Chapter 1
Aria stood in the driveway with her arms crossed, staring up at the house that was supposed to feel like home now.
It didn't.
It was too big, too clean, too perfect, like something out of a magazine nobody actually lived in. Her father had described it as "a fresh start." Aria had a different word for it. Exile.
"You're going to love it here," her dad said, pulling suitcases out of the trunk like enthusiasm alone could fix the last six months.
She didn't answer. She was still stuck on the fact that he'd kept this whole life a secret from her. A girlfriend. A wedding. A house. Eighteen years of just the two of them, and he'd built all this without telling her a single piece of it.
The front door opened before they reached it.
A woman stepped out, blonde and elegant, wearing the kind of smile that had clearly been practiced in a mirror. Victoria. Aria had seen her photo exactly once, on her dad's phone, and she'd looked away fast enough that she never really registered the face.
"You must be Aria," Victoria said, reaching for her like a hug was inevitable.
Aria let herself be hugged. It felt like being folded into a stranger's coat.
"And this," Victoria said, turning toward the doorway, "is Cayden."
He was leaning against the frame like he'd been standing there the whole time, arms crossed, watching.
He was good-looking in the effortless, infuriating way people were good-looking when they knew it. Dark hair, a jaw that looked carved rather than grown, and eyes that gave away absolutely nothing.
He didn't move. He didn't smile.
"Hey," Aria said, because someone had to say something.
"Hey," he said back, flat, like the word cost him something he didn't want to spend.
Victoria laughed too brightly, the way people laugh when they're covering for silence. "Cayden, help her with her bags."
"She's got hands," he said.
Aria felt her spine straighten. She hadn't expected warmth. She hadn't expected this either.
"It's fine," she said, grabbing her own suitcase before anyone could argue about it. "I don't need help from people who don't want to give it."
Something flickered across his face. Not quite surprise. More like he hadn't expected her to bite back.
She dragged her suitcase past him into the house, refusing to look at him again.
Inside, the house kept unfolding, room after room, all white walls and high ceilings and furniture that looked like it had never been sat on. Her dad narrated everything like a tour guide. Aria nodded in the right places and heard almost none of it.
Her new room was upstairs, across the hall from Cayden's. She noticed that detail immediately and hated that she noticed it.
That night, she couldn't sleep.
The house was too quiet in a way her old apartment never had been. No neighbors arguing through the walls, no sirens, no comforting chaos. Just silence, thick enough to press against her ears.
She gave up around midnight and went down to the kitchen for water.
Cayden was already there, sitting on the counter in the dark, a glass of something in his hand.
"Can't sleep either," he said. It wasn't a question.
"I'm fine," Aria said, moving past him to the fridge.
"Didn't ask if you were fine. Asked if you could sleep."
She poured her water and didn't answer.
"You don't have to like it here," he said. "Nobody expects you to."
"Good. Because I don't."
He almost smiled at that. Almost.
"At least you're honest," he said. "Everyone else in this house is walking around pretending this is some fairy tale. My mom keeps saying we're going to be a family. Like that's a switch you flip."
Aria studied him for a second. Underneath the coldness there was something tired, something that looked a lot like her own exhaustion wearing a different face.
She didn't say that out loud.
"So what," she said instead, "we're supposed to just hate each other for the next however many years?"
"Works for me," he said.
"Fine by me too."
He raised his glass slightly, like a toast to the worst deal either of them had ever agreed to. Aria didn't return the gesture. She just walked back upstairs with her water, leaving him alone in the dark kitchen.
She lay in bed a long time after that, staring at the ceiling, replaying the conversation more than she wanted to admit.
She hated that he hadn't backed down. She hated that she hadn't either.
Morning came with the smell of pancakes and forced cheerfulness. Victoria was already at the stove, humming, while her dad set the table like this was a scene from a life he'd been dying to have.
Cayden walked in already dressed, hair damp, looking like a completely different person than the one who'd sat in the dark last night with a drink and a chip on his shoulder.
"Morning," he said to the room, not to her.
"Morning," Victoria and her dad echoed, way too eager.
Aria sat down and reached for the orange juice.
"So," her dad said, clearly trying too hard, "you two start at the same school Monday. Westbrook. Cayden can show you around."
"I don't need a tour guide," Aria said.
"I wasn't offering," Cayden said, not even looking up from his plate.
Victoria's smile faltered for half a second before she covered it with a bright, "Well, I'm sure you two will figure it out."
Aria almost laughed. There was nothing to figure out. He didn't want her here any more than she wanted to be here, and at least they agreed on that much.
After breakfast, she went out to the backyard just to get air that didn't feel curated. There was a narrow set of stairs leading up to a section of roof that overlooked the whole street, flat enough to sit on.
She climbed up without thinking about it and found Cayden already there, guitar in his lap, not playing, just holding it.
He looked up, startled for a second, then annoyed.
"This is my spot," he said.
"Didn't see your name on it."
He almost smiled again. It was starting to become a pattern she didn't like noticing.
"You play?" she asked, nodding at the guitar.
"No," he said, setting it aside like she'd caught him doing something wrong.
She didn't push. She sat down a few feet away anyway, close enough to share the view, far enough to make it clear this wasn't an invitation.
Below them, the street was quiet, ordinary, the kind of ordinary she used to have before everything changed. She thought about her old studio, the one she'd danced in for six years, the one she wasn't dancing in anymore.
"You're allowed to hate it here," Cayden said suddenly, like he'd read some part of that thought off her face. "Just don't let them see it. They'll only try harder to fix it."
Aria looked at him, surprised by the honesty.
"Is that advice?" she asked.
"Observation," he said. "I've had four years of practice."
For a second, something passed between them that wasn't hostility. It scared her a little, how quickly it had shown up.
Then he stood, grabbed his guitar, and went back down the stairs without another word, leaving her alone with the view and the uneasy feeling that this house, and this boy, were going to be a lot harder to hate than she'd planned.
