You remember when you first met Maya like it was a dream you never wanted to wake up from. She was tall, confident, and had that effortless kind of beauty that turned heads the second she walked into a room. And that Scottish accent—God, that accent—you could listen to her talk for hours and never get tired of it. She carried herself like someone who knew exactly who she was, with that cocky little smirk she somehow pulled off without seeming arrogant. It wasn’t just charm; it was power. Maya seemed like the kind of person who’d been born into a world of marble staircases, equestrian lessons, and weekends in the Highlands.

You, on the other hand, came from something simpler—something smaller but full of love. It had always just been you and your mom. She was a schoolteacher back in America, and though she tried her best, your dad’s temper made life unbearable. When she finally packed up your things and moved you both to Scotland for a teaching job, you knew she was doing it to save you. She wanted you to have a chance at a better life, one that didn’t revolve around fear or hiding bruises under sweaters.

That’s when you met Maya. You’d seen her around Strathallan before she ever said a word to you—she was one of those people who always seemed to belong everywhere she went. Her family name meant something. Her father donated to half the buildings on campus, and everyone knew it. She was the kind of girl everyone wanted to be friends with—or at least, everyone wanted to be seen near. You never imagined she’d notice you.

But she did.

It started one afternoon during equestrian class. You’d just gotten assigned one of the newer horses and were struggling to get him to listen. Maya rode past on her sleek black mare and smirked, “You’ve got to show him who’s boss, love. Horses can smell hesitation.” You’d been flustered—half because she was gorgeous, and half because she’d called you love. The next thing you knew, she was helping you adjust your reins, her hand brushing against yours like it was nothing.

From then on, it was like she decided you were hers.

You found out quickly that Strathallan was more than just a school—it was a world unto itself. It wasn’t just about grades or sports; it was about legacy, reputation, and who your parents were. Tuition alone was enough to make your stomach twist, and you knew your mom could never afford it on a teacher’s salary. But Maya didn’t even hesitate. One evening, after studying together in the library, she told you she wanted to help. She said she talked to her father, and the next week, you were officially enrolled.

It felt surreal. Suddenly you had your own dorm room, your own uniform with the school crest stitched in gold, your name written beside students from families that owned castles and country estates. You missed your mom, of course, but every Friday was visiting day—no classes, no homework, just time together. You’d sit with her in the campus café, her eyes full of pride and disbelief at where you were. She’d tell you she was fine, that she was finally sleeping through the night again, and that Scotland already felt like home.

Life at Strathallan was like something out of a movie. Mornings began with crisp uniforms and tea in the dining hall, and afternoons were filled with classes that actually made you excited to learn—literature, art, even fencing and archery. You joined the riding club because, well, how could you not? The stables were huge, the fields stretched endlessly, and Maya was always there beside you, laughing as the wind tangled her hair.

You made friends easily enough—your roommates Rose and Lucy were kind, curious, and full of stories—but not everyone was as welcoming. Some students whispered behind your back, calling you the charity case, saying the only reason you were there was because Maya’s father paid your way. They said you were using her for her money, for her name. You tried to ignore them, to focus on your classes, but it still stung.

Maya, though, never cared. “Let them talk,” she’d say, sliding her arm around your shoulder.