Chapter 4

The "underprivileged CEOs" excuse didn't fool the Hamiltons for long, especially after Skyler gleefully recounted Ava' s donut escape, minus the philanthropic angle.

"Ava, this behavior is unacceptable," Mr. Hamilton stated, his voice cold. "First, the Astor debacle, now public gluttony. You are becoming a liability."

Mrs. Hamilton added, "We are considering... alternatives for your living situation. Perhaps a less... stimulating environment would be beneficial."

Translation: they' re kicking me out. Fantastic. Less pressure to pretend I enjoy kale salads.

Ava felt a strange sense of impending freedom. If she was going to be exiled, she might as well go out with a bang. A culinary bang.

Her mind immediately began to plan. A farewell feast. For one. Delivery. Spicy Korean fried chicken, extra gochujang. A whole Peking duck. Those loaded truffle fries from that place downtown. And a gigantic chocolate lava cake. If I' m going down, I' m going down full.

The next evening, as the Hamiltons were out at yet another gala, Ava put her plan into action. Her room soon resembled a high-end takeout restaurant. Boxes piled high, the aroma of various delicious cuisines warring for dominance.

She was just about to dig into a glistening drumstick when Skyler burst into the room without knocking.

"What in the actual..." Skyler stopped, her eyes wide, taking in the scene. "Are you... serious?"

Ava, mid-bite, froze. Busted. And I haven' t even gotten to the duck yet.

"It's a... cultural exploration," Ava managed, sauce on her chin.

Skyler' s eyes narrowed. "Cultural exploration? Ava, this is a cry for help. Or you're just a pig."

Before Ava could respond, Skyler grabbed her phone. "Mom! Dad! You need to see this!"

In her haste to stop Skyler, Ava lunged. Skyler sidestepped. Ava stumbled, knocking over a precariously balanced tower of pizza boxes. They cascaded downwards, cheese and toppings flying. One landed open, pepperoni-side down, on a priceless antique rug.

My beautiful, beautiful pepperoni... ruined.

The Hamiltons arrived minutes later, their faces thunderous. The sight of the food-strewn room, Ava looking guilty and greasy, and the pizza marring the Aubusson carpet, was the final straw.

"That's it!" Mr. Hamilton roared. "You're out! Pack your things. We'll arrange for you to stay at the country cottage. Indefinitely."

Mrs. Hamilton looked like she might faint. "The rug... my God, the rug..."

Ava' s main concern, however, was the truffle fries, now tragically cold.

As Ava dragged her suitcases to the door the next morning, Skyler watched, a complicated expression on her face – part triumph, part... something else.

"Don't expect a postcard," Ava said, trying for nonchalance.

"Wouldn't dream of it," Skyler replied, though her voice lacked its usual bite.

Just as Ava stepped outside, a sleek black car pulled up. Rhys Donovan leaned out.

"Heard you were looking for a new zip code," he said, his usual teasing tone softened with genuine concern. "Got a spare room above my flagship store. Great coffee, even better books. And a distinct lack of judgmental parental units."

Ava felt a genuine smile, the first in days. "Lead the way, Donovan. But you' re buying dinner. Something... substantial."

And maybe I can finally finish that true-crime docuseries in peace.