Arabella met her girls at their favorite spot in SoHo: a sleek, private-access atelier nestled between two art galleries. It was the kind of place that served chilled cucumber water and champagne upon entry and never repeated a design twice.
"Please tell me that's a new Birkin," Dorothy said, eyeing Arabella's ivory crocodile-skin handbag.
Arabella grinned. "Gift from Father. He thought my taupe one was 'out of season.'"
Ava snorted. "I swear, your family is a fashion house disguised as a dynasty."
Emily emerged from behind a rack of shimmering gowns, holding up a gold sequined dress. "This screams 'modern aristocracy,' doesn't it?"
Arabella nodded. "Try it. But pair it with the bronze stilettos from last spring's McQueen line."
Dorothy raised an eyebrow. "The way you catalog fashion like chess moves is terrifying."
"Terrifyingly effective," Ava added.
Arabella leaned back against a tufted velvet seat. "Someone has to set the standard."
The girls laughed and slipped into their usual rhythm gossip, couture, and subtle one upmanship. But Arabella's smile faltered when Dorothy casually mentioned, "Serena Moore posted a picture in that exact Oscar de la Renta dress you wore last week. Captioned it, 'inspired by queens.'"
Arabella's eyes narrowed. "She's been 'inspired' by me since prep school. First, my essay style, then my internship, now my wardrobe."
Emily scowled. "At least not your boyfriend."
Arabella's shoulders tensed.
Dorothy rushed in. "Kidding. Sort of. You and Preston are solid, right?"
Arabella gave a diplomatic smile. "We're fine."
Just then, her phone buzzed. A message from Preston.
đź’¬ Sorry, babe. Can't make dinner tonight. Emergency at the office. Rain check?
Another one, seconds later:
đź’¬ Love you.
She stared at the screen. No apology call. There was no real explanation. Just a vague, last-minute bail on plans they'd set days ago.
"You okay?" Ava asked, watching her too closely.
Arabella slipped her phone into her bag. "He canceled. Said it was work."
Emily rolled her eyes. "Let me guess work at that new rooftop bar or wherever the socialites are flocking tonight?"
"He said office," Arabella replied, but even she didn't sound convinced.
The girls fell quiet, their attention shifting as Arabella sighed and glanced out the floor-to-ceiling window.
You know, i think you brothers are actually right on staging an intervention. He doesn't deserve you, Ava replied after a while.
Every man in their right senses would drowl over you every day, addded Emily
'm strictly into men, and i drowl over you. Dorothy replied changing the tense atmosphere causing everyone to giggle.
My brothers hate every guy that has ever come around me and will always see something wrong, they think I'm still a five year old that need constant protection, Arabella said with a scowl on her face.
We get your point sweetie, but all we are saying is do you, don't stay with a man because you feel the need to one up your brothers or prove a point, We all just want you to be happy, you know we want what's best for you, Dorothy responded, with Emily and Ava nodding their heads in agreement.
Thanks guys I get what you mean and I promise Preston and I are good, it's just a phase his in.
"I'm just tired of being pulled into the Kingsley drama. Every time Preston talks about Ashton, it's this mix of jealousy and resentment. Like he's measuring himself against someone who doesn't even acknowledge the race."
Dorothy nodded. "Preston acts like Ashton's success is a personal attack. And from what I've seen, Ashton couldn't care less."
Arabella gave a rueful smile. "Exactly. Their father keeps trying to play peacemaker. Monthly family dinners. Joint ventures. 'Team-building weekends.' It always ends the same Preston sulks, Ashton stays silent, and his mother glares at everyone like we're beneath her."
"Like you could ever be beneath her, that bitch she should be happy your giving her spoilt brat the time of the day," Ava said.
Avaaaa, Arabella warned
Sorry, I just got pissed, like how do you stand her.
"I tolerate her," Arabella corrected. "In the same way a museum tolerates tourists.
Emily made a face. "She once called you a 'pretty resume.'"
Arabella nodded. "And told me I should try a softer lipstick shade if I wanted to be taken seriously."
Dorothy leaned in. "You ever think Preston's more into the *idea* of you than the real thing?"
Arabella didn't answer right away. Because maybe just maybe that thought had crossed her mind.
Dorothy slid next to her and changed the topic, because of how serious the atmosphere was getting once more "Let's go out. Celebrate the fact that we're not basic and what better place to go if not the opening night of newest and hottest club in New york."
Arabella froze. After a few seconds she replied, Guys know that's Ashton's new club
"So, Isn't he friends with your brother?" Ava asked.
"Business acquaintances," Arabella said, eyes narrowing slightly. "Grant mentioned they co-invested in some tech thing. Why?"
Emily looked up from her phone. "Nothing really but that man is a shac."
"A what?"
"Sexy, hot, arrogant, complicated. S.H.A.C."
Dorothy laughed. "That's not a thing."
"It is now," Emily insisted. "And Ashton qualifies."
Arabella glanced at the door. "I don't know. Wouldn't that be weird?"
"What would?" Ava asked.
"Going to a club owned by Preston's half-brother."
The table went quiet.
Dorothy raised an eyebrow. "You think that's loyalty?"
"I think it looks like betrayal," Arabella murmured.
"But Preston doesn't think twice about ditching you," Emily said. "Or putting you first in important stuff."
"I'm not him," Arabella said quietly.
"No," Ava said. "You're better. Which is exactly why you should go. Wear that new black mesh corset. Order the most expensive bottle of champagne. And let the world see who the real queen is."
Arabella looked around at her girls, their faces glowing with conviction and mischief. Maybe it wasn't betrayal.
But, she wasn't ready to dwell on that at the moment. She and Preston may be going through a rough patch right now. And she might be feeling a little detached but what relationship doesn't face that.