The moment Ingrid closed the door behind her, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of her lips, I knew I had made a mistake.
“I’m not going,” I said immediately, crossing my arms over my chest as if that could shield me from whatever ridiculous scheme she was about to propose.
Ingrid, unfazed, tilted her head in mock consideration, then shrugged. “Yes, you are.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.”
I sighed, exasperated, and turned my attention back to the book I had been attempting to read before she so rudely barged in. My gaze flicked across the words, but the meaning slipped away, lost beneath the weight of my own mounting frustration. “You can’t force me, Ingrid. I don’t care about the Moonlit Ball, and I definitely don’t need a tailor for something I’m not attending.”
“Oh, but you s
