Alex's POV
There are exactly two kinds of people at this party.
The first group — jaws dropped, champagne in hand, trying to figure out how a teenager's birthday looked like the Met Gala met the Super Bowl met Beyoncé's halftime show.
The second group — used to it. These are the people who've been here before. Who know that when Ava Langford throws a party, the dress code might as well say prepare to be emotionally overwhelmed by opulence.
I stood at the top of the grand staircase, scanning the crowd of celebrities, artists, and industry titans gathered in the mansion courtyard. Drones lit up the sky with Adrien's name. Fireworks shaped like hearts burst overhead. A stage the size of a yacht floated on the infinity pool, where one of Adrien's favorite bands was currently playing a set written just for tonight.
All for him.
All because Ava loved hard. And she didn't do anything halfway — not grief, not motherhood, not love.
"You're staring," a soft voice teased beside me.
I turned. Ava.
She wore silver today, like a moon wrapped in sparkles, eyes lined in soft shimmer, a necklace that probably cost more than a car, and a smile that hadn't left her face since sunrise.
"I always stare when I see something that belongs to me," I said, letting my hand brush hers.
Her eyes sparkled, like they always did when I flirted. "Smooth."
"Honest," I corrected, wrapping an arm around her waist.
For a second, we just stood there, looking out over the chaos she'd created. There were people from all over the world here, gathered under fairy lights and chandeliers suspended from trees.
It was too much. Too dramatic. Too perfect.
It was so her.
"You know," she whispered, "he was nervous today. He thought nobody would come."
I laughed. "That's your son. The most loved boy in the country. But yeah, sure, maybe no one shows up."
She leaned her head on my shoulder. "I told him… I told him I'd throw the world at his feet. And I did."
"You always do."
And then we heard her.
"Baby!"
Ava launched herself down the stairs like she hadn't seen Adrien in years — not the two minutes since he disappeared into the crowd. She called out loud enough to silence the music, waved her hands like she was guiding planes, and practically sprinted in heels no one else could survive in.
"Happy birthday, my child, my love, my darling—oh my god, you look so handsome—did you drink water? Did you eat anything? Did you see the cake?!"
Adrien let her hug him, visibly dying inside from second-hand embarrassment.
"I liked the mango mocktail," he mumbled.
She gasped. "That one's for dramatic moments only! You had a dramatic moment without me?!"
I followed them slowly, giving him time to recover from the onslaught of affection.
By the time I reached them, Adrien was trying to escape, and Ava was holding onto his arm like it was the last life raft on the Titanic.
"She cried in the closet this morning," I told him, smirking.
"Snitch," Ava hissed, not letting go.
"You said you missed when he had a lisp and no teeth."
"He's growing up too fast," she whined. "He's eighteen. What if he moves out?"
Adrien stared at her. "Mom. I still live here. You drop me to school."
"Exactly. And if you leave me, I will follow you. To college. In your suitcase."
He groaned. "I want to transfer schools."
"You graduated."
"I want to un-graduate."
She pouted, clinging even tighter. "You'll always be my baby."
And I watched him — this tall, quiet, slightly sarcastic boy — soften.
Because he still was her baby.
Ava was too much. That was the truth.
But she was too much in the best ways. The kind of too much that saves people. That holds broken things together until they heal.
I looked at them — Adrien squirming, Ava kissing his cheeks, fixing his hair, and already dragging him toward the cake table.
And I thought — if you ever wondered what love looks like after all the pain, this is it.
Loud. Lavish. Unapologetic.
Alive.
Because we were alive.
And for the first time in years, it felt like we were finally living.
---
The End.
Signing off
Siddhii singh