Finding Her Flavor

Ava Chen, adopted into the Hamilton dynasty, lived a life of polished perfection, her cool-girl facade masking a vibrant inner world obsessed with cheeseburgers and artisanal donuts. Tonight, at the annual Children' s Literacy Gala, everything changed. Skyler, the newly discovered "true" heiress, fueled by jealousy, wished on an antique locket for everyone to see the "real" Ava.

Suddenly, Ava' s every internal thought, from her deep-fried cravings to her scathing social commentary, became audibly broadcast to everyone nearby. Her meticulously crafted mask shattered, public embarrassment her constant companion. This bizarre "superpower" sabotaged her family's prestigious arranged marriage with the powerful Julian Astor, who rejected her publicly, sparking her adoptive parents' outrage. Branded a "liability" and a "public glutton," Ava was banished from their opulent mansion, deemed an utter disgrace.

Humiliated and perplexed, Ava couldn't understand why her mind had betrayed her with such mundane, food-focused secrets. Why was she cursed with this bizarre ability? What was the true source of this unpredictable chaos that had cost her everything? Yet, even amidst the chaos, a strange sense of liberation stirred within her.

Cast out but unburdened, Ava found refuge in an unexpected place: her childhood friend Rhys' s cozy bookstore cafe. Now, with nothing left to lose, she must navigate a world where her inner voice is a public spectacle, and somehow, find her true self amidst the delicious chaos.

Ava Chen stood by the champagne fountain, a perfect picture of Manhattan cool-girl indifference.

Her black gown shimmered, her expression was serene, but inside, her mind was a riot.

These tiny salmon puffs are a crime against humanity, she thought. I need a five-patty burger, extra cheese, and a mountain of fries. Now.

This was Ava' s life, adopted into the obscenely wealthy Hamilton family, a constant performance of unbothered elegance. Her personal guideline: never let the mask slip, no matter what.

Tonight was the annual Children' s Literacy Gala, a pinnacle of the East Coast social calendar.

Mrs. Hamilton, her adoptive mother, glided over, eyes sharp. "Ava, darling, you look divine. The Astors are here. Do try to be... engaging."

Engaging? I'm engaging with the idea of ordering a whole pizza to my room the second this is over.

Then Skyler Hamilton arrived, the recently discovered biological daughter, the "true" heiress.

She wore a dress too bright, her smile a little too wide, a stark contrast to Ava' s curated calm. Skyler' s mission, Ava knew, was to dismantle Ava' s "fakeness."

A vintage Hermès scarf came up for auction, a delicate silk square. Ava, for a fleeting second, admired its craftsmanship.

Hmm, pretty. Would look good tied to the handle of a designer bag I'll never use to carry actual things. Mostly just snacks.

Skyler, noticing Ava' s brief glance, immediately started bidding, her voice loud, determined. She won it for an absurd price.

Mrs. Hamilton hissed under her breath, "Skyler, such ostentation is unbecoming."

Ava offered a placid smile. "It's quite alright, Skyler has excellent taste."

Excellent taste in wasting money, Ava' s mind supplied. That scarf money could have bought out that new Nashville hot chicken food truck for a week. Level three spice. My mouth is watering. Can' t exactly eat that in this dress, though. Maybe a late-night delivery, sweats on, watching that true-crime docuseries about the cannibal chef.

Mr. Hamilton, standing beside his wife, suddenly frowned, glancing at Ava with a strange, puzzled expression. Mrs. Hamilton mirrored it.

"Chicken, Ava?" Mr. Hamilton murmured, confused.

Ava blinked, her serene expression unwavering. "Pardon?"

Did I say that out loud? No. Impossible. Guideline number one: maintain composure.

Skyler smirked, thinking Ava was flustered. She held up the scarf. "See, sis? Real passion."

But as Skyler spoke, she clutched a small, antique silver locket in her other hand, a piece she' d found in her biological mother' s old things. She' d been wishing on it all night, wishing everyone could see Ava for who she really was.

The air around Ava seemed to shimmer for a moment, unnoticed by anyone but her.

A wave of dizziness washed over Ava, so faint she almost dismissed it.

Weird. Maybe I do need that burger.

The next morning, the Hamiltons summoned Ava and Skyler to the library. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air.

"Girls," Mr. Hamilton began, his voice grave, "we need to discuss the Astor family."

Mrs. Hamilton picked up. "There has been an informal understanding for years, a potential alliance to merge Hamilton Industries and Astor Corp. A marriage, to be precise."

Ava kept her face smooth. A business merger disguised as a date? So Gatsby. They probably want to marry off the spare, which is me, or the newbie, Skyler.

"Julian Astor," Mr. Hamilton continued, "is the heir. He's looking for a suitable partner."

Skyler' s eyes gleamed. "So, one of us gets to marry rich and powerful?"

Ava' s inner voice was dry. He's probably one of those guys who only talks about stocks and his Peloton score. Hard pass. I' d rather marry a food critic who can get me into Michelin-starred restaurants before they open to the public.

Mrs. Hamilton shot Ava a look. "Julian has requested a meeting. With Ava first."

Ava felt a flicker of surprise. Me? Why me? Oh, right, the 'poised and elegant' act probably tested better in focus groups.

Later, at Julian Astor' s minimalist corporate headquarters – all glass, steel, and an unnerving silence – Skyler whispered to Ava, "Prepare for judgment, 'sis'. Hope your fake posh accent holds up."

Ava ignored her. This place smells like ozone and ambition. Definitely no secret snack drawers here.

Julian Astor entered. Tall, sharp suit, sharper cheekbones. He looked like he' d just stepped out of a magazine cover about ruthless CEOs.

Ava' s inner monologue kicked in immediately. Okay, sharp suit, but he looks like he survives on wheatgrass shots and existential dread. Definitely needs a good burger. And maybe a hobby that doesn't involve spreadsheets or world domination. Does he even know what a taco is?

Julian Astor stopped dead in his tracks. His eyes, which had been coolly assessing Ava, widened almost imperceptibly. He looked... startled. Confused. He even tilted his head, as if listening to something only he could hear.

He stared at Ava, a muscle twitching in his jaw. "Miss Chen," he said, his voice suddenly curt, "I'm afraid this won't work. You are not... suitable for the alliance."

Ava maintained her outward cool, a slight, indifferent lift of her eyebrows. "Understood."

Dodged a bullet! Fantastic. Now, about those gourmet sliders I saw advertised near here... and maybe that craft beer place Rhys mentioned. Must remain composed. Must project unbothered sophistication. I' ll just subtly suggest "catering options" for the next "strategy session" they inevitably try to rope me into and slip my personal order in.

Julian Astor looked even more flustered. He ran a hand through his perfectly styled hair. "Marcus!" he called out, his voice tight.

His executive assistant, Marcus, appeared instantly, tablet in hand.

"Research... diverse catering options," Julian instructed, avoiding Ava' s gaze. "Immediately. And find me a nutritionist. Someone specializing in... optimal performance diets. For... sustained energy."

Ava, seeing her chance, added smoothly, "Julian, if I may, Marcus, Mr. Astor was just mentioning a craving for some exceptional gourmet sliders. There' s a place, 'The Patty Shack,' downtown, and they pair wonderfully with the 'Hop Justice' IPA from a local brewery. Just a thought for his... optimal performance."

Julian stared at her, his mouth slightly agape.

Marcus, ever professional, just nodded. "Noted, Miss Chen. Sliders and IPA for Mr. Astor's... research."

Ava gave a tiny, polite smile. Mission accomplished. Now to escape before he asks me about my stock portfolio.