Chapter 3: Cracks in the Golden Frame
The Wilson-Jones business dinner was supposed to be small — just family and a few board members — but when Avrielle walked into the private dining room of the luxury hotel, it looked like a red carpet event. Ornate chandeliers glittered overhead, the long mahogany table was set with gold-trimmed plates, and servers moved quietly, rehearsed in their elegance.
She wore a deep blue satin dress her mother had chosen, paired with heels that pinched at her ankles and earrings she was told had once belonged to her grandmother. Everything about her appearance was curated — not for her, but for the image her family wanted to project.
"Stand up straight, Avrielle," Natalie Jones said quietly as they made their way toward the table. "And smile when you're introduced to Mr. Garland. He's flying in investors from Switzerland next month."
"Do I need to smile while I breathe too?" Avrielle muttered, earning a sharp look from her mother.
"Don't start tonight," Natalie warned in that cool tone of hers. "We have enough on our plates."
That was the thing about being Avrielle Jones — there was always something on the plate. Expectations piled high like a buffet she never ordered from, but was expected to finish without complaint.
Across the room, Ian entered with his parents. He looked handsome, no doubt — dressed in a tailored charcoal suit, his dark hair neatly brushed back, his features composed just as his father had instructed. But his smile didn't reach his eyes. Not tonight.
His mother, Sylvia, leaned close as they approached the table. "Remember to mention your summer internship with Stratton & Co. And don't slouch. You're not a boy anymore, Ian."
Ian bit back a sigh. "Yes, Mom."
Their eyes met across the room, and Avrielle gave him a tiny, crooked smile. The kind that said: Same storm. Different umbrellas.
As the dinner progressed, so did the expectations.
"Ian," Thomas Wilson began, raising his wine glass slightly, "I had a chat with Director Moore last week. He's very impressed with your academic record and athletic achievements. You're making us proud."
Ian nodded, glancing at his untouched food. "Thanks, Dad."
"And Avrielle," Michael Jones turned toward her with that rehearsed warmth he wore during interviews, "Natalie and I were talking — once your internship ends, we'll enroll you in the Young Women's Executive Program. It's a fast-track mentorship course. You'll meet the right people."
"The right people," Avrielle echoed, her voice softer.
Natalie beamed. "Exactly. You're a Jones, darling. Your presence should always be felt."
Avrielle's throat felt tight. She nodded, unable to push a smile past the pressure in her chest. She could feel Ian watching her, sensing the shift in her demeanor as if it were his own.
Later that evening, when the applause quieted and the goodbyes were said, the two of them found themselves standing under the open sky in the rooftop garden of the hotel.
Avrielle leaned on the railing, her arms bare in the breeze. "Do you ever feel like they see us as investments, not people?"
Ian stood beside her, hands in his pockets. "All the time."
She turned to look at him. "I know they love us, in their own way. But it's like… they're raising heirs, not kids."
Ian's jaw tightened. "My dad told me today that after college, I'm expected to start shadowing him full-time. No gap year. No backpacking trips. Just boardrooms and spreadsheets."
"Sounds… suffocating," she whispered.
"It is."
Silence fell between them for a moment. The wind brushed gently against their faces, bringing with it the faint sounds of the city below — horns, laughter, life. A world that felt so far from their own.
"My mom said I need to learn how to 'walk like a woman' today," Avrielle said suddenly. "As if being sixteen is old enough to wear a mask for the rest of my life."
Ian looked at her, really looked. There was something fragile in her voice. A crack in the glass she always wore.
"You remember our promise?" he asked quietly.
She nodded. "To disappear."
"We still can."
Her eyes searched his. "How?"
"I don't know yet," he admitted. "But I'll figure it out. For you. For us."
Her breath hitched slightly. "You'd really do that?"
"I'd do anything to get you out of this. To get us out of this."
There it was — a beat of silence, then the subtle weight of a decision shifting in her soul.
Avrielle stepped closer, the distance between them shrinking. "Then I'm in. Whatever it is. I'm done playing dress-up in a life that doesn't feel like mine."
Ian's heart pounded. "You're serious?"
"I've never been more serious," she said. "Let's break the glass. Let's stop pretending. I don't want to wake up one day and realize I lived someone else's life just to make people happy."
He exhaled like he'd been holding that breath for years. "Okay. We'll plan it out. We'll do it right."
She gave him a small, resolute nod. "I trust you."
He looked at her then, not as a girl forced into heels and expectations, but as a fighter — someone who had been handed a script and chose to rewrite it.
Above them, the stars blinked faintly in the polluted sky, as if cheering for the choice they'd just made.
Downstairs, their parents smiled and toasted to futures carved in polished stone — unaware that their children had just chosen to carve a path of their own, out of the same gilded marble.
And though the plan had yet to be made, the escape had already begun — in their hearts, in their eyes, and in the fire quietly burning behind every smile they gave.