"What time is it?" Mother asked, not really directing the question at anyone as she wrapped her shawl around her neck. She handed her makeup box to one of her personal servants, looking impatient.
No one answered. Everyone was too busy, rushing around with last-minute tasks, too absorbed in what they were doing to bother with her and probably sucked at multitasking too.
I didn't say anything either. I stayed focused on my phone, scrolling mindlessly.
But when I glanced up, I noticed her standing there, waiting for a response. Her eyes locked onto mine, and she let out an exasperated sigh. "What's the time, Elizabeth?"
Without wasting a second, I grabbed my backpack from the floor and walked out without a word.
---
It was Wednesday, and unfortunately, things hadn't gone the way I'd hoped. We were officially leaving for Vegas. I didn't have a say in it. Neither did Blanche. By 8:17 a.m., the last box had been packed, the last suitcase zipped. The house felt hollow, like a balloon that had all the air sucked out of it.
We spent a few minutes staring out the window, watching Blanche say her annoying drawn-out goodbyes. She hugged her friends like they were sending her off to war, tears and all. They piled her up with gifts—small boxes wrapped with bows, handwritten notes, and trinkets. It was nauseating.
By the doorframe, one of my mother's distant cousins leaned back, casually eating an apple. No one even knew she existed until today. Apparently, she was staying behind to take care of the house. Just another person in the background of our messy lives.
---
The airport was a nightmare. The usual security checks, baggage drop, and first-class lounge felt like they took forever. People shuffled around in slow motion, and I couldn't stand the constant hum of announcements and rolling suitcases. At least we didn't have to wait long to board.
First class meant, waiting in a designated exclusive space until your flight, cutting ahead of the crowd, being escorted through a separate line. Once on the plane, the flight attendants immediately fussed over us, offering warm towels and drinks. I ordered a sparkling water—anything stronger would just remind me how much I hated this whole thing.
They served breakfast shortly after takeoff. Fresh fruit, warm croissants, little pats of butter shaped like flowers. Everything perfectly arranged on delicate plates. I barely touched mine, pushing the food around with a fork while Blanche, of course, acted like she was dining at a five-star restaurant.
The cabin was quiet, and I felt an odd heaviness settle over me. I hadn't lifted a single box or done any real work, but I was exhausted. Emotionally drained, maybe.
I flagged down a flight attendant and asked for a blanket. She smiled politely, draping it over me as I settled back into the plush seat. I stared out the window, watching the clouds roll by. They stretched on forever, soft and endless, like an ocean frozen mid-wave.
Vegas. A fresh start, they said.
I pulled the blanket tighter around myself, sinking deeper into the seat. Maybe
I couldn't fall asleep, no matter how much I tried. The faint chatter of passengers—it all just felt like background noise to the mess in my head. I flagged down a flight attendant and asked for headphones. She handed me a pair connected to the in-flight Wi-Fi, and I slipped them on, hoping to drown out everything else.
I started scrolling through social media, flipping through stories and posts without really paying attention. But then something caught my eye. A headline about a missing girl near The Grid. The grid?
Curious, I tapped the link next to the name. It redirected me to Google, and I skimmed through the article. The Grid—apparently one of the most exclusive clubs in Las Vegas. Invite-only. The place where celebrities, heirs, and heiresses get invited to blow off steam. The kind of place elite men and women would kill to get into, while every influencer on the planet fought for an invite just to post about it and grow their following.
Interesting.
I scrolled down further and saw a picture of the founder and owner: Ezekiel King. My eyes lingered on the screen, and I zoomed in, then out, then in again. Sinfully hot. He looked way too young to own something like that. I spent a few minutes imagining what he'd look like in person. Probably even better.
Below his picture was an Instagram reel. I tapped it, and it redirected me straight to Instagram. A girl—@DiaryofIvyBrooks—was talking to the camera. Her voice was smooth, calming, clearly used to being listened to.
"For those of you who don't know, The Grid isn't just a place; it's a system," she said, her tone dripping with drama. "You're either plugged in or left out. It's the center of the city's pulse, where every move is part of the game. You play, or you get played." She paused, smirking. "Which is why you only get in by invite. Madison and Willow, the Carter twins, didn't wear their lucky panties, I guess. You wanna be big? You gotta be big up here." She tapped her head and then looked off-camera for a moment because looking back.
"Sorry, that was my brother," she muttered before continuing. "Anyway, how did those girls get into the club? We don't know. I just hope they're safe wherever they are. But besides that... you know I never leave you hanging. So, let's rewind."
A flashy rewind effect played, and the screen glitched for a second. "DiaryofIvyBrooks, log 185," she announced, her voice full of excitement. "Shocker Alert! I guess your girl's been real good because I…got an invite to—you know where." She giggled, practically bouncing with energy. "The mail came last night, I think!"
She jumped around the room like a kid on a sugar rush, her fluffy bunny slippers making soft, thudding sounds against the floor. I couldn't help but rolled my eyes.
"I had to keep it under my pillow because I know how much of a thief my brother is," she whispered, pulling out a glossy black envelope. The words 'THE GRID' were written in rose gold italics. Fancy. Dramatic. Everything about it screamed exclusivity.
She brought a mic close to the envelope and tore it open slowly, making sure the sound was amplified for that ASMR effect. "So satisfying," she whispered, eyes wide with fake wonder. Then she looked straight into the camera, her expression turning smug.
"What? Did you really think I was going to show you what's inside?" She sighed dramatically. "You know the rules. It's exclusive. Non-invites only get to see the outside. But don't worry, I'll try to sneak some videos for you once I'm there." She winked. "Anywayyyg, don't forget to vote for me in the ongoing GBIY—Global Best Influencer of the Year, because the results will be out in two days and you don't want your gurl sad. You know I love you. Byyyyeee!"
The video ended, and I scoffed, tapping back and out of Instagram.
Did I just spend a full blown minutes watching that---
The feedback whined cutting my trail of thought short.