Fanny Dawson liked to think of her life in clean lines.
She had spent the last six years sharpening those lines until they formed a perfect frame: her job at Kline & Merritt Events, her tidy corner apartment in Manhattan, the golden retriever who waited faithfully by the door each evening. Nothing spilled outside the boundaries she set. Nothing complicated her carefully measured days.
And then, on an ordinary Wednesday, her grandmother's invitation arrived—and the lines began to blur.
It came in a cream envelope, thick and expensive, the kind that felt almost alive under her fingers. Gold script curled across the front, her name spelled out in her grandmother's precise hand:
Miss Fanny Dawson.
Her heart thudded once, hard. She hadn't seen that handwriting in over a year. Imelda Ashton didn't waste time on trivial correspondence. If she sent something by post, it was because she expected no argument.
Fanny turned the envelope over, considering whether to open it at her desk or save herself the spectacle. All around her, her coworkers were engrossed in their screens, the soft clatter of keyboards and the occasional ring of the phones filling the open-plan office. She was safe here, she reminded herself. Untouchable.
She slit the seal with a letter opener.
The card inside was heavy enough to be a weapon.
You are requested to attend the celebration of Imelda Ashton's 70th Birthday.
Ashton Estate
Hudson Valley, New York
Friday, April 12th at 6:00 p.m.
Attendance is expected.
There was no RSVP line. No polite suggestion that she reply. Attendance was expected. Full stop.
Fanny let out a thin breath. She smoothed the card flat on her desk, feeling the familiar flicker of resentment and guilt twist together in her chest. Imelda had always had a gift for combining affection with command. Even as a child, Fanny had known that love in the Ashton family was something you earned by compliance.
She looked up to find her assistant, Greta, hovering uncertainly by the divider.
"Everything okay?" Greta asked, eyeing the heavy cardstock.
"Family thing," Fanny said lightly, sliding the invitation into her drawer. "Nothing urgent."
She turned back to her laptop, hoping Greta would take the hint. She did, drifting back to her own desk, but the interruption left Fanny's thoughts in disarray.
Her grandmother's birthday. Seventy years. The milestone alone meant she couldn't send regrets, not without creating a minor scandal. And as much as she resented the obligation, she knew she would go. She always did.
She worked late that evening, trying to bury her unease under a stack of contracts and catering estimates. But when she finally stepped out into the March chill, the city felt different—less like a fortress, more like a fragile illusion she was about to watch splinter.
Her Uber pulled up, headlights slicing through the early darkness. She climbed in, pressing her palm flat to Bertie's leash in her tote. Her dog would be waiting, tail thumping, eyes bright. He was the one thing in her life that didn't ask her to explain herself.
By the time she reached her building, she had almost convinced herself she could handle whatever Imelda was planning.
Almost.
She unlocked her apartment, inhaled the familiar clean scent of lavender soap and warm carpet. Bertie bounded over, all wriggling joy, and she dropped to her knees to bury her face in his fur.
"Hey, buddy," she murmured. "Miss me?"
He licked her cheek, oblivious to the world beyond their walls.
Fanny straightened, shrugging out of her coat. She tossed the invitation on the counter and opened the fridge, searching for something that would distract her. Leftover Thai. A bottle of seltzer. Nothing that could anchor her thoughts.
The envelope still lay there, an accusation in ivory and gold.
She picked it up again. Turned it over.
Attendance is expected.
Fanny pressed her thumb to the edge until the paper bit into her skin.
It was never just a party. Not in her family.
She set the card aside and closed her eyes.
Somewhere deep in her chest, a familiar dread was already waking, whispering that no matter how far she ran, she'd never truly be free of the name Ashton.
And just before she could even shut her eyes to drown the pressure, her phone buzzed as a notification popped up.
'Did you get my message? I can't wait for you to come, darling. See you on Saturday'
The screen glowed in her eyes. It was a confirmation message from Granny Imelda. Fanny turned the phone and laid fully on the couch. There were two days between today and Saturday.
She had to shop for gifts, something to show that she was eager to go home. But something still felt off within her. The enthusiasm behind the text message? Something is not right.
Too tired to start racking her head with whatever tricks her grandmother might be up to, Fanny closed her eyes, drifting into the quiet arms of sleep.
***
"Can you come shopping with me after work, Greta?" Fanny asked her assistant who quickly wheeled her chair towards her.
"What's the occasion?"
"Birthday party. Older folks." Fanny rested her head on her hand and faced Greta.
"Hmm…we've got to figure out what they like. Older people can get very sensitive about gifts."
"I'm thinking, ugh, I actually don't know."
Greta chewed the cap of her pen and then clapped her hands together as if a bright idea popped in her head. "You can get her a fancy shawl or cardigan in her favorite color and add a personal note to it. I'm sure she'd appreciate it."
Fanny thought for a while. It was a good idea, judging from the fact that Granny Imelda fancied things like that. And it would also be a much better gift than the pearls she always received.
"Alright! That sounds great."
"I can order it for you, it'll be delivered tomorrow." Greta looked at her.
"That saves me the stress. Get a shawl in beige and the cardigan in brown." Fanny nodded with a smile.
The day went by quickly and she was back to her normal routine of work, home with her dog and nights spent with her eyes glued watching reality shows.
Fanny loved her life, there was no need to be accountable to someone or committing either. At twenty-eight, she was okay and nobody was going to ruin that for her.
The drive was quiet. She had wrapped the gift in a box with a fancy gift-wrapper and skillfully glued the short handwritten note on a ribbon.
"...Wish you a long life filled with happiness and good-health."
That was enough. In fact, her presence there was enough.
The car stopped in front of the familiar gates, the huge black gate that guarded the Ashton mansion. It opened majestically and she drove in, her heart beating a little bit faster than normal from nostalgia.
The mansion still looked the same as she remembered. The cobblestone floors, the big fountain in the middle where she spent hours sitting by wishing her mother would come through the gates one day.
"Welcome home Ms. Dawson, we have all been expecting you!" The butler, Mr Harold said beaming with smiles as she got out of the car. "Oh look at you, you've gotten much taller!" He chuckled sweetly.
"And you've got more grey hair than I last remember." Fanny teased and gave him a big hug.
"Come on…I'm still as handsome as ever, aren't I?"
"Of course you are…" the both of them laughed.
Mr Harold closed the booth and dragged her suitcase in. Her eyes caught a black car parking not so far away.
That was strange.
Granny Imelda's birthday was only with family every year. She didn't inform her in the invite that there would be an additional guest.
Fanny felt a wave of unease as she carried the gift.
"Mr Harold," she whispered and stood next to him before he opened the doors. "Whose car is that?"
"Oh, Madame has a guest." He responded simply and opened the door.
"A guest?"
She looked back at the car again. Tinted windows, SUV, A Cullinan. That definitely wasn't just any kind of guest. Fanny tightened her grip on the box and entered the house.
Fanny was immediately met with her grandmother's beaming smiles as she hugged her.
"Sweetheart, you made it!" Granny Imelda said happily as she hugged her granddaughter.
"Of course!" Fanny hugged her back, securing the box in her other hand. "Here, I got this for you. You will love it. I even wrote a letter for you!"
Granny Imelda pouted "Aww darling, you being here is a big gift itself."
Fanny nodded, rubbing her palms together. "Where's dad?"
"He's at the table. We all have been waiting for you." Granny Imelda winked at Fanny.
"All? Isn't it just me and dad?" Fanny asked with curiosity and unease as she followed Granny Imelda.
"You'll see, there's someone special with us today." Granny Imelda held Fanny's hand as they went to the dining table.
Fanny paused at the threshold of the dining room, her hand still curled around the polished brass doorknob. For a moment, she thought she'd walked into the wrong house – a stupid thought, but easier to accept than what she was seeing.
Someone else was sitting at Granny Imelda's table.
He didn't look up right away. He was too at ease, too familiar with a place he had no right to belong. One arm rested against the carved armrest of Imelda's favorite chair–herchair–and he was swirling dark liquid in a crystal tumbler as if he'd been doing it for years.
Fanny's gaze flicked to her grandmother, who sat opposite him with a bright, almost forced smile, and then to her father, whose face was unreadable in that way she had always hated. The uneasy prickle she had felt since she saw that monstrous black SUV out front now climbed all the way up her spine.
The stranger finally lifted his head.
He had the kind of face you couldn't mistake for ordinary — sharp, masculine lines, a sculpted jaw that probably belonged in the finance section of some glossy magazine, and eyes the color of wet slate. Calm, assessing eyes that met hers without even the decency of pretending surprise.
For one stupid second, she almost asked, Who are you? But her voice tangled in her throat.
So this was why Granny Imelda had been so unnaturally eager in her text. She'd thought it was just birthday excitement. Now it felt like a warning she didn't smartly decipher.
Her guts warned her about the car parked outside. She should have trusted her guts.
Something was happening here.
Her heart beat too fast as she stepped fully into the room. Her father rose and came around to kiss her cheek.
Why is he here? Why is no one saying anything?
The stranger's mouth curved into a polite, almost bored smile, as though he knew exactly what she was thinking. As though he had been expecting this moment – her arrival, her confusion, her dread.
"Fanny, I want you to meet Jacob Vanders."