Anaya’s Arrival
The cool fall air nipped at Anaya Minus’s skin as she stepped out of the private car that had ferried her from the airport to her new home in New York City. The sprawling estate of her Aunt Diega and Uncle Tommy towered over her, a stark contrast to the humble beachfront home she’d grown up in back in the Bahamas. The manor stretched wide with sleek, modern architecture, its manicured lawn and marble steps reminding her she was entering a new world—one she wasn’t sure she belonged in.
Her brother Jacob clung to her side, his small hand squeezing hers tighter than usual. At ten years old, he was quieter now than he had been before the accident, his once bright eyes dimmed by the reality of losing their parents. Anaya could feel his anxiety mirrored in her own chest. The weight of this unfamiliar life felt heavier than her luggage. The idea of starting over in such an extravagant place seemed almost impossible.
“Welcome home, sweetheart.” Aunt Diega’s voice was warm but formal, the way rich people sounded when they tried to be sincere. She was a tall, elegant woman with perfectly styled hair and flawless makeup, every inch of her dripping with wealth. Uncle Tommy, broad and imposing, stood behind her, offering a polite nod. They looked like they belonged in this life of luxury. Anaya, with her earthy bohemian fashion sense and a suitcase full of cheap clothes, felt like an intruder.
“Thanks,” Anaya managed, her voice tight. Jacob said nothing, still clutching her hand.
The inside of the house was no less intimidating. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, gleaming over polished floors. The walls were adorned with artwork she didn’t understand, and the air smelled faintly of money and distance. It wasn’t home, and she wasn’t sure it ever would be.
The following day, Anaya found herself standing in front of her new school—a fortress of old stone and gothic architecture that loomed over her like a silent predator. Her stomach twisted into knots as she stared at the ornate gates, feeling as though she was walking into a dangerous den.
Her uniform was stiff, crisp, and wrong on her. Unlike the other students milling about, who had customized their outfits with designer touches and accessories, Anaya felt like an imposter. The whispers started almost immediately. New girl. Out of place.
Sam treated Anaya more like a sister than a cousin. She had always wanted a sister, but all she had was her brother, Jude. Sam had already been attending this elite school for a while and had learned her way around the school’s treacherous social waters. Anaya, on the other hand, felt like a guppy tossed into a shark tank.
“There are five levels here,” Sam began to explain as they walked through the ornate halls. “Bottom feeders like us are the children of executives, managers, and the less wealthy. We’re pretty much invisible to the others unless we do something to catch their attention—which, by the way, you should avoid.”
Anaya nodded silently, taking in the sight of the students around her. The ones who floated above everyone else were obvious—the top feeders, children of the wealthiest families, powerful politicians, or industry moguls. These students walked as if they owned the world, their every movement calculated and precise, their uniforms transformed into high fashion with expensive shoes, custom jewelry, and coats tailored to perfection.
“And at the very top,” Sam continued, nodding discreetly toward a group standing near the school’s massive stone fountain, “is Elio Amante.”
Anaya froze. The name was like a ghost from her past, one she thought she had left behind.
There he was, leaning against the stone fountain, surrounded by his posse—other top feeders who worshipped the ground he walked on. Elio looked the same and yet different. His dark hair was tousled, still perfectly messy, and his uniform was just as carefully curated as his nonchalant posture. His piercing blue eyes were sharp, and his jawline set in a way that radiated arrogance. He was still the same Elio Amante who had watched her surf and who had sat with her on the beach, listening to her stories.
The same Elio who had paid her for sex.
Anaya’s heart lurched in her chest. She felt like she was going to be sick. How could this be happening? Of all the schools, of all the places in the world, he had to be here. Her throat constricted, and panic clawed at the edges of her mind. She had thought leaving the Bahamas would put everything behind her—the summer, the shame, the secrets. But now, staring at Elio, she realized she had been wrong.
Horribly wrong.
Her mind raced back to the Bahamas, where her mother had worked as a cleaner at the beach villa, a place frequented by wealthy tourists. It was there that Anaya had started sleeping with the sons of these tourists, exchanging sex for money to help her family get by. Elio had been one of those boys, but he had been different. While the other tourists had treated her like a passing amusement, Elio had lingered. He had paid her more—extra money just to listen to her stories, to watch her surf, to spend time with her beyond the transactional.
She had even taught him how to surf. For a brief moment, it had felt like something almost real. But then, like all tourists, Elio had left, returning to his life in the States, leaving her behind. A week later, her parents had died. The pain was fresh, like salt in an open wound. The way they had gone—stepping in a puddle where a live wire was hidden, the holes in their slippers too worn to protect them—it haunted her every night.
Now, to see him again, here, of all places, was too much. Anaya’s pulse quickened as she fought to keep her expression neutral, praying he didn’t recognize her. The last thing she needed was for her past to follow her into this new life.
But as she tried to duck her head and walk past, Elio’s eyes locked onto hers.
The look of confusion on his face was unmistakable. His head tilted slightly, brow furrowing as if trying to place her. Anaya held her breath, praying, Please don’t remember me. Please don’t remember me. But the way his gaze lingered, the subtle turn of his head as he walked away with his arm slung casually around his girlfriend’s shoulders, told her everything she needed to know.
He remembered.
Sam sighed. “Just keep your distance. Elio’s at the top of the food chain, and you don’t want to get tangled up in his world. He’s got power here—more than you can imagine. His family’s not just rich, they’re werewolf rich. Fashion empire, pack leadership—you name it, the Amantes control it.”
Anaya already knew that all too well. She’d seen it firsthand in the Bahamas—how Elio carried himself like someone who had never known what it meant to struggle. And now, back in his element, surrounded by wealth and influence, his arrogance was even more apparent. The students around him treated him like royalty. Even his girlfriend, Sophie, clung to him with the possessiveness of someone who knew what was at stake.
“I don’t plan on crossing paths with him,” Anaya muttered, the resolve settling in her bones. She couldn’t afford to let the past destroy the fragile future she was trying to build. She would avoid Elio at all costs, stay invisible, and make it through the school year without getting noticed.
