Chapter one : The Move

The rain hit the windows in rhythmic taps, like it was trying to soothe Noah’s nerves but it wasn’t working. She sat curled up in the back seat of the black SUV, her hoodie pulled up, earbuds in, staring out at the lavish gated neighborhood they were entering. Her life was about to change in every way, and not in a way she wanted.

Her mom, Rafaela, sat in the front seat next to her new husband, William Leister, a wealthy businessman who looked like he belonged in a magazine ad for high-end watches. Noah still didn’t understand what her mother saw in him. Maybe stability. Maybe money. Maybe some twisted second chance at a dream life. But for Noah, it felt like a betrayal.

Everything she loved the crumbling apartment, her music, her independence was gone. Replaced with manicured lawns, security guards at the entrance, and a mansion with more bathrooms than she had friends. This wasn’t her world. It never would be.

And then came him.

Nick.

He stood in the doorway of the house when they arrived, leaning against the frame like he didn’t have a care in the world. Tall, lean, and cocky, with dark hair that looked intentionally messy and a smirk that screamed trouble. Noah didn’t even need to talk to him to know they’d hate each other.

He didn’t greet her. He didn’t offer to help with her bags. He just gave her a once-over, raised an eyebrow, and turned away.

“Nice to meet you too, stepbrother,” she muttered under her breath.

Inside, the house was a castle vaulted ceilings, artwork she didn’t understand, and glass everywhere. It felt sterile. Cold. Not like home. Her room was bigger than the apartment she used to share with her mom. But she didn’t unpack. Instead, she flopped on the bed and stared at the ceiling, fists clenched.

Later that night, she heard loud music from downstairs. Curious, she followed the sound to a garage-turned-party-zone, where Nick and his friends were drinking, smoking, and laughing too loud.

“What is this? A frat house?” she scoffed.

Nick looked up, amused. “Didn’t realize we had company from the convent.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re a walking cliché.”

“And you’re a walking attitude,” he shot back.

It was the first of many fights.

But beneath the barbs, something else lingered. A strange spark. Not attraction, not yet—but tension. The kind that simmers beneath the surface, waiting for a moment to ignite.

Noah went back to her room that night and slammed the door shut.

She told herself she’d never get close to him.

She had no idea just how wrong she was.

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