INVITATION
1240 Words
AVA
Birthdays have always been simple.
A cake .Dinner. A few people I love. That was it.
But this year, Ariana bounced on my couch.
“Okay, listen,” she said, flipping her curls over her shoulder. “I’m not letting you spend your birthday in this tiny apartment, hunched over your textbooks like a tragic Victorian orphan. You deserve glamour. You deserve champagne. You deserve men who wear suits on Saturdays.”
I lifted a brow. “That’s very specific.”
“Good,” she said, ignoring me entirely, “because I already have a plan.”
A dangerous sentence coming from Ariana Hart.
She smiled sweetly and I felt a ripple of suspicion crawl up my spine.
“Ari… what did you do?”
“Nothing,” she said. Then, after a beat: “Okay, maybe something.”
She reached into her tote bag and pulled out a set of keys— expensive-looking. Not hers.
My stomach dropped. “No. Absolutely not.”
“Yes,” she sang.
“Ariana, is that your dad’s—”
“Yes, it is,” she said proudly. “The beach house. Well, one of them.”
I groaned. “Ari…”
“Before you say anything,” she cut in, hands raised, “you haven’t had a real birthday since—well, since everything last year. And I’m your best friend. I refuse to let you hide from the world.”
I rubbed my forehead. “Your father hates parties.”
“He doesn’t hate them. He hates chaos,” she said. “We won’t make chaos.”
“You’re inviting me,” I pointed out. “Chaos is guaranteed.”
“Okay, true. But Dad isn’t coming until Sunday. We’ll have the place to ourselves until then.”
“Until Sunday?” I repeated. “Meaning he will be there eventually?”
“Yes,” she said slowly. “But you won’t even see him. He never leaves his office.”
Even though I had met Damian Hart only a handful of times—a handshake at Ariana’s graduation, a polite nod at a Christmas dinner—the memory of him stuck to me in a way that unsettled my entire nervous system.
“Ari,” I tried again carefully, “your dad is… intimidating.”
“To you,” she said. “To me, he’s just a man who eats cereal at midnight and organizes his sock drawer like it’s a stock portfolio.”
I snorted. “That doesn’t make him less intimidating.”
“It makes him extremely single and extremely boring,” she corrected. “And anyway, he won’t bother us. He barely notices anything that’s not work.” She smirked. “Especially not his daughter’s friend.”
A weird flutter shot through me.
I should have said no. I should have insisted on a normal night, a quiet dinner, anything that didn’t involve stepping into Damian Hart’s world.
But Ariana grabbed my hand, eyes bright.
“You deserve something beautiful, Ava. Just one night where you’re not stressed or scared or thinking too hard. Let me give you that.”
I exhaled. “Fine. One night.”
Her squeal nearly shattered my eardrum. “YES. Pack something cute. And something hot. And something kind of slutty.”
“Ari—”
“Nope,” she said, pointing dramatically. “Birthday rules. Sexy dress mandatory.”
I laughed despite myself. “I hate you.”
“You adore me.”
I did.
And if I had known that saying yes would change everything—my future, my friendships, the person I thought I was—I would’ve slammed the brakes right then and there.
Ariana showed up at my apartment door by nine, sunglasses on, hair perfect, and two massive duffel bags slung over her shoulders.
“Tell me,” I said, staring at the luggage, “why do you have more bags for my birthday than I took when I moved into this apartment?”
“Because I packed for both of us. I know you. You probably picked out three sensible dresses, all in sad neutral colors, and called it a day. I refuse to let you commit fashion crimes on your birthday.”
I crossed my arms. “I brought three dresses.”
Ariana opened one of my drawers, grimaced, and held up a beige dress .
“Exactly.”
I laughed. Still, the knot of anxiety remained. “Are you sure your dad won’t mind?” I asked again.
Ariana paused, then faced me fully, smile softening. “Ava… Dad won’t even be home until Sunday. You won’t see him. He’ll bury himself in work the second he arrives.”
I said nothing more, and Ariana clapped her hands. “Pack something cute. And something hot. And something a little slutty.”
“I hate you.”
“You adore me. Now move.”
The drive down the coastal highway was bright and windy, ocean stretching blue and endless on our right. Ariana blasted music, singing loudly and off-key, while I tried to let myself sink into the freedom of it—the sunlight, the breeze, the distraction.
When we finally turned onto the secluded drive leading to the Hart beach house, my breath caught in my throat.
It wasn’t a house. It was a world.
Glass walls reflecting the sun, sharp architecture that looked like it commanded the cliff it sat on. Every inch of it screamed money .
“Welcome to Casa Hart,” Ariana announced proudly.
“This isn’t a house,” I whispered. “This is… a Bond villain lair.”
“Thank you,” she said brightly, unlocking the door. “I’ll tell Dad you said that.”
I hesitated before stepping inside. “Are there… cameras?”
Ariana blinked. “Yeah. Everywhere. Dad’s paranoid like that. But he won’t see anything unless someone breaks in.”
I lifted a brow. “Which we are kind of doing.”
“We’re not breaking in. We’re family-adjacent. It’s different.” She flopped onto the massive sofa. “Relax.”
I tried.
The house was stunning—marble floors, art that probably cost more than my student loans, a wall of windows facing the sea.
While Ariana unpacked snacks in the kitchen, I wandered toward the balcony. The glass doors were open, letting in the salty wind. I stepped out, closing my eyes as the breeze wrapped around me.
Then Ariana’s phone buzzed loudly from inside.
She groaned. “Oh great. Dad.”
My stomach tightened.
“Hey!” she answered cheerfully. Then her expression shifted. “Wait… what? I thought—No, I told Ava—Okay, okay. Sure. Yeah. Fine. See you later.”
She hung up and winced.
My heart dropped. “Ariana. What?”
She gave a tiny, guilty smile. “Don’t freak out.”
“Ariana.”
“Okay.” She exhaled. “So. He’s coming home tonight.”
“Tonight?” My voice came out thin.
She nodded rapidly. “But it’s fine! He won’t be here until late. He’ll be exhausted. He won’t talk to us. "
Ariana bounced back to the kitchen, already grabbing chips. “It’s fine, babe! He won’t even notice us. Now come on—we have a birthday to start.”
I stayed frozen on the balcony, staring at the ocean as the sky shifted slowly toward gold.
- Writer
