The sky over Atlanta was smeared in hues of fading gold and smoky blue as the Monroe family car curved through the iron gates of the gated estate. Trees lined the drive like silent guards, and ahead, the Carson mansion stood tall—glass windows catching the last of the evening sun like it was on fire.
Aria Monroe sat in the passenger seat, hands folded in her lap, face blank. She didn't look at the house. She barely blinked. But inside her, emotions roared like a quiet storm.
She hadn't asked her mother any questions since the flight. Not when they left California. Not when Diana handed her a brand-new iPhone and said, "New city, new number. No ties."
Not when they entered the estate that looked like it belonged to someone else's life.
And now, as the car pulled up, and a uniformed man opened her door, she still didn't speak.
Diana stepped out in heels and silence, her sunglasses still on. "We're home," she said calmly, like this was always the plan.
Aria followed her inside, the marble floors echoing her steps. The house smelled like fresh polish and money. Expensive money.
"Your room is upstairs," Diana added without turning. "Far left."
That was it. No hug. No smile. No explanation. Just like always.
Aria climbed the stairs slowly, her fingers brushing the smooth railing. Her new room was silent, too clean, too empty. She dropped her bag on the edge of the bed, walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, and pushed the sheer curtain aside.
Across the estate fence, a warm glow spilled from a neighboring house.
A girl stood outside, laughing, talking animatedly with someone inside. Her energy was magnetic. Aria watched her quietly. There was something comforting about her—like she belonged to this place in a way Aria never could.
Then a figure appeared behind the girl.
A boy.
Tall, sharp-featured, with dark hair and hands buried in the pockets of a designer hoodie. He didn't say anything. Just stepped outside, glanced around, then paused.
Their eyes met.
Aria didn't move.
Neither did he.
She couldn't read his face in the dusk, but his stare lingered longer than it should have—unapologetic, quiet, intense.
And then… the girl turned to say something, and he looked away.
Aria let the curtain fall, her heart suddenly uneasy. She didn't know who they were. She didn't want to know. This was supposed to be a clean start.
No friends. No questions. No attention.
But deep down, she already knew:
That boy was going to ruin everything.
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