Chapter Two: Sparks and Scars

If there was one thing Noah couldn’t stand more than being uprooted, it was pretending. Pretending to fit in, to play polite, to act like she wasn’t constantly watching her step. Every day in that mansion felt like walking on glass—shiny, brittle, waiting to break.

The only thing worse? Sharing space with Nick.

The first week was a battlefield of sarcastic comments and glances that lingered too long. He was a ghost in the mornings, a storm at night. His music blasted through the walls at 2 a.m. His engine revved like a challenge when he sped off in his obnoxiously loud sports car. Every time he passed her in the hallway, he acted like she was in the way. And every time he smirked, her heart betrayed her with a flutter she hated.

But she wasn’t about to give in to a guy who walked around like he owned the world.

One afternoon, she was skating outside the garage, headphones on, when Nick pulled in, nearly clipping her board. She jumped back, slamming her hand on the hood.

“Are you blind?” she snapped.

Nick stepped out of the car slowly, sunglasses on, looking far too relaxed. “This is my driveway.”

“It’s our driveway,” she shot back. “Don’t act like I don’t exist.”

He smirked. “Oh, trust me. You’re pretty hard to ignore.”

That threw her. He wasn’t just being an ass—he was flirting.

“Do you ever take anything seriously?”

Nick shrugged. “Tried once. Didn’t go well.”

Noah stared at him. Something shifted in his expression, just for a second. Behind that smug exterior, there was something else. Pain? Loneliness? She didn’t know. She didn’t want to know. But it stuck with her.

Later that week, Rafaela and William hosted a formal dinner for business guests. Noah was forced into a black dress that hugged too tight and sat across from Nick, who looked irritatingly perfect in a tailored suit.

He tapped his fork against his glass subtly. “You clean up well, Steps.”

She kicked his shin under the table. “Call me that again and I’ll stab you with my salad fork.”

He laughed. A real laugh. Not mocking—almost impressed.

The night ended with them outside, away from the buzz of the adults, both leaning against the balcony railing in silence.

“You hate it here, don’t you?” he asked.

She didn’t respond at first. “I don’t belong here.”

“Neither do I.”

Their eyes met, and for a heartbeat, they saw each other—not the masks, not the attitude. Just two broken kids, stuck in someone else’s idea of a perfect life.

It scared Noah, how easy it felt to talk to him. How familiar his pain looked.

The next day, he drove her to school—not because he had to, but because he offered. No smart remarks. Just music, windows down, wind in her hair.

Something had shifted between them. And it wasn’t going back.

But sparks are dangerous things. They can light candles. Or burn houses down.

And this fire? It was just beginning.

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