Ava’s POV
Jason’s words had been simple, tossed over his shoulder while he fastened his cufflinks last night:
“Mother said pastel. Keep it soft, Ava. Something elegant, nothing too loud.”
Pastel.
The word had followed me all day, clinging to me like a label I hadn’t chosen. Pastel meant quiet. Pastel meant obedient. Pastel meant being everything they wanted me to be, gentle, sweet, invisible.
By the time evening came, I stood in front of my open wardrobe with three dresses spread across my bed. A pale pink blush sheath, a lavender wrap dress, and a mint gown I barely remembered owning. They all looked lifeless. Like costumes for a role, I hadn’t agreed to audition for.
I sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows on my knees. I hated how the decision mattered. I hated how much we
