The maid led Aria down a quiet corridor, her heels clicking softly against the polished marble floors. Every step echoed, the house too large, too silent, as if it was holding its breath.

"This will be your room, miss". The maid said, opening a pair of tall white doors.

Aria stepped inside and froze.

The room was massive. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked rolling green hills and distant mountains, crisp white sheets. There was a sitting area by the windows, a desk made of dark wood, and a walk-in wardrobe that looked bigger than her entire bedroom back in Brooklyn.

Beautiful.

Perfect.

And completely unfamiliar.

"Dinner will be announced shortly," The maid added quietly before taking her leave.

Aria stood there for a long moment, her suitcase still in her hand. None of it felt real. None of it felt like hers.

She dropped her bag by the bed and walked into the wardrobe, staring at the empty shelves waiting to be filled. The silence pressed in on her chest. Back home, her room was messy, cramped, loud. It smelt like old books and cheap perfume. It felt lived in.

This felt like a showroom.

Exhaustion finally caught up with her. She kicked off her shoes, collapsed onto the bed, and before she could even process where she was, sleep pulled her under.

Her phone buzzing against the mattress woke her.

Aria groaned, squinting at the screen.

Cassie.

She hesitated, then answered.

"Hey," she said quietly.

"Oh my God," Cassie breathed. "Aria, I'm so sorry. I should have picked up. I didn't know."

"It's fine," Aria cut in, rubbing her forehead.

'I'm okay."

A pause.

"Where are you?"

"Paris."

Another pause. Longer this time.

"Paris? Cassie repeated. "Like... Paris-Paris?"

"Yeah," Aria said, staring at the unfamiliar ceiling. "Long story."

Cassie sounded shaken now. "I didn't mean for anything to happen. I swear, I feel horrible."

"I know," Aria said softly. And she did, but hearing Cassie's voice made everything feel farther away. Like Brooklyn belonged to another version of her.

They talked for a few more minutes about nothing important, about everything she wasn't there for anymore. When the call ended, the room felt even quieter.

A soft knock came at the door.

"Miss Aria," a voice called. "Dinner is ready."

The dining room looked like something out of a magazine. A long table, perfectly set plates, soft lighting. Valentin Duclair sat at the head, composed as ever. Cecilia sat beside him, elegant and restrained. Adrien offered Aria a small, reassuring smile as she took her seat, and she forced one back.

Lucien arrived last.

He moved with an unbothered ease, one hand shoved into his pocket as he pulled out his chair. He didn't rush, didn't apologize. His forearm rested casually against the table, sleeve pushed up just enough to reveal his bicep and ink disappearing beneath his shirt cuff.

He looked bored. Dangerous. Like he'd already decided he didn't want to be there.

"Why did someone this rude have to have such good features?" Aria thought to herself as she stared at him. Lucien turned his head towards her, and she jolted back to reality.

Halfway through the meal, Valentin set down his cutlery.

"Aria", he said calmly, turning to her. "You'll be enrolling at Saint Clair Academy. It's already arranged".

Her fork paused in mid-air.

"Oh, okay," she said, forcing a smile, not like she cared about what school she attended anyway.

"You'll be in the final year," Cecilia added gently.

Adrien glanced at her, offering a small smile.

"We'll be in the same class," he said. "I can help you find your way around".

Lucien let out a quiet, humorless laugh.

Valentin's gaze shifted. "Something amusing?"

Lucien leaned back in his chair. "Just interesting how everything is always arranged".

Cecilia's voice tightened. "Lucien, please."

"No," He replied flatly. "I'm tired of pretending this is normal."

Valentin's expression remained calm. "Your grades are slipping."

Lucien's jaw clenched. "Stop monitoring my life."

"You're wasting opportunities," Valentin said evenly. "Opportunities others would kill for."

Lucien scoffed. "Right. Because I'm not Adrien."

The table went still.

Lucien pushed his chair back, standing abruptly.

His eyes flickered to Aria. Sharp, assessing, like he was trying to decide something

Then his gaze hardened.

"Enjoy the school," he said flatly, before turning and walking out.

No one followed him.

Valentin cleared his throat and resumed eating. Cecilia stared at her plate. Adrien looked uncomfortable, like he wanted to say something but didn't know how.

Aria's mind stayed on the sound of Lucien's footsteps disappearing down the hall.

She told herself that she didn't care that Lucien walked out.

The lie sat heavily in her chest.

Aria woke slowly, disoriented by silence.

Not the familiar hum of Brooklyn traffic, not the distant sirens, or the neighbor's dog that never seemed to sleep. This silence was different. Thick, cushioned, expensive. It pressed in on her from all sides.

She lay still for a moment, staring at the ceiling.

It was impossibly high. White. Perfect. A crystal chandelier hung above her, catching the light that spilled through tall French windows draped in sheer curtains. Everything in the room looked untouched,as if it existed for show rather than living.

Her room.

The maid led her in the night before, murmuring something about unpacking later, but Aria had barely listened. Exhaustion had swallowed her whole. Now, awake, the reality of it settled deeper.

Aria sat up, her chest tightening.

Last night replayed itself in fragments. The long dining table, the clink of cutlery, Valentin's calm authority, Cecilia's silence. Adrien's uncomfortable glances and Lucien storming out, tension clinging to the room long after he'd gone.

No one had followed him.

She swallowed, pushing the memory aside.

A soft knock came at the door.

Before Aria could answer, it opened slightly.

Cecilia stood there.

Her mother looked... different in the morning light. Still elegant, still composed, but there were shadows beneath her eyes that Aria hadn't noticed before. She hesitated, one hand resting on the doorframe.

"May I come in?" Cecilia asked gently.

Aria didn't respond. She simply shrugged and turned back to the window.

Cecilia stepped inside, closing the door quietly behind her.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

"I thought you might still be sleeping," Cecilia said at last. "The journey must have been exhausting."

"It was," Aria replied flatly.

Silence again.

Cecilia moved closer, stopping near the foot of the bed. "About last night".

"You don't have to explain his behavior," Aria cut in. "I got the message."

Cecilia flinched slightly.

"That's not what I meant," she said. "I wanted to talk about...us."

Aria laughed under her breath. A short, humorless sound.

"Now?"

"Yes. Now," Cecilia said firmly. "Before you start school. Before things get worse."

That caught Aria's attention. She turned.

"You left," Aria said. "And everything got worse."

The words landed heavily between them.

Cecilia inhaled slowly. "I know."

"No, you don't," Aria snapped. "You weren't there. You didn't see him after you left. My dad..." Her voice faltered before she could stop it.

"He never moved on. Not really, He loved you. He still does."

Cecilia's eyes were filled, but she didn't look away.

"I wasn't trying to destroy him," she said quietly. "Or you."

"So, what were you doing?" Aria demanded. "Finding yourself?"

"Yes," Cecilia answered. "Because I was lost. Because I was unhappy and becoming someone I didn't recognize. And I was afraid that if I stayed, I'd poison everything around me, including you."

Aria stood abruptly. "So instead, you married a billionaire and moved to Paris."

Cecilia winced.

"Valentin isn't..."

"Don't," Aria interrupted. "Don't dress it up like some noble journey. You left us to deal with the damage."

Tears slipped down Cecilia's cheeks now. "I never forgot about you," she whispered. "Not for a day."

"Then why does it feel like you did?" Aria asked.

The question hung in the air, unanswered.

After a long moment, Cecilia wiped her face and straightened. "I know I can't fix everything, but I want to try. I thought maybe we could go out today, get you a few things for school. Spend some time together."

Aria shook her head immediately. "I need space."

Cecilia hesitated. "Adrien could go with you."

"No," Aria said sharply. Then, softer, "I want to go alone."

Cecilia studied her for a moment, then nodded. She reached into her handbag and placed a sleek black card on the dresser.

"For whatever you need," she said. "No limits".

That, at least, felt honest.

After Cecilia left, Aria dressed slowly, choosing simple clothes that felt like hers. On her way out, she passed a closed door at the end of the corridor.

Lucien's room.

She paused.

She hadn't heard him since last night. No footsteps. No voice. Nothing.

Good, she told herself. She didn't want to deal with him anyway.

Aria got into the limo, which had already been parked waiting for her downstairs.

"Where to, ma'am?" The driver asked as he closed the car door and started the Limo

"Take me to the best boutique around here, please."

"Sure thing, ma'am," The driver said as he drove out of the mansion.

The boutique was tucked between two quiet streets, its tall, spotless glass windows displaying mannequins in soft neutrals and sharp silhouettes. Everything looked effortless. Expensive in a way that didn't need to announce itself.

Aria hesitated at the entrance before stepping inside.

The air smelt faintly of perfume and polished wood. Racks of clothing stood neatly spaced, fabrics flowing instead of hanging stiffly. This wasn't the kind of store where people rushed or talked loudly. Even the silence felt curated.

A sales assistant glanced up and smiled politely, neither overly eager nor dismissive.

"Bonjour," she said. "Please take your time."

Aria nodded and wandered deeper into the store, her fingers brushing against fabric she knew her dad would never have let her buy without asking questions. Silk. Cashmere. Tailored coats that probably cost more than her entire Brooklyn wardrobe combined.

She told herself she didn't care where the money came from. Not today.

As she turned down another aisle, she collided lightly with someone.

"Oh, sorry," the girl said quickly, steadying herself.

Aria looked up. The girl was around her age, maybe a year older. Blonde hair pulled into a loose ponytail, simple gold hoops, dressed casually but in a way that looked put together.

"It's fine," Aria replied, stepping back.

The girl smiled, easy and curious. "You're not from around here, are you?"

Aria stiffened slightly. "Is it that obvious?"

She laughed softly. "Only because you're looking at everything like it might disappear if you blink."

Then, more gently, "I did the same in my first week."

Something about that made Aria relax, just a little.

"I'm Aria."

"Camille," the girl replied, "You starting school soon?"

Aria paused. "Yeah. I think so."

Camille groaned. "Last year was brutal. Especially at Saint-Clair. Rules, drama, pressure everywhere." She rolled her eyes before smiling again. "At least the Teachers are obsessed with discipline."

"Sounds...fun," Aria said dryly.

Camille laughed. "Good luck surviving it."

With a small wave, she disappeared towards the counter, leaving Aria standing there longer than she meant to.

Saint-Clair.

So that was it.

Aria exhaled slowly and turned back to the racks. She picked out pieces she liked, paid for her stuff with her mum's credit card without feeling any form of guilt, and headed back into the limo.

By evening, exhaustion returned.

Back in her room, she noticed something hanging neatly by the wardrobe.

A garment bag.

Inside, laid out with careful precision, was her school uniform.

A dark navy blazer with a discreet embroidered crest. A crisp white shirt, structured and flawless. A pleated skirt tailored perfectly, every line intentional.

It was beautiful in a cold, polished way.

Expensive. Immaculate.

And not her.

Aria stared at it for a long moment, her chest tightening.

Tomorrow, this would be her reality.

A new school. A new life. A world she didn't ask for.

She turned away, switching off the light.

Somewhere down the corridor, a door remained closed.