CHAPTER 11_ The invitation
2547 Words
By lunchtime, Crestview Academy had completely lost its mind.
At least that's what Arielle thought.
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Every hallway was louder than usual.
Girls were screaming.
Laughing.
Running from one classroom to another.
Phones were everywhere.
Group chats were exploding.
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And all because of one person.
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Lucien Moretti.
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Or more specifically—
Lucien Moretti's birthday.
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Twenty-two.
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Arielle stood near her locker, watching the chaos unfold.
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A girl suddenly sprinted past her.
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"OH MY GOD, I GOT ONE!"
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Another girl screamed.
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"LET ME SEE!"
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A crowd immediately gathered.
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Arielle blinked.
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What was happening?
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Then she noticed the gold envelope.
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Elegant.
Expensive.
Black wax seal.
The Moretti family crest pressed into the center.
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An invitation.
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Another group of girls nearby practically fought over theirs.
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"I'M WEARING RED!"
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"No, red is too common!"
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"Do you think Lucien will be there the whole night?"
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The question earned several shrieks.
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Arielle stared.
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Were they serious?
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One girl clutched her invitation to her chest.
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"If Lucien looks at me for more than three seconds, I'm literally dying."
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Her friend gasped dramatically.
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"Stop. You're making me jealous."
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Arielle almost laughed.
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Almost.
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Three years ago she would've laughed.
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Three years ago she would've rolled her eyes and told Isabella about it.
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Three years ago Lucien would've heard about it and complained for an hour.
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Now?
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The memory only hurt.
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Arielle quickly looked away.
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She didn't want to think about him.
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Not today.
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Especially not today.
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Because birthdays meant memories.
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And memories were dangerous.
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She adjusted her bag and began walking down the hallway.
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The crowd barely noticed her.
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Everyone was too busy talking about tonight.
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The party.
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Lucien's mansion.
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The guest list.
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The rumors.
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The excitement.
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Arielle kept walking.
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One step.
Another.
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Then—
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"Arielle."
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She stopped.
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Slowly turned around.
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A girl she vaguely recognized stood there.
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Holding a black envelope.
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The girl looked nervous.
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Very nervous.
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"Uh..."
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Arielle frowned.
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"Me?"
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The girl nodded quickly.
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Then shoved the envelope into her hands.
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"Here."
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Arielle looked down.
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The Moretti family crest stared back at her.
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Her heart immediately skipped a beat.
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"No."
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The word left her mouth instantly.
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The girl blinked.
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"No?"
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"I think you have the wrong person."
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The girl shook her head.
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"I don't."
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Arielle stared at the invitation.
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Then back at her.
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"I wasn't invited."
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The girl looked confused.
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"Your name is on the list."
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"What?"
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"Your name is literally on the list."
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Arielle froze.
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That made absolutely no sense.
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None.
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Why would Lucien invite her?
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Why would any of them invite her?
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The girl glanced around nervously.
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"Look, I just delivered it."
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Arielle looked down again.
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The envelope suddenly felt heavier.
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Dangerous.
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Like it was carrying bad news.
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"Wait."
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The girl was already backing away.
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"Who gave it to you?"
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The girl hesitated.
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Then pointed somewhere behind Arielle.
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And immediately fled.
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Actually fled.
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Arielle slowly turned.
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Her stomach dropped.
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Vivian.
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Sophia.
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Camille.
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Standing several meters away.
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Watching.
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Not talking.
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Not smiling.
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Just watching.
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Vivian's eyes locked onto the invitation in Arielle's hands.
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Then onto Arielle.
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The look she gave her was enough to make Arielle's chest tighten.
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Pure venom.
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Pure hatred.
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As if the invitation itself was a personal insult.
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Sophia folded her arms.
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Camille whispered something.
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Vivian never looked away.
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Not once.
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Arielle swallowed.
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Hard.
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This wasn't good.
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Not good at all.
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Because if Vivian was looking at her like that—
something was wrong.
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Very wrong.
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Arielle looked back at the envelope.
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Then at Vivian.
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Then at the envelope again.
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A trap?
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Maybe.
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A joke?
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Possibly.
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A humiliation waiting to happen?
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Most likely.
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She could already imagine it.
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Walking into Lucien's party.
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Everyone staring.
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Everyone whispering.
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Everyone wondering why she came.
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Lucien looking at her with that same cold hatred.
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The thought alone made her stomach twist.
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So why was she still holding the invitation?
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Why hadn't she thrown it away?
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Arielle stared at the black wax seal.
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And suddenly another memory surfaced.
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A much older one.
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A younger Lucien.
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A birthday cake.
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Marco stealing frosting.
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Elias trying to stop him.
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Isabella laughing.
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Lucien pretending he hated all of them.
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And Arielle sitting beside him.
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Happy.
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So unbelievably happy.
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A sharp ache spread through her chest.
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Not physical.
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Emotional.
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Because those memories felt like they belonged to somebody else.
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A girl who still had a future.
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A girl who wasn't counting down months.
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A girl who thought forever actually existed.
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Arielle lowered her gaze.
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It's his birthday.
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The thought appeared quietly.
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It's his birthday.
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No matter how much he hated her.
No matter how much things had changed.
No matter how painful it would be.
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A part of her wanted to see him.
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Just once.
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Even if he ignored her.
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Even if he told her to leave.
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Even if it hurt.
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Because she didn't know how many birthdays she had left to witness.
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One?
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None?
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The thought made her throat tighten.
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Slowly—
very slowly—
Arielle slipped the invitation into her bag.
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Across the hallway, Vivian noticed.
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And smiled.
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Not a happy smile.
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A dangerous one.
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The kind of smile people wore when a plan was working.
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Arielle saw it.
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And her stomach sank.
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Because now she was certain.
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Tonight was not going to be simple.
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But despite every warning in her head...
Despite every instinct telling her to stay away...
Despite Vivian's smile...
Despite Lucien's hatred...
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Arielle already knew.
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She was going.
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And somehow...
she had a terrible feeling that Lucien Moretti's twenty-second birthday was about to change everything.
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.
.
.
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~~~~~MORETTI's estate~~~~~
By the time Arielle's car reached the Moretti estate, the sky had already turned black.
Not ordinary black.
The kind of black that made the city lights shine brighter.
The kind of night that belonged to the rich.
To the powerful.
To people like Lucien Moretti.
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Arielle stared out the window.
And nearly forgot how to breathe.
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The mansion wasn't a mansion.
It was a kingdom.
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Massive iron gates stood at the entrance, towering nearly fifteen feet high. The black metal carried the Moretti crest in gold, illuminated by expensive spotlights.
Beyond the gates stretched a private road lined with towering palm trees and perfectly sculpted hedges.
The driveway alone was bigger than some neighborhoods.
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Luxury cars filled every available space.
Rows upon rows.
Millions.
Billions.
Money parked on wheels.
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Arielle spotted a black Bugatti.
A silver Rolls-Royce.
Several Lamborghinis.
A few Ferraris.
Cars she only ever saw online.
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The further they drove, the larger the mansion became.
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White marble.
Black glass.
Golden lights.
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The building stood like a palace built for royalty.
Three stories tall.
Multiple wings.
Huge balconies.
Floor-to-ceiling windows.
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At the center of the property stood a gigantic fountain.
Water danced beneath golden lights.
Expensive sculptures surrounded it.
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The entire estate looked less like a home and more like a private resort.
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Music echoed across the grounds.
Deep bass.
Expensive speakers.
Live performers.
The atmosphere screamed wealth.
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Hundreds of guests moved through the estate.
Influencers.
Models.
Business heirs.
Socialites.
Celebrities.
Children of politicians.
Children of billionaires.
People who spent more on shoes than most families earned in months.
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And every single one of them had come for one reason.
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Lucien Moretti.
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The birthday boy.
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Or more accurately—
the uncrowned king of Crestview.
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Girls were everywhere.
Everywhere.
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Some had spent hours getting ready.
Some probably spent weeks.
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Designer dresses glittered beneath the lights.
Luxury jewelry sparkled.
Expensive perfume filled the air.
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One girl practically fainted when she thought she spotted Lucien through a balcony window.
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Another immediately started recording.
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"OH MY GOD."
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"I THINK THAT'S HIM."
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The screams that followed could probably be heard from another country.
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Arielle stared.
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Three years ago she would've laughed.
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Now?
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She just felt overwhelmed.
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Because this wasn't the Lucien she remembered.
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The Lucien she knew hated attention.
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Hated crowds.
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Hated parties.
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Yet somehow this estate carried his name.
His power.
His influence.
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Everything about the place screamed one thing.
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Lucien Moretti wasn't just popular anymore.
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He was untouchable.
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The car finally stopped near the main entrance.
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Arielle stepped out.
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The mansion towered above her.
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Its golden lights reflected against the night sky.
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Beautiful.
Dangerous.
Intimidating.
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Exactly like its owner.
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She swallowed.
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Then looked toward the enormous doors.
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Somewhere inside—
Lucien was waiting.
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Whether he wanted to see her or not.
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And for reasons she couldn't explain...
her heart was beating far too fast.
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.
.
.
.
.
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The party was already in full swing.
Music echoed across the Moretti estate.
Laughter filled the halls.
Champagne flowed.
The rich and powerful mingled beneath crystal chandeliers and golden lights.
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But on the third floor—
behind a pair of black double doors—
Lucien Moretti couldn't have cared less.
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His room was dimly lit.
The curtains remained partially closed despite the celebration outside.
The faint scent of cigarette smoke lingered in the air.
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Lucien stood before a floor-length mirror.
Silent.
Motionless.
Dangerous.
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At twenty-two years old, he looked nothing like the boy Arielle had left behind.
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His black dress shirt hung open.
Completely unbuttoned.
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The expensive fabric framed a heavily tattooed chest.
Dark ink crawled across his skin like living shadows.
Snakes.
Roses.
Wings.
Names.
Symbols.
Stories written in pain.
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Silver rings decorated several fingers.
A chain rested against his bare chest.
One ear carried multiple piercings.
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His crimson-red hair fell messily over his forehead.
Untamed.
Reckless.
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The red made his already sharp features appear more dangerous.
More ruthless.
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A cigarette rested between his fingers.
Smoke curled lazily toward the ceiling.
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He looked less like a birthday celebrant and more like the villain of somebody else's nightmare.
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A knock sounded.
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The door opened without waiting for permission.
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Marco entered first.
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As always.
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A bruise decorated his jaw.
Another sat beneath one eye.
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Fresh.
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The i***t probably got into another fight.
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Behind him came Elias.
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The calmest among them.
The most rational.
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At least usually.
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"Still hiding?"
Marco asked.
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Lucien didn't answer.
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"People are asking for you."
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Still nothing.
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Marco sighed dramatically.
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"It's your birthday."
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Lucien took another drag from his cigarette.
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"So?"
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Marco rolled his eyes.
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"So?"
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He gestured wildly.
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"There are like three hundred people downstairs."
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"Then entertain them."
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"They came for you."
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"They should leave disappointed."
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Elias snorted.
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Marco groaned.
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"See?"
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He pointed.
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"This is why nobody likes talking to you."
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Lucien finally glanced at him.
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"Then stop."
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Marco laughed.
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"There he is."
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The old Lucien would've smirked.
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This one didn't.
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Silence settled briefly.
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Then Elias stepped forward.
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"You should go downstairs."
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Lucien looked away.
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Toward the city lights beyond the window.
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"I hate parties."
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The words came quietly.
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Almost absentmindedly.
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Marco immediately nodded.
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"That's true."
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Elias nodded too.
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"Always have."
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Lucien laughed.
A short humorless sound.
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"Not always."
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The room grew still.
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Because they all knew.
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Exactly what he meant.
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Arielle.
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Years ago—
Lucien hated birthdays.
Hated crowds.
Hated celebrations.
Hated attention.
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Then Arielle happened.
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Suddenly birthdays became cake fights.
Stolen presents.
Marco causing chaos.
Isabella screaming.
Elias complaining.
Arielle laughing.
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Memories.
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Memories Lucien wanted buried.
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Dead.
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Gone.
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Yet somehow they kept returning.
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Marco looked away first.
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Elias followed.
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Nobody liked talking about her.
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Not anymore.
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Lucien crushed the cigarette into a crystal ashtray.
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The room became silent again.
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Then Marco frowned.
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"If you hate parties so much..."
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He crossed his arms.
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"Why throw one?"
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A dangerous smile appeared.
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Small.
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Cold.
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Wrong.
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The kind of smile that made people uncomfortable.
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Even Marco.
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Even Elias.
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Lucien slowly turned toward them.
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His eyes darkened.
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"I have a reason."
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Neither man spoke.
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Because suddenly—
they weren't sure they wanted to hear it.
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Lucien walked toward the bar.
Poured himself a drink.
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The amber liquid swirled inside the glass.
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"Arielle is here."
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The words landed heavily.
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Marco froze.
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Elias stiffened.
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Neither looked surprised.
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Because they already suspected.
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The invitation.
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The rumors.
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The timing.
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Lucien took a sip.
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Then laughed quietly.
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"You know what's funny?"
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Nobody answered.
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"She thinks she can come back."
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Another sip.
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"As if nothing happened."
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Silence.
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"As if we're supposed to welcome her."
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His voice remained calm.
Far too calm.
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Marco exchanged a glance with Elias.
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Dangerous.
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Whenever Lucien became this calm—
someone usually suffered.
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"Arielle always liked surprises."
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Lucien's smile widened.
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A cruel smile.
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The kind Arielle had never seen before.
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"So tonight..."
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He set the glass down.
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"I'm giving her one."
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Neither Marco nor Elias liked where this was going.
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Not one bit.
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Because beneath Lucien's anger—
beneath the hatred—
beneath the bitterness—
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There was something worse.
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Hurt.
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The kind that never healed.
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The kind that festered.
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The kind that transformed into revenge.
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And Lucien had spent three years feeding it.
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Outside, the party continued.
Guests laughed.
Music played.
Lights glittered.
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Inside the room—
something much darker waited.
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Lucien adjusted the cuffs of his sleeves.
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Then headed for the door.
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Marco's stomach sank.
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Because he knew that look.
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That expression.
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Lucien wasn't walking downstairs to celebrate.
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He was walking downstairs hunting a ghost.
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And somewhere inside the mansion—
completely unaware—
Arielle Vance had just arrived.
- Writer
