Chapter 1 New Name, Same Pain

The first thing they hand me at Blackridge Academy is a shiny new ID card. It has my fake name printed neatly across the bottom: Eva Sinclair.

I stare at the laminated rectangle longer than I should, pretending I’m checking for typos. The truth is, the sight of that name—this name I’ve rehearsed and memorized and practiced answering to—makes my stomach twist.

Eva Sinclair.

It sounds so clean, so polished. The kind of name that belongs in the marble hallways of this school, where the lockers gleam like polished silver and the uniforms look like they were tailored straight from a runway. A name no one will question, no one will dig into.

But beneath the neat lettering, I’m still Ava Carter. The girl who lost everything. The girl who doesn’t belong here.

I slip the ID into my blazer pocket and force my face into something calm. Collected. A girl with nothing to hide.

The secretary beams at me like she’s handing me a future wrapped with a bow. “Welcome to Blackridge, Miss Sinclair. You’re going to love it here.”

I give her a smile that’s practiced enough to almost look real. “I’m sure I will.”

That’s the thing about lies. If you polish them enough, they shine brighter than the truth.

The secretary gestures down the hall, pointing out classrooms and the library as if I’m actually listening. I nod at all the right places. My mind is elsewhere, mapping the steps of the plan I’ve been building for months.

Step one: Get in.

Step two: Get close.

Step three: Burn them all down.

The Langstons think they’ve buried the past. They think no one remembers the boy who disappeared, the scandal swept under their thick rugs of money and power. They think they’re untouchable.

They don’t know about me.

By the time I step into the hallway, the sound of shoes clicking against polished floors echoes around me. Students pass in clusters, their laughter light and careless, their ties hanging loose in ways that scream privilege.

I keep my stride steady, my chin lifted. It’s all in the performance. If you walk like you belong, people assume you do.

But my pulse is racing.

Because behind every smile and every perfect laugh, I see the ghosts of what happened here. I see Noah.

I blink, and it’s almost like I can hear his voice, teasing me the way he always did when I tried on his debate trophies like crowns. “You’re too stubborn for your own good, Ava. One day, that’s going to get you into trouble.”

He wasn’t wrong.

He also didn’t get the chance to be right.

The world says he killed himself. The Langstons made sure of it. The news articles were neat little obituaries full of lies. The whispers at school called him reckless, unstable. My parents tried to survive the aftermath, but the stares and the harassment were too much. Eventually, we had to leave.

But I never believed any of it. Not for one second.

And now, I’m back.

The bell rings, scattering the students like pigeons. I follow the crowd into my first class, sliding into a seat near the back. The teacher doesn’t ask too many questions when she introduces me. Just my name, which rolls off my tongue smoother every time I say it.

Eva Sinclair.

I can’t afford to trip over it. One wrong slip, and everything unravels.

The lesson blurs together, numbers and dates that I already know because I spent half the summer memorizing Blackridge’s curriculum. Preparation is survival. If I blend in perfectly, no one looks closer.

But all through the hour, my attention keeps flicking toward the door. Because I know he’s here. Somewhere in this building. The reason I’m sitting in this room instead of miles away under my real name.

Jace Langston.

The boy with the perfect smile and the perfect life. The boy who made my brother disappear.

When the bell finally frees us, I gather my books and follow the tide of students into the hallway. I don’t even realize I’m holding my breath until it happens.

He walks in.

And the air shifts.

I’d braced myself for him. For the version of Jace Langston I remembered from years ago, when he was just another golden boy strutting through Blackridge’s halls, soaking in attention like sunlight. Back then, he was untouchable—expensive watch, easy grin, the kind of charm that made people forget his father’s badge and his family’s corruption.

But the boy I see now is not the one I remembered.

He’s taller, broader, his jawline sharper. His blazer is half-buttoned like he couldn’t care less about dress codes. His knuckles are bruised, like he’s been fighting shadows no one else can see.

And his smile—the one that used to win everyone over so easily—is nowhere in sight.

Instead, his face is carved into something colder, something harder. His eyes sweep the hallway, calculating, dangerous, as if every person in his line of sight is a potential enemy.

Including me.

For a second, his gaze brushes past mine. Just a flicker, a spark that feels like it burns straight through the name tag on my chest.

I force myself not to flinch.

To him, I’m Eva Sinclair. Just another pretty transfer student trying to find her place. Nothing special. Nothing suspicious.

But the way he looks at me, sharp and suspicious, makes my chest tighten.

Does he know?

Impossible. I buried Ava Carter months ago.

Still, the part of me that’s been rehearsing this moment for years—the part that has dreamed of tearing down his perfect world piece by piece—feels rattled. Because I expected arrogance. Carelessness. A spoiled prince who never saw the knife coming.

What I didn’t expect was this.

A boy who looks like he’s already bleeding.

I swallow hard and remind myself of the plan. Step one, step two, step three. It doesn’t matter what he looks like now, or how my pulse races when his eyes linger too long. He’s still Jace Langston.

The boy who ruined everything.

I clutch my books tighter, the edges digging into my palms, grounding me. I can’t afford to forget.

Because this time, it’s not just about walking into Blackridge Academy under a new name.

It’s about walking straight into the lion’s den.

And as Jace Langston’s gaze locks with mine for a second too long, one thing becomes painfully clear.

The lion already sees me.