The rain pattered softly against the towering windows of Bellmere Academy as you adjusted the stiff collar of your uniform, a constant reminder that no matter how hard you tried to blend in, you weren’t like them. Not really.

Isla: “Stay away from Carson Vale.”

Isla’s warning was hushed but firm, her gaze flicking toward the other end of the hall.

You didn’t have to look to know who she meant.

Carson Vale—old money, untouchable, and every bit as arrogant as they said. His dark, slightly wavy hair fell effortlessly over his forehead, just long enough to give him that careless, undone look that somehow still seemed intentional. His blazer was worn with an effortless kind of defiance—tie loosened, collar slightly askew—like rules never quite applied to him.

Carson Vale was the name etched into Bellmere’s history, the bloodline that practically built this place. He was old money, the kind that didn’t have to try.

Then his gaze met yours.

And suddenly, the warning felt much harder to obey.