The Unwanted Invitation

I kicked the door shut with my heel, balancing grocery bags in both arms while fumbling with my keys. Another exhausting day at the temp agency, another night of microwaved dinner and reality TV. The familiar weight of routine settled on my shoulders as I dropped the bags onto the kitchen counter.

"Hazel, darling! There you are!"

I nearly jumped out of my skin. My mother's voice came from the living room, where she definitely hadn't been when I left this morning. I peeked around the corner to find both my parents seated on my modest sofa like royalty visiting a peasant's hut.

"Mom? Dad? What are you doing here? How did you get in?" I asked, my heart still racing.

My father, Arthur Vance, straightened his already impeccable posture. "Your superintendent let us in. We've been waiting for almost an hour."

Of course Mr. Jenkins would let them in. My parents had that effect on people—making them feel simultaneously honored and terrified.

"You could have called," I said, trying to keep the irritation from my voice.

"We did, twice," my mother, Serena, replied, smoothing invisible wrinkles from her designer skirt. "You didn't answer."

I glanced at my phone. Two missed calls. Great.

"What's so urgent that you needed to ambush me at home?" I asked, noting how my father's eye twitched at the word "ambush."

My mother's crimson-painted lips curved into what she probably thought was a warm smile. "We have wonderful news!"

She extended a cream-colored envelope toward me. Even from a distance, I recognized the elegant gold embossing. My stomach dropped.

"I don't want it," I said flatly.

"Don't be ridiculous, Hazel," my father chided. "Take the invitation."

"I don't need to read it to know what it is." I crossed my arms. "Jessica and Ethan's wedding invitation. The answer is no."

My mother's smile faltered. "Hazel Elizabeth Vance, this childish grudge has gone on long enough. Jessica is family."

"And Ethan was my boyfriend for three years before I caught them together in MY bed!" The memory still burned, raw and humiliating.

"That was nearly a year ago," my father dismissed with a wave of his hand. "People make mistakes."

"A mistake?" I laughed bitterly. "Dad, they were engaged six weeks later."

My mother stood, approaching me like I was a spooked horse. "Darling, sometimes love is complicated. Jessica and Ethan realized they were meant to be—"

"In my bed? While I was at work supporting him through law school?" The anger I'd suppressed for months surged through me. "And now you expect me to celebrate their 'love'?"

"We expect you to be mature," my father countered, his voice taking on that familiar authoritative tone that had intimidated me since childhood. "The Thornes and Vances have been family friends for generations. Your absence would cause an unnecessary scene."

"So I'm supposed to smile and toast to their happiness? Watch them dance their first dance as husband and wife? All to keep up appearances?" My voice cracked.

My mother placed the invitation on the counter. "Yes, that's exactly what you'll do. Because you're a Vance, and Vances handle difficult situations with grace and dignity."

I felt tears threatening. "What about loyalty to your daughter? Does that matter at all?"

My father stood now, towering in my small apartment. "Enough dramatics. You'll attend the wedding. You'll be pleasant. And you'll finally put this unpleasantness behind you. This discussion is over."

I stared at them, these people who shared my blood but couldn't understand my pain. "Get out."

"Excuse me?" My mother's eyes widened.

"I need you to leave. Now." I held the door open, my hand trembling.

They exchanged looks of disapproval before gathering their things. My mother paused at the door. "The wedding is in three weeks. We expect you to be there." Her voice left no room for argument.

When they were gone, I slid down against the closed door, finally letting the tears flow. I grabbed my phone and dialed the only person who'd understand.

"Chloe? Can you come over? It's an emergency."

Twenty minutes later, Chloe burst through my door, arms laden with wine bottles and ice cream.

"What happened? You look terrible," she said, immediately pouring two generous glasses of red.

I wordlessly handed her the invitation. Her face darkened as she read it.

"Those spineless, image-obsessed—" She cut herself off, taking a deep breath. "And they ambushed you here?"

I nodded, accepting the wine glass. "They said I have to go. That I have to smile and pretend everything's fine."

"Screw that!" Chloe set down her glass with a thud. "You are absolutely not going to that wedding."

"But my parents—"

"Your parents can shove their family loyalty where the sun doesn't shine," Chloe snapped. "They clearly don't understand the concept when it comes to their own daughter."

I sipped my wine, grateful for her fierce protectiveness. "What am I going to do? They won't take no for an answer."

Chloe's eyes suddenly lit up—a dangerous sign I'd known since childhood.

"When's the wedding date?" She snatched the invitation again.

"July 16th," I said miserably.

Her smile grew wider. "That's the night of the Sterling Masquerade Ball."

"The what?"

"Only the most exclusive event of the summer! Masks, gowns, champagne—and most importantly, zero chance of running into your backstabbing cousin or spineless ex." She grabbed her phone, typing furiously. "My family's company always gets invitations. I was planning to skip it, but now..."

"Chloe, I don't know..."

"Haven't you always wanted to feel like Cinderella for a night? To escape your life and be someone else entirely?" Her eyes shone with excitement. "One night of magic instead of misery. You deserve that much."

"My parents will never agree to it."

"Leave them to me," Chloe said with a mischievous grin. "I'll tell them it's a networking opportunity that could land you a permanent job. Career advancement is the one excuse they might accept."

Over the next three weeks, Chloe's plan took shape. She convinced my parents with a masterfully crafted lie about potential employers at the ball. She dragged me shopping for a gown that cost more than my monthly rent—a stunning red number that made even me do a double-take. She even arranged for professional hair and makeup.

On the night of July 16th, I stood in front of my mirror, barely recognizing the woman staring back. The red dress hugged every curve, my usually unruly black hair now cascaded in perfect waves down my back, and the golden mask adorning my face highlighted my green eyes in a way that made them seem almost otherworldly.

Chloe appeared behind me in the mirror, resplendent in midnight blue. "You look incredible. Ready to have the night of your life?"

The weight of the day—of knowing Jessica was walking down the aisle at that very moment—suddenly crashed over me. Panic seized my chest.

"I think I'd better stay," I whispered, hands trembling. "I'm not in the party mood."