Ashbourne Morning

Vivi woke before her alarm, the soft morning light barely filtering through the sheer curtains of her room. Mondays always felt too quiet—too polished, like everything had been reset without her permission. The Ashbourne house was already alive in its sterile, curated way: distant footsteps on marble, clinking porcelain in the kitchen, the low hum of machinery operating without warmth.

She didn’t check her phone. Instead, she sat up slowly, letting her hair fall around her bare shoulders. The mirror across the room caught her reflection—and she held it for a moment. Even half-asleep, she looked immaculate. High cheekbones, clear skin, a naturally regal posture. She didn’t need makeup to look composed. She already did.

It was one of the few weapons she was actually allowed to use.

Her bare feet met the cold floor with a quiet wince, and she padded into the bathroom, going through her routine with the same precision as the rest of the household. Steam rose from the shower; products lined the vanity like museum pieces. Hair brushed smooth, a spritz of rosewater, a swipe of tinted gloss. Then came the outfit: painted-on dark jeans, a fitted white tank top, and a sleek black sweater that had been custom made in Montreal. The look said effortless—though it was anything but.

Downstairs, the dining room was picture-perfect as always. Sunlight filtered in through tall windows, catching the silverware and fresh lilies in a tall glass vase. The table stretched long and heavy, all dark wood and crisp linen. Above the sideboard, the family crest hung proudly on the wall, its fiery phoenix catching light as if on flames. Camille was already seated, swirling yogurt with her spoon while half-watching a video on her phone.

“Good morning,” Vivi said as she slid into her seat.

Camille looked up. “You're early.”

“You’re surprised?”

Camille smirked and looked back down. A maid moved to pour Vivi’s tea, silent and efficient. The room was quiet, like always—quiet, but never peaceful.

Veronica entered next, wrapped in a chic taupe pantsuit that fit like it had been tailored onto her skin. A soft scent of white flowers followed her—Dior, unmistakably. She kissed both daughters on the cheek in quick succession, more habit than emotion.

“Bonjour, mes filles,” she said lightly as she sat. “Vivienne, that sweater fits you très bien. Much better than that thing you wore last week.”

“Thanks, Mother,” Vivi replied, reaching for her tea. “It’s French.”

“I can tell,” Veronica said approvingly. “American clothes always sag at the seams.”

A moment later, Julian stepped in—shirt crisp, hair slightly tousled like he’d tried and failed to care. He looked effortlessly cool, which was annoying, because he was probably still half-asleep.

“Morning, ladies,” he said, sliding into a seat beside Camille and reaching for the croissants.

“Finally,” Camille muttered. “I thought you died in your room.”

“Tempting,” Julian replied with a yawn. He glanced at Vivi, nodding once. “Morning, Ice Queen.”

She gave him a lazy side-eye. “Original.”

“Worked last week,” he said through a bite of croissant.

Their father entered on cue, suit jacket over one arm, phone still in hand. Marcus Ashbourne moved with purpose, like every moment had been scheduled three days ago.

“Morning,” he said. He kissed Veronica on the top of the head before sitting at the head of the table. “News from Michigan.”

Camille perked up. “Good news?”

Marcus smiled faintly. “Your cousin will be arriving Wednesday. She’ll be staying here at the house until she settles in.”

Vivi raised her cup slowly. “This Wednesday?”

“That’s right,” he said. “She’ll enroll at Resin Grove. We’ve already arranged her schedule.”

Veronica hummed. “Enfin. It’s time she got out of that dull town. She's always been such a refined girl. Academic, elegant. Very... Ashbourne.”

Camille rolled her eyes. “Do we have room?”

“She’ll take the west guest suite,” Veronica said. “We’ll have a wardrobe prepared for her.”

Marcus turned his eyes to Vivi. “She’ll need someone to help her adjust. You’ll take care of that, Vivienne.”

There it was—another directive, packaged as trust.

She set her cup down gently, a small warmth rising beneath her cool expression. “Of course.”

In truth, the news sent a quiet rush through her chest. Amelia. Finally. It had been nearly a year since they’d seen each other in person—long video calls, fast text exchanges, and that easy shorthand between them only went so far. Amelia understood her in ways no one else did. Not Camille. Maybe second only to Alyssa.

Julian gave her a side glance, arching a brow. “You look... unreasonably pleased considering you were asked to babysit”

“I babysit _you _every day,” she replied without blinking.

Camille choked on her tea and Julian held up both hands in mock surrender.

The rest of breakfast passed in half-hearted conversation. Marcus excused himself with a check of his watch, Veronica followed soon after, and the silence that remained was stiff as always.

The chauffeur waited outside, already prepping the family car, a silver Maybach. Camille was reapplying gloss in the foyer mirror when Vivi appeared, keys in hand.

“You’re not coming with us?” Camille asked.

Vivi shook her head. “I’ll drive myself.”

Julian glanced over from the steps, amused. “Let me guess. Too good for the town car?”

Vivi gave him a pointed look. “Too awake for the gossip.”

She stepped into the morning light and made her way to the circular driveway, where her sleek black Maserati GranTurismo sat gleaming in the sun. She liked driving. It gave her control—something in short supply inside the house.

The engine purred to life, rich and deep, as she backed out past the hedges and down the long, winding road that led to town. Camille and Julian pulled away in the Ashbourne car ahead, chauffeur polished, windows tinted.

Vivi’s route passed the forest line, then the edge of the Heights. Houses gave way to stores and sidewalks, to the texture of normal life she only ever skimmed the surface of. Resin Grove High came into view soon after—brick and ivy and ambition, just like her family.

She parked in her usual spot and stepped out into the crisp morning air, adjusting her bag over her shoulder.

“Look who’s early for once.”

Alyssa Carrington appeared from behind a row of parked cars, blonde hair in a loose braid, cropped sweater hugging her frame, high-waisted black pants swaying as she walked. She popped a piece of gum as she took in Vivi’s outfit.

“You look tense,” she said. “Let me guess—silverware wasn't lined up properly again?”

Vivi exhaled a faint laugh. “Close enough.”

Alyssa leaned in with mock concern. “You know, one of these days you’re going to snap and flip the dinner table.”

“I’d never ruin the centerpiece.”

“Then do something wild. Shake your mother’s soul a little.”

“Like what?”

Alyssa grinned slowly. “You could fuck Hartley.”

Vivi blinked. “You’re not serious.”

“Oh, I’m _dead _serious,” Alyssa said, eyes gleaming. “He’s _so _good. Saturday’s party? Handled Riley and me like a goddamn pro.”

Vivi’s expression froze. “A threesome?”

Alyssa popped her gum. “Technically, it started as dancing. Then got very… involved. You’d think someone like him would be all clumsy and noise—but no. Precise. Focused.”

Vivi raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite herself. Alyssa wasn’t the type to be easily impressed, and Blake Hartley? That was unexpected. Illicit thoughts slid into her mind like fog under a door—just enough to make her uncomfortable.

Looping her arm through Vivi’s, Alyssa smiled sweetly. “Come on. You can overthink this in homeroom.”