Me:You won’t.
The screen dimmed, but her words still lingered.
Scouts and boardrooms couldn’t touch me the way she could. And that made her the bigger risk.
Not a couple. Not enemies. But definitely a problem.
CHAPTER SEVEN
MILA
The moment my mom slid the cream-colored envelope across the table, I knew something was off.
She didn’t say a word at first. Just sipped her coffee, nails tapping against the counter as if the rhythm could fool me into thinking this was a normal Tuesday. But her posture told on her—too stiff, too controlled.
I stared down at the Blackwood Academy seal pressed into the flap. Raised lettering. Heavy cardstock. A letter that carried both expectation and dread.
“What is this?” My voice came out flat, already braced.
Her lips pressed together before she answered. “It’s a committee assignment. You’ve been asked to help plan this year’s charity gala.”
I blinked. “By who? And why do you have it?”
“A few of the parent sponsors.” Her words were even, but her shoulders ticked tighter. “It’s a joint effort this year—Dunn Industries and King Enterprises are co-hosting.” She paused then added with forced lightness, “Someone in HR reached out. My boss made it clear it wasn’t optional. They want me involved. And you too.”
My stomach dipped. Why me? Why now? The second both names hit the air, every instinct screamed set-up. This wasn’t coincidence. It was placement. I leaned back, eyes narrowing. “So I was asked… or told?”
Her silence was all the answer I needed.
This wasn’t a choice. It was a calculated move. And it had been decided without either of us in the room.
“It’s expected,” she said finally. Her voice softened but not enough to hide the tension in it. “And it’s good optics. For both of us.”
There it was. She didn’t have to say the rest—I heard it anyway. We weren’t invited. We were maneuvered. Back in Blackwood on terms. Don’t break them.
The envelope sat on the counter long after I left the kitchen, its weight still dragging at me through the morning. School passed in a blur I barely registered. Teachers droned. Notes filled margins. Whispers floated. I went through the motions, but my head wasn’t in any of it.
Every glance felt loaded, every hallway too narrow. I couldn’t shake the thought that this was another chess move—Dunn and the Kings dragging me onto a stage I didn’t ask for, pulling strings through my mom until I danced by default.
By lunch, I’d already rehearsed three different ways to get out of it. Pretend sick. Claim overcommitment. Ignore the invite entirely. Each one unraveled the second I thought it through. There was no way out—not without consequences.
So by the time the committee met after school, all I had left was resolve.
The conference room reeked of perfume and catered cookies, the kind someone thought passed as “hospitality.” A long, polished table stretched down the center, lined with stacks of papers and clipboards—and little branded tote bags stuffed withglossy brochures and overpriced floral samples, proof that even charity came gilded in Blackwood.
Tori sat near the middle, fidgeting with her pen until it clicked. Quinn, one of Elise’s outliers, leaned forward, eager and bright-eyed as though she was auditioning for extra credit. Stefanie, puppet number two, twirled her dirty-blond shoulder-length hair, her expression flat with boredom. Two other girls giggled and scrolled through their phones at the end.
And at the head of it all was Elise Dunn. Front and center. Smiling as though her exile had never happened. As though she hadn’t been iced out recently for crossing lines no one should’ve. Elise thrived on second chances she didn’t deserve, and somehow, she always slithered back in before the door slammed shut.
Her eyes landed on me instantly. “Oh. Mila.” Her smile spread slow, deliberate, saccharine dripping from every syllable. “Surprised to see you here.”
I didn’t bite. I just took the clipboard one of the moms slid across the table and scanned it. Venue. Tables. Décor. PR. Entertainment. My name wasn’t listed. Not once.
I raised a brow, the corner of my mouth tightening. When I looked up, Tori’s gaze darted away, Quinn pressed her lips tight, and Stefanie smirked. Elise was already leaning forward, tapping her pen against the table like she was chairing the whole thing, talking over one of the moms about how the silent auction should be structured. Acting as if this was her committee to run. Acting as though her social status had been restored.
That was enough. “Elise,” I said, tone cool, deliberate. “I thought I was supposed to be part of this committee.”
She blinked, faux innocence painted across her face. “Really? Huh. That must’ve been an oversight.”
