CHAPTER ONE

LARA

“Girl, it’s finally senior year! Are you excited?” I ask my best friend Gianna over the phone as I pull my hair into a loose ponytail.

“Excited? Girl, I’m more hyped than the first time I saw your dad take off his shirt,” Gianna squeals, her laugh ringing through the line.

“Ugh, Gigi, we were fourteen! How was that even exciting for you? Gross! He’s like a second dad to you. Just… no.”

“Lala, babe, let’s not rewrite history. It was a moment, okay? Besides, seventeen-year-old Gianna has evolved. I’m officially done with crushes on unavailable men and, more importantly, trash boys like Carlos.”

Carlos—her ex. They dated for over a year until he dumped her, claiming she wasn’t “putting out.” The nerve.

“Carlos is a pig,” I say firmly. “Good riddance.”

“Exactly. This year, I’m focusing on hot, emotionally mature guys. Mark my words.”

“I support you completely. Now, I’d better head downstairs before my dad starts yelling. Love you, and I’ll see you at school.”

“Love you too, babe. Bye!”

Hanging up, I finish my minimal makeup routine, slip on my uniform, and grab my favorite Chanel flats—last year’s Christmas gift from Dad. Slinging my backpack over one shoulder, I head downstairs.

“I was about to drag you out of bed,” Dad teases the moment I step into the kitchen.

“Good morning, Papa Bear. Did you sleep well?” I lean in and kiss his cheek.

“I did. And look at this—your favorite breakfast for your big first day. Bacon and scrambled eggs,” he says with a proud grin.

“You’re the best! Thank you,” I say, sliding into a chair.

“So, senior year,” he begins, sitting across from me. “This is the one that decides Juilliard. Are you ready?”

I hesitate, poking at my eggs. “Terrified, honestly. What if it’s not enough? I’ve done all the extracurriculars, kept my grades up, but it still feels like there’s more I should’ve done.”

He reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. “Lala, you’re more than enough. You’re an A+ student, and your voice? It’s magic. It reminds me so much of your mom.”

My chest tightens at the mention of her. Mom passed away when I was thirteen, but her love for music shaped my life. She went to Juilliard, and following in her footsteps feels like a way to keep her close.

“Thanks, Dad,” I whisper.

I glance at the clock and jump to my feet. “Oh no! I’m going to be late. Love you!” I grab my bag and dart out the door.

Sliding into my Tesla Model S—a birthday gift from Dad last year—I start the engine and play Gracie Abrams' “Mess It Up” on full volume. Her music has a way of pulling at emotions, the same way my mom’s voice used to.

Pulling into Rockwell Academy, I park and take a deep breath. “Okay, Lara. It’s senior year. Juilliard is just around the corner. Let’s do this.”

Rockwell is a private, exclusive school for Highview Valley’s elite. Everyone here has the designer clothes, the expensive vacations, and the latest cars. We’ve all grown up together, navigating this glittering, suffocating bubble of privilege.

As I make my way toward the school, a familiar, obnoxious voice cuts through the morning air.

“Lara Daniels in the house! Looking as gorgeous as ever!”

I turn to see Hector, predictably loud and shameless, grinning at me like he owns the world.

“Good morning to you too, Hector,” I say dryly.

“Good morning, Rockwell’s sweetheart. So, have you decided to give me your heart this year?” He flashes what I assume he thinks is a charming smile.

Hector is objectively attractive—blond hair, piercing blue eyes, a killer smile—but he’s insufferable. He’s been hitting on me for years, and I’ve turned him down every single time.

“For the millionth time, Hector, no,” I say, rolling my eyes.

Undeterred, he slings an arm around my shoulders. “Come on, Lara. I’ll grow on you. Speaking of which…” He stops and digs into his bag, pulling out a small jewelry box. “This is for you.”

I open the box and immediately roll my eyes. “Seriously? A Bulgari ring? Again?”

He smirks. “Only the best for you, babe.”

“Hector, do you think I don’t know you give these to every girl you hook up with? Was I supposed to feel special?”

His confident smirk falters. “Wait, no, that’s not—”

I shove the box back into his hands and walk away, ignoring his protests. Typical Hector. He’ll never change.

Shaking my head, I head into the school building, ready to take on the day—and this year.

I make my way to Madam Kingsley’s office to pick up my timetable for the school year. The hallway is quieter than usual, the hum of early morning chatter muffled by thick wooden doors. Her office door looms ahead, slightly ajar, and I raise my hand to knock when a tired sigh reaches my ears.

“Hades, you’re supposed to be in your tie. Why aren’t you wearing it?” Madam Kingsley’s familiar, stern-yet-patient tone floats through the door.

Curiosity piqued, I pause, letting my hand fall back to my side.

A deep, quiet voice answers her, tinged with shyness. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I don’t really know how to tie it.”

His tone catches me off guard—gentle but confident, with a hint of vulnerability. There’s something arresting about it, like the kind of voice you’d want to hear telling stories late at night.

Madam Kingsley softens, her usual briskness melting into concern. “Oh? Didn’t your mother teach you how to tie a tie?”

There’s a brief pause before he replies, quieter now, almost hesitant. “We… never really had occasions where suits were needed. And, uh… they’re kind of expensive.”

The weight behind his words tugs at something inside me. I don’t recognize the voice, which is strange since I know almost everyone at Rockwell, but there’s something in the way he speaks that feels out of place here—a kind of raw honesty you don’t often hear in these halls.

“Hmm,” Madam Kingsley hums thoughtfully, her tone gentle. “Well, let me help you this time. But you’ll need to learn how to do it yourself, alright?”

There’s a soft rustling, probably her adjusting his tie, followed by his quiet response. “Yeah. I’ll try. Thank you, ma’am.”

I’m rooted in place, unsure why I’m so intrigued by this exchange. Maybe it’s his voice, or maybe it’s the vulnerability in what he said. Whoever he is, he’s clearly not like most of the students here, and for a moment, I wonder what his story might be.

Realizing I’ve been eavesdropping, I shake my head to clear my thoughts and finally knock on the door, the sound crisp against the stillness