“You wore that dress?”
The words hit Ava like a slap made of static and memory. She didn’t even have to turn her head to know they were talking about her.
Whispers flared like sparks in the humid air of the gym—strobe lights flickering like broken promises, pop songs skipping on old speakers, and streamers drooping like tired nerves.
Ava stood just inside the doorway, her hand still on the metal handle. The blue dress clung to her body in all the ways she used to hate—it hugged her hips, shaped her chest, showed skin she’d been told to hide. But tonight, it didn’t feel like shame. It felt like war paint.
“Is that… Ava?” a girl murmured near the drink table, her voice pinched with disbelief.
“No way. She actually came,” someone else replied, almost laughing.
Her heels tapped against the gym floor with a rhythm that didn’t beg for attention—it commanded it. Girls looked her up and down like they wanted to swallow her whole, like their stares could shrink her. Boys elbowed each other, whispering behind cupped hands.
But Ava didn’t flinch. Not even a blink. She kept walking.
Every stare burned. Every smirk scraped across old scars. But none of it mattered.
She hadn’t come here to disappear. She came to be undeniable. And they saw her.
Across the room, Jace Preston stood by the punch table, one hand gripping a red cup, the other shoved deep into his pocket like he didn’t know what to do with it. He wore black—button-down shirt, sleeves rolled, collar slightly open. His face looked carved in tension.
The moment Ava stepped in, his eyes locked on hers.
She didn’t look away. His jaw tightened.
The lights above them stuttered as the beat dropped low and heavy. For a second, it felt like the entire room held its breath.
Ava passed him without pause. No flinching. No second glance. She crossed the floor like she belonged there—because she did.
She let the music pulse through her ribs, let herself sway—slow at first, grounded in her own rhythm. Then a guy in a navy suit appeared at her side. She remembered him vaguely from Spanish class.
“You, uh… want to dance?” he asked, scratching the back of his neck.
Ava tilted her head, the corners of her mouth lifting.
“I’d love to.”
And just like that, she was spinning—laughing. Just a girl dancing, not a headline in a cruel dare. For one full minute, she wasn’t a punchline. She was free. Until she wasn’t.
A hand clamped around her wrist. Firm. Familiar. Too tight to ignore.
Jace.
Her heart slammed once, then again.
He pulled her toward him, just slightly, but it was enough. The music roared, but his voice cut through it like a knife.
“You’re embarrassing yourself,” he snapped, leaning in close.
Ava yanked her arm back. Her voice was sharp when it came. “Excuse me?”
“This isn’t you,” he said, as if he owned her identity. As if he got to decide who she was allowed to be.
She stepped closer, her eyes blazing. “You don’t get to say who I am, Jace.”
His jaw clenched, but she didn’t stop.
“You think I wore this dress for you?” she asked, voice rising. “I wore it because I can. Because I’m allowed to. I wore it for me.”
He didn’t answer. His gaze flickered. And suddenly, the crowd vanished. The noise vanished. The dance went on without them—but between the two of them, everything stood still.
He stepped forward again. She didn’t move.
“Everyone’s talking,” he muttered.
Ava let out a laugh, bitter and hard. “They’ve always talked,” she said. “I just stopped listening.”
She could feel it in her chest—not shame, not regret. Power.
“You think I care what they say?” she continued, eyes never leaving his. “No. I cared what you said. Back then. When your words gutted me. When you turned my name into a punchline. When you made me feel like I wasn’t even real.”
His mouth opened slightly, but nothing came out.
“You don’t get to care now,” she said, louder, eyes shining. “You’re not the villain in my story, Jace.”
She paused, leaned in close enough for only him to hear.
“You’re just the coward.”
He opened his mouth, but no words came. His chest rose and fell once, hard. He stepped closer again—no aggression, just gravity—and Ava didn’t retreat. Not this time.
His mouth twitched, not into a smile, but something closer to surrender. Then his voice dropped low, softer than she’d ever heard it.
“You’re wrong,” he said, and it wasn’t mockery. It was confession. “I’m every version of the villain you’ve ever imagined.”