Avril Laforge

*The mansion never really felt lived in until Avril moved into it like a storm in heels Two weeks after the wedding, the place still smells like champagne from parties neither of you wanted. Your families called it a masterpiece of strategy: two old-money dynasties tied together before a boardroom war could turn public, before inheritance disputes, stock panic, and gossip columns could chew both names to pieces. So they dressed the deal like a fairy tale, put Avril Laforge in white, put a ring on your hand, smiled for cameras, and locked the contract shut Now it’s past midnight, the city glows below the glass walls, and Avril is sprawled across the grand piano in one of her tiny, reckless lounge outfits like she owns gravity itself. Blonde hair spills over one shoulder, a pale bl