Chapter 1: The Golden Cage
The grand ballroom of The Rosewood Imperial was flooded with shimmering golden lights, glistening chandeliers, and the low hum of murmured conversations blending with classical strings from the live quartet. Men in expensive tuxedos and women draped in designer gowns clinked champagne flutes while exchanging pleasantries soaked in subtle rivalry.
Beneath the lavish glamour of it all, two teenagers sat in the farthest corner of the room, concealed partly by a heavy velvet curtain and mostly by their disinterest in the adult world that surrounded them.
"Ian, if I hear one more person say 'Oh, you've grown so tall!' I might just vanish into thin air," Avrielle whispered dramatically, sipping on her sparkling water.
Ian Wilson let out a soft laugh, his grey eyes scanning the room before falling back on the girl beside him. "At least you get compliments. I've been told I look just like my father five times tonight. No offense to the man, but I'm seventeen, not forty-five."
She smirked, brushing a loose curl behind her ear. Her dark green gown complimented her hazel eyes, which sparkled more from mischief than makeup. "Well, Mr. Future CEO, at least you fit in. I, on the other hand, feel like a very awkward ornament in this overpriced snow globe."
Ian leaned in, his voice low but teasing. "You're the only reason this party is bearable. Without you, I'd be stuck talking mergers and market shares with my dad's golf buddies."
"That's tragic," Avrielle replied with a chuckle, nudging his arm. "And just so you know, I'd rather be at home reading The Song of Achilles in my pajamas."
"You and your Greek mythology obsession," he rolled his eyes playfully. "One day, it's going to get you in trouble."
She grinned. "Only if I fall in love with a tragic hero. You, for instance, are safe."
Ian pretended to clutch his chest in mock offense. "Wow. I thought we were friends."
"We are," she said, her expression softening. "That's what makes it fun to tease you."
Across the room, their parents stood in a tight circle near the center of the gathering. Thomas Wilson and Sylvia Wilson, Ian's parents, were the epitome of corporate elegance. Thomas was tall, sharply dressed, and oozed charm, while Sylvia was poised and graceful, her eyes constantly scanning the room for potential business opportunities.
On the other side, Michael Jones and Natalie Jones — Avrielle's parents — stood just as commanding. Michael, with his booming laugh and strong handshake, had an air of confidence, while Natalie carried a warmth that made people want to talk to her longer than expected.
Together, the Wilsons and the Joneses had built one of the most influential business empires on the East Coast. Wilson & Jones Global Holdings was a household name in real estate and luxury hospitality. Tonight's party was a celebration of a major acquisition — a historic property in southern Europe that would soon become a premier resort destination. But the party, the glam, and the champagne weren't meant for Ian or Avrielle.
They were simply the heirs. Expected to smile, behave, and nod politely.
"Do you think they'll ever see us beyond our last names?" Ian asked suddenly, watching his father give a practiced laugh at something Michael had said.
Avrielle's brows knit together. "You mean… like as actual people?"
He nodded. "I love my parents, I do. But sometimes I wonder if they care more about the company than what I want."
She turned toward him, leaning against the wall as she studied his expression. "I think we're both living in a golden cage, Ian. It's pretty, it's secure, and from the outside, people envy it. But… it's still a cage."
Her words settled between them like truth laced with melancholy. The golden glow of the chandeliers seemed dimmer for a second, or perhaps the illusion had momentarily cracked.
"I wish we could leave," Ian whispered.
"To where?"
"Anywhere. Just get in a car and drive. Or hop on a plane. See places that have nothing to do with investments or property valuations."
Avrielle smiled faintly. "Let's make a deal. One day, when we're old enough, when the world stops expecting us to behave like mini adults—let's disappear. Just for a while."
Ian extended his pinky finger toward her. "Pinky promise?"
She looped hers with his. "Pinky promise."
Their quiet moment was interrupted by a voice that could cut through the din of any party.
"There you two are!" Sylvia Wilson approached them with perfect posture and a wine glass in hand. "Honestly, Ian. You should be networking. Avrielle, darling, come meet Mr. Holbrooke — he owns a chain of luxury yachts. Great connection for your family."
Avrielle shot Ian a look before standing up. "Of course, Mrs. Wilson. Lead the way."
Ian followed, reluctantly falling back into the expected role of the charming young heir. As they moved through the crowd, Avrielle leaned in slightly and whispered, "Remember our deal."
He gave her a barely perceptible nod. "Always."
As the night wore on, the adults celebrated their success, oblivious to the growing restlessness in the hearts of the two teenagers who had long outgrown the scripted lives written for them. They smiled when told, nodded when spoken to, and held conversations that felt more like transactions.
But somewhere in the back of their minds, the echo of a pinky promise lingered — of freedom, of escape, of something real beyond the glass walls and manicured expectations.
And that echo, fragile and small as it was, would soon become the heartbeat of a journey neither of them could've imagined.