Aura and Jackson's birthday party was truly underway.
The buzz of laughter and music faded into a dull roar as Cece intercepted Harper near the edge of the patio. Her sharp gaze fixed on Harper like a hawk sizing up prey. In her hand, she put down a photo Harper knew too well—a shot of her and Josie at the Photo Booth, lips pressed together in a stolen kiss. The image felt like a spotlight thrown on her most vulnerable secret.
Cece's lips curled into a cold, disdainful smile. "Care to explain this little scandal then, Harper? Do you realize what a mess you've made of things? Thanksgiving. The scene you caused with your sister... airing family dirty laundry in front of everyone. It's shameful."
Harper's stomach tightened, the memory raw and stinging. The argument with Harriet had exploded, emotions flying like wild fire, and in a moment of anger, Harriet had outed her to the entire family. The fight had turned physical, leaving bruises more invisible than the ones on her skin—bruises of trust broken and family fractured.
"I didn't ask for any of that to happen." Harper said quietly, meeting her grandmother's icy stare. "It was complicated. And I didn't choose for Harriet to—"
"Don't make excuses." Cece snapped, cutting her off. "You stirred the pot just as much. Your refusal to keep things 'proper' has made the family the talk of every dinner table. You embarrass us, Harper."
Harper's jaw clenched. "I'm not going to hide who I am just to avoid your judgment."
Cece's eyes darkened with disgust as she tapped the photo on the table. "This! though... this is beyond 'proper.' It's a disgrace. You're toying with fire, and for what? A foolish crush on a girl from another school! You know this is just a phase, like everything else you've thrown tantrums about."
The words hit harder than Harper expected, but beneath the sting was a flicker of something else—fear, disappointment, maybe even pain that Cece would never admit. Harper swallowed the lump in her throat and stood taller, her voice gaining strength.
"This isn't a phase. It's me. I'm not ashamed. Josie makes me happy. And I'm done pretending that who I am doesn't matter."
Cece's lip curled into a sneer, her voice dropping to a sharp whisper. "You're tearing this family apart. Julia—your aunt—was exactly the same. You remind me of her far too much, and look where that got her. If you continue down this path, you'll be alone. No support. No future."
Harper's chest tightened with the weight of those words, but she shook her head firmly. "I'd rather be true to myself and alone than live a lie just to please you or anyone else."
For a moment, the only sound was the distant music and soft chatter, both of them locked in a quiet battle of wills.
Cece's eyes narrowed dangerously. "This family has expectations, loyalty, traditions. You can't just throw them away because you're too selfish to conform. Consider this your final warning."
And just like that, she spun on her heel and disappeared through the crowd.
Harper took a steadying breath and moved through the crowd toward her parents, who were laughing softly with a group of impeccably dressed, well-mannered guests—the kind who measured worth in family names and whispered about each other behind polished smiles. The soft murmur of elite conversation swirled around her, a sharp contrast to the storm rising inside her chest.
Thomas's easy smile and Camila's poised nods made it clear: they belonged here, perfectly at ease in this glittering world of status and expectations. But Harper didn't belong—at least not as her authentic self.
"Mom. Dad." Her voice cut through the hum of polite chatter. Both turned, surprise flickering in their eyes before quickly being masked by practiced composure.
"Yes, Harper?" Camila's tone was polite but clipped, like an interruption in a well-rehearsed performance.
Harper's heart hammered, but her jaw set firm. She wasn't here to play along anymore.
"I need to say this now, and I'm not going to back down." Her gaze locked onto them. "I'm seeing someone. A girl. But you know that already, because Harriet basically told you all."
The words hung in the air, heavier than she expected. Camila's smile faltered, Thomas blinked, and both exchanged a brief, anxious look. Harper could almost hear the silent conversation between them—how this revelation threatened the careful image they curated.
Camila cleared her throat, voice tight but controlled. "Harper, this is... -.. You have to understand, our family's reputation means everything. The way people see us—"
Harper's patience snapped. "I know exactly how much you care about what other people think. And honestly, I'm sick of it."
Thomas stepped forward, attempting a conciliatory tone that failed to mask his unease. "Perhaps you should consider focusing on someone more... suitable. There's a nice boy from the Beaumont family—impeccable background, excellent prospects. It would be wise to think about your future, your standing."
Harper's eyes flashed with anger, the calm she'd held so tightly unraveling in an instant.
"Suitable?!" she spat, voice rising. "You want to 'pair me up' with some boy because it looks good on paper? Because it's convenient for your social circle?"
Camila's hand rose slightly, as if to quiet her, but Harper wasn't done. "Harper, lower your voice."
"You care more about status than who I actually am. You're more worried about gossip and whispers than whether I'm happy, whether I'm safe."
Thomas's jaw tightened, but he tried to keep his voice steady. "We're trying to protect you—from difficult choices, from scrutiny."
"Protect me!?" Harper's laugh was sharp and bitter. "By denying me? By pretending I don't exist unless I fit your perfect mould?"
Harper's gaze hardened. "What's best for me isn't a life lived in hiding or shame. I'm not asking for your approval. I'm telling you this is who I am."
The polite murmurs around them grew louder as some guests began to stare, but Harper didn't care. She turned away from their disapproving gazes, feeling the sting of their coldness—but also a fierce pride blooming inside her.
Her truth was out. Finally. On her own terms.
The buffet table was a long, gleaming stretch of extravagance—silver platters stacked with delicate finger foods, glowing chafing dishes wafting warm spices into the air, and a towering dessert display near the end that looked more like a sculpture than something edible. The crowd around it murmured in low, polite tones, the occasional clink of forks against china breaking through the hum of soft country music.
Jackson stood beside Ashley, guiding her carefully by the elbow as they approached the table. "Alright.." he said softly, tilting his head toward her, "we've got a row of mini crab cakes at your one o'clock, some fancy-looking bruschetta straight ahead, and to the left—what I can only describe as bougie mac and cheese bites."
Ashley laughed under her breath. "I'm trusting you not to put anything weird on my plate."
"No promises.." Jackson grinned, reaching for a plate with one hand while gently placing hers in the other. "But I'll try to keep the caviar to a minimum."
She smiled, angling her face slightly toward the sound of his voice. "This place is... wow. It's kind of overwhelming, if I'm being honest."
"Yeah, my family doesn't really do subtle." Jackson muttered, loading a crab cake onto her plate. "They like to remind people who we are—like the chandeliers in the tent weren't enough."
Ashley shifted closer to him, her hand lightly brushing his arm. "They're a little intimidating. Your mom sounds like she was carved out of marble. And your grandmother—she made me nervous just by existing."
Jackson chuckled quietly, glancing across the lawn toward the clusters of elite families decked out in pearls and polished suits. "She has that effect on everyone. And my mom... she cares way too much about image. About making the 'right' impression. Half the people here don't even like each other—they just show up to be seen."
Ashley tilted her head. "So where do you fit in with all that?"
He paused, placing a mac and cheese bite carefully on her plate. "I don't think I ever have. I used to think I had to—but now? I don't care if I do."
There was a pause, and then she quietly said "I like that about you."
He looked at her, touched by how honest and grounded she always was. "You're the only person here I can actually breathe around, to be honest.."
Ashley turned her head slightly toward him, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Well, lucky for you, I have great lungs."
He laughed again, the sound soft and genuine, and guided her hand gently toward a napkin. "Here—one more step to your left. Mousse tower incoming. I know you skipped lunch for this."
"You remembered?"
"Of course I did."
She reached out, letting her hand brush his as she took the dessert plate. "Thanks for helping me navigate the Baldwin Hunger Games."
He smiled, the expression softer now. "Anytime."
As they stepped away from the buffet table together, her arm looped through his without needing to ask, Jackson felt something settle in his chest—a sense of calm in the chaos. In a world full of performances, Ashley didn't need to see the spectacle to see him clearly.