The festival banners flapped in the wind like surrender flags.
Avery hadn't wanted to come. But Dale begged—"It's the only thing left that's fun here" and guilt twisted his ribs. Now he stood at the edge of the town square, watching kids scramble for candy from the makeshift parade while the adults whispered behind their hands.
"They showed up."
"Of course they did." Camera flashing lights...
The Abels descended the courthouse steps in a sleek, monochrome pack.
Eleanor Abels in a cream pantsuit, her husband silent beside her, and Isabelle trailing like a shadow in a pale blue dress that probably cost more than Avery's old truck.
She looked miserable.
Good.
A cluster of reporters swarmed them, cameras flashing. Eleanor beamed, handing a giant novelty check to the mayor. "For Jacksonville's children," she announced, voice syrup-thick.
Martha spat into the grass. "Blood money."
Avery's fingers curled into fists. That check wouldn't cover a week's rent for the families they'd evicted.
Then Isabelle's gaze slid over the crowd—and locked onto him.
Her eyes narrowed.
Avery didn't look away.
---
He didn't plan to confront her. But when he saw her slip away from her parents, ducking behind the cotton candy stand like she was hiding, something primal kicked in.
"Enjoying the show?"Avery stepped into her path, voice low.
Isabelle startled, then stiffened. Up close, she smelled like expensive perfume and resentment. "Move, barista."
"It's mechanic. And you didn't answer the question."
She rolled her eyes. "I'd rather be anywhere else. Happy?"
"No." He jerked his chin toward her mother, now posing with toddlers for the press. "You don't get to buy forgiveness after stealing homes."
Isabelle's laugh was sharp enough to draw blood. "Stealing? We paid. More than those shacks were worth."
Avery's pulse roared in his ears. "That house was my father's—"
"And now it's ours." She stepped closer, her voice a venomous whisper. "Here's a tip, mechanic: If you didn't want to lose it, you should've been rich."
Something in him snapped.
"You're right," Avery said, too calm. "I should've been born into a family of vultures. Devouring helpless lives like some dead prey"
Isabelle flinched. For a heartbeat, Avery saw something raw in her eyes—shame? Anger?before her mask slammed back down.
"Cute" she replied, with her eyes looking straight into his"But playing the victim won't save your house."
Then she was gone, melting back into the crowd.
Avery exhaled, shaking.
Across the square, Eleanor Abel watched him with a predator's smile.
---
The festival ended with fireworks crimson bursts reflected in the windows of empty homes.
Avery walked Dale back to their doomed house in silence.
Up on Ridgeview Hill, Isabelle hurled a vase at her bedroom wall.
"Homesick already, darling?" Eleanor called from the hallway.
Isabelle didn't answer. She stared at the shattered porcelain, her chest heaving.
That boy. That town. That look in his eyes—
She hated it.
(Hated that part of her understood it.)
The walk home smelled of gunpowder and sugar. Fireworks still popped in the distance as Avery guided Dale past darkened storefronts, their neon signs flickering like dying fireflies. His brother clutched a half-eaten candied apple—the one luxury Avery couldn't deny him tonight.
"Did you see their faces when Mom Abel gave that fake check?" Dale kicked a pebble. "Like we're supposed to bow or something."
Avery's jaw tightened. He'd seen. The mayor's trembling hands, the reporters' questions, the way Eleanor's smile never reached her shark-cold eyes. "Just remember," he said, squeezing Dale's shoulder, "no amount of money makes them better than us."
Dale nodded, but his next words cut deep: "Then why do they get to take everything?"
The question hung between them until their battered porch light appeared. Inside, their mother waited with mugs of watery Coca-Cola - her own small rebellion against the Abels' champagne lifestyle.
Up at Ridgeview, Isabelle paced her gilded cage to and fro. The shattered vase glittered like accusation on her marble floors. She could still feel Avery's gaze burning through her - not the usual hungry stares she endured at galas, but something far more dangerous. "Recognition".
Her phone buzzed with a text from her boarding school friend: Ugh, suburban towns are the worst! When's your escape?
Isabelle's fingers hovered over the keyboard. She should complain about the dust, the crude locals, the endless charade. Instead, she typed and deleted three replies before settling on: It's complicated.
The admission startled her. Since when did anything merit that word? Rich girls weren't supposed to see complications, only solutions her family's money could bulldoze through.
Back in town, Finn Lawson, Avery's uncle intercepted Avery at his truck. Moonlight glinted off the wrench in his hand. "Heard you talked to the princess."
Avery stiffened. "Nothing to tell."
"Bullshit." Finn's breath reeked of rebellion and cheap beer. "Martha's organizing a protest at the construction site tomorrow. We could use someone who's seen the enemy up close."
The implication hung in the air like smoke. Avery thought of Dale's question, of his father's toolbox still sitting in their doomed garage. "I'm in," he heard himself say, the words tasting like gasoline.
---
Isabelle watched from her balcony as another Abel security SUV rolled into town. Below her perfect nails, faint scratches from the original Laurent children - generations of laughter now shattered over by her family's ambition.
She remembered Avery's voice: "Should've been born into vultures."
For the first time, Isabelle wondered what claws looked like from the inside.