from his seat. "Hey," he said simply.
He was tall — taller than I expected — and lean, but his arms looked like he actually lifted weights. His dark hair was a little messy, like he didn't care much for perfect looks. His eyes caught the chandelier light; they were brown, sharp, and alert. He looked like someone who played sports but didn't brag about it.
"Hi," I said, keeping it short.
Mom smiled like she'd just seen a glimpse of her future in-law. Dad clapped Mr. Andrew on the back and took a seat at the long dining table. The plates looked too expensive to touch.
Mr. Andrew motioned to the menus. "You can order anything. The chef's prepared a full buffet too, but it's all yours to choose from."
Dad immediately went for the wine list. "Red, as usual," he told the waiter.
Mom crossed her legs and leaned toward me. "Don't slouch," she whispered.
Zack looked at me, then at the menu, then back again. "You come to these things often?" he asked quietly.
"Not if I can help it," I said.
He smirked. "Lucky you."
The waitress approached. "Miss, what would you like to order?"
I skimmed the menu. Everything sounded the same — salad this, roasted that. I didn't overthink it. "Seafood paella, garlic bread, and mixed green salad."
There was a pause. Zack, mid-sip of his water, choked.
He coughed once, then twice, eyes watering as his dad shot him a glare.
"Zack," Mr. Andrew muttered. "Control yourself."
Zack waved a hand, still coughing. "Sorry— sorry." He finally caught his breath and turned toward me. "Seafood paella?"
"Yes," I said, calm.
He blinked. "Like… with shrimp and mussels?"
"Yes."
He stared at me like I'd said I ate nails for breakfast. "Didn't expect that. Most girls I know barely eat anything that swims."
I shrugged. "Guess I'm not most girls."
He grinned, still rubbing his throat. "Yeah, clearly."
I turned slightly toward him. "So what do you usually order?"
"Salad and grilled chicken," he said. "Safe. Predictable."
"Boring," I said under my breath.
He laughed. "You think so?"
"I know so."
Mom glanced at me from across the table but didn't say anything. Dad and Mr. Andrew were already deep in business talk — stocks, investments, something about mergers.
Zack leaned closer slightly. "You live in Hartwell, right?"
I nodded. "Unfortunately."
"Never been," he said. "Heard it's full of mansions and rules."
"Pretty much," I said. "And dads who think orderliness equals happiness."
He laughed quietly. "Sounds familiar."
The waitress came back with the drinks. Zack reached for his water again, slower this time.
"So," he said, "you really eat seafood?"
"Yes," I said, sipping mine. "You act like it's a crime."
He grinned. "No crime. Just unexpected."
The corners of my lips lifted a little. "Then I guess you're easy to shock."
He smiled again, shaking his head slightly. "Maybe."
And for a second, the noise around the table faded — Dad's low voice, Mr. Andrew's laughter, Mom's polite nods — everything blurred except the sound of Zack setting his glass down.
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