Chapter One: Fresh Start

The California sun blazed overhead as Izzy Vanstone stepped out of her sleek black town car, the driver already busy unloading her designer luggage. The sprawling campus of Stanford University stretched before her, all red-tiled roofs and palm trees swaying in the gentle breeze. It should have been exhilarating—this was her escape, after all—but the weight of her last name still clung to her like an invisible chain.

She tugged at the delicate antique bracelet on her wrist, a tiny rebellion against her family’s modern tastes. Around her, students laughed in loose groups, their backpacks slung carelessly over one shoulder. For a moment, Izzy envied them—the freedom, the anonymity. But then she remembered her own luggage: perfectly packed, her clothes pressed and her schedule already mapped out by her mother’s assistant.

Welcome to Stanford, Izzy, she thought wryly. Where everyone dreams of making connections, and you just want to disappear.

Her phone buzzed—another message from her mother. “Don’t forget your meeting with Professor Hargrove at four. And wear the navy blazer.” Izzy rolled her eyes but tapped out a polite reply. It never stopped, not even across the country.

As she headed toward her dorm, she noticed a group of girls eyeing her luggage, whispering. She could almost hear the question: Is she famous? or What’s her story? Izzy sighed, straightening her shoulders. She was used to being watched, but this time, she resolved, she’d keep her guard up—but maybe, just maybe, she’d let herself be a little reckless.

Inside, the dorm was bustling with energy. The air smelled of fresh paint and possibility. Her roommate, a cheerful girl from Oregon who hadn’t heard of the Vanstones, greeted her with a bright smile. “Hey! You must be Izzy. I’m Maya.” For the first time in a long time, Izzy felt a flicker of something real—hope, maybe, or just relief.

But as she unpacked, the familiar anxiety crept back in. Tomorrow, her family’s lawyers would be calling to confirm her schedule. Tonight, her father expected a full report on her first impressions. The expectations were exhausting, but for now, Izzy let herself enjoy the moment.

She glanced out the window at the golden light of late afternoon. Maybe, she thought, this is my chance to be someone else—or maybe, just for once, to be myself.