They say time heals everything. Maybe that's true for some people. But after ten years, there's still a part of me that aches when I think about my dad.
I was only eight when he died. It's strange how memories fade, but feelings don't. I can barely remember the sound of his voice, but I remember how safe I felt in his arms. Like nothing could ever hurt me. And when he was gone, everything… changed.
Mom changed too.
She tried to be strong for me—for both of us—but I saw the cracks. The way she stared too long at empty chairs. The nights I'd hear her crying in the kitchen when she thought I was asleep.
And then, one day, she stopped crying.
James Ashford stepped into our lives like he belonged there. Billionaire. Movie mogul. The kind of man who makes headlines just by showing up. He swept my mom off her feet with private jets, designer everything, and promises of forever. I wasn't surprised when she said yes.
Now she's Mrs. Ashford, and I'm the girl packing her life into cardboard boxes—again.
"Claire! Are you ready?" Mom's voice echoes from downstairs.
I glance around my bedroom one last time. The same posters on the wall since I was fourteen, the worn desk where I wrote my college essays, the photo of my dad tucked into my journal. I press it to my chest for a moment.
I wonder what he'd think of all this.
He never got to see me turn eighteen. Never got to see me graduate high school. He won't be there when I start college next week—at Redwood Hills University. An elite school in the heart of Los Angeles. Fancy, famous, expensive.
And also the same school my new stepbrother goes to.
Adrian Ashford.
Yeah. Him.
We've met exactly twice, and I still don't know how to act around him. He's the kind of guy you can't read—tall, dark-eyed, quiet, and way too confident. Girls look at him like he's the whole movie, not just the leading man. I'm not immune to it, either. And I hate that.
Now we'll be living in the same house. Going to the same school. Sharing the same world.
And I have a feeling… nothing will ever be the same again.
The ride to the Ashford estate feels like entering another world.
Palm trees line the highway like tall, silent guards. Luxury cars zoom past like it's a race I don't remember signing up for. Mom keeps glancing at me, her lips curled into a soft smile she's been wearing too much lately.
"We're going to be happy here," she says for the third time.
I nod. Not because I believe her—but because it's easier than explaining how strange it all feels.
The gates to the mansion are black and gold, towering high with security cameras on each side. A guard checks our names, and the gates open like we've been allowed into some elite society. Maybe we have.
The Ashford mansion isn't a house—it's a statement. Massive, modern, all glass and angles, sitting like a crown on the edge of the Hollywood Hills. I stare at it, heart thudding, trying not to feel small.
Inside, everything is white and silver. Cold floors. High ceilings. Huge windows. I'm afraid to breathe too loudly.
"This is home now," Mom whispers beside me, her eyes wide like she still can't believe it either.
I nod again, then freeze as footsteps echo down the stairs.
Adrian.
He's barefoot, in a plain black t-shirt and gray sweatpants, but somehow he still looks like he just walked off a magazine cover. His dark hair is tousled like he just rolled out of bed, his eyes lazy, unreadable, and entirely too focused on me.
"So you're Claire," he says. His voice is low, casual, with a hint of something I can't quite name.
I swallow. "Yeah. Hi."
He doesn't smile. He just studies me for a second longer than necessary before turning to Mom. "Rooms are ready upstairs. I told Sara to help with her bags."
And just like that, he disappears down the hallway.
Mom nudges me, grinning. "Isn't he handsome?"
I don't answer. Because yes—he is. Too handsome. And too... something. Dangerous? Confusing? Off-limits.
All I know is, the moment he looked at me, I forgot how to think straight.
And I hate that.
I followed the housekeeper—Sara, I think—up the marble staircase, feeling more like a guest than a resident. Every step echoed like I didn't belong here.
My new room was huge. Bigger than my old bedroom and living room combined. The bed had silk sheets. There were floor-length mirrors, gold accents, and a view of the hills that looked like it was painted on glass.
But all I could think about was how quiet everything felt.
I unpacked in silence, placing my journal and the photo of Dad carefully on the nightstand. Just seeing his face grounded me—reminded me of who I was before all of this. Before wealth. Before stepfathers. Before him.
There was a soft knock at the door.
I turned, expecting Mom.
It was Adrian.
Leaning against the doorframe like he owned the house—and maybe he did in some way. He didn't say anything at first. Just looked at me like he was reading something between the lines of my silence.
"You settling in?" he asked finally.
I nodded, suddenly hyper-aware of my hoodie and messy ponytail. "Yeah. It's… nice."
He stepped into the room. My heart stuttered.
"You don't have to act like you're comfortable," he said, glancing around. "No one really is when they first come here."
I raised an eyebrow. "Even you?"
He almost smiled. "Especially me."
There was a pause. Not awkward—but charged.
I hated how aware I was of him. The way his voice was soft but carried weight. The way he moved like everything around him bent to his will. The way his eyes didn't look away from mine.
"You start Redwood next week?" he asked.
"Yeah. Thanks to Mom."
"She's right. It's a good school. Full of fake people, though."
"Sounds fun."
This time, he did smile. Just a little. And somehow, that was worse.
He started to leave, then stopped at the door. "Claire," he said, not turning around. "Be careful here."
I frowned. "What do you mean?"
He didn't answer. Just disappeared down the hall like a warning dressed in sweatpants.
And for the first time since arriving, I realized:
This house may be beautiful.
But it's full of secrets.
And maybe... I just walked into the biggest one of all.