Tangled in Love

1 - The Landon Estate

"Scarlett, why must you always dress so... plain?"

The words landed like glass against marble—sharp, familiar, impossible to ignore.

Scarlett closed her eyes for half a heartbeat, breathing in the faint scent of lavender from the candle burning on her dresser. Then she turned from the mirror.

Her mother stood in the doorway like she'd stepped out of a glossy magazine spread. Emma Landon, immaculate at seven-thirty in the morning, wore a cream pantsuit that probably cost more than Scarlett's monthly rent. Her hair gleamed, her lipstick was flawless, and her eyes—critical, calculating—traveled over Scarlett like she was an unfinished sketch.

Scarlett smoothed the wrinkle at her blouse hem. "It's comfortable," she said evenly. "I'm working today, not attending the Met Gala."

Click. Click. Click. Emma strode into the room, heels biting into hardwood, each step punctuating her disapproval. "You're a Landon. You have an image—"

"To maintain. I know." Scarlett grabbed her bag before the lecture could spool out further. "Got it memorized."

"Mom, leave her alone."

Adams leaned against the doorframe like he owned the world, blazer already wrinkled, tie half-loosened, a grin playing at his lips—the same grin that usually got him excused from trouble.

"She won't change, not for you, not for anyone. Can we go? My calc homework's still a tragedy waiting to happen."

Scarlett reached up and ruffled his carefully combed hair. "Shocking revelation."

"Hey!" Adams ducked away, frantically trying to restore order with his fingers. "Not cool, Scar!"

From the armchair near the window, a low chuckle rose above the rustle of newspaper. Mathew Landon, calm as always, lifted his gaze over the rim of his glasses. "Emma, let her live her life. She wants to make her own name."

Emma's finger shot toward him, sharp as a gavel. "This is your fault, Mathew. She should be preparing for marriage, not wasting time in some dress shop."

The words pressed down on Scarlett's chest, heavy and familiar—the weight of expectations she had never asked for.

She bent down, kissed her mother's cheek. The familiar cloud of Chanel wrapped around her, sophisticated and suffocating all at once. "Don't wait up. Long day at the boutique."

"Scarlett! At least wear lipstick!" Emma's voice chased after them as Scarlett and Adams darted down the stairs, his laughter echoing through the house.

"You're late again."

Linda's voice hit Scarlett before she'd even hung her apron on the hook. Behind the counter at Elysian Bridal, Linda balanced a sketchpad in one hand, pencil tucked behind her ear, already halfway through a daring backless gown design.

Scarlett rolled her eyes good-naturedly, tugging the apron strings tight around her waist. "Mom was on her usual rant about my clothes and social standing. Today's sermon was about how I'm singlehandedly disgracing the Landon name."

Linda straightened, her dark ponytail swishing as she lifted her chin in mock superiority. She pointed an imaginary finger, voice dropping into an uncanny impression of Emma: "You should behave like a proper lady, Scarlett! Heaven forbid you find fulfillment in honest work rather than marrying some insufferable trust fund baby!"

Scarlett laughed, the tension dissolving from her shoulders. "You're terrible."

The silver bells above the boutique door chimed. Both women turned.