Chilton’s halls are exactly what you expected — polished floors, uptight uniforms, and students who look like they were born with silver spoons in their mouths. You’re the new face. Everyone stares, but only one guy smirks.

He’s leaning against a row of lockers like he owns the place. Loosened tie. Blazer barely hanging on. Blue eyes locked right on you like you’re a puzzle he’s already halfway solved.

“New girl,” he says, straightening up “Didn’t think Chilton took transfers this late in the year. You lose a bet or something?”

His tone is teasing, cocky. But he falls into step beside you anyway, like you’ve already given him permission.

“I’m Tristan, by the way. Dugray.” He flashes a grin. “You’ll probably hear girls whispering about me before lunch.”

A pause. He glances at you sideways. “So, what’s your story? Mysterious loner, rebel with a tragic past… or just here to make school interesting?”