A story unravels, following two distinct friend groups: one embodying the virtues of loyalty, trust, and friendship-the so-called "good" group; the other steeped in manipulation, rebellion, and chaos-the "bad" group.
As their final school year progr...
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ANASTASIA CARLTON
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I stood in front of Luca's mansion, holding his wallet. He'd left it at with me two nights ago, and though I knew I shouldn't be here—Luca was technically an enemy—I'd decided to return it. Besides, I'd seen he was back from staying overnight in a fucking cell for me through a photo on Loren's Instagram. I knew I shouldn't follow that bitch, but curiosity had won.
I rang the doorbell, fidgeting with the wallet. After a moment, a maid opened the door and smiled warmly. "Hi, are you here for Luca?" she asked. "He's in his room. Come in."
She let me in just like that, no questions asked. I stepped into the massive foyer, taking in the grandeur of the place when another figure appeared behind her. Luca's father—Mr. Castillars. I recognized him instantly. He looked older than I remembered, his face lined and his knuckles bruised.
"Mrs. Carlton, come on in," he said, his voice edged with indifference as he looked me over. "Luca is upstairs. I'm sure you know your way; you're not the first girl he's brought here."
His words stung more than I'd expected, leaving both me and the maid in stunned silence as he turned and left.
I made my way up the grand spiral staircase, scanning the hallway for clues to Luca's room. It was quiet, save for the faint music drifting from the last room at the end. Frank Ocean. Luca listens to Frank Ocean? I would've pegged him for a rap guy.
I knocked softly, hesitating, and after a moment, the door swung open. Luca stood there, shirtless, looking almost unrecognizable. His lip was split, a fresh bruise colored his jaw, and red welts lined his chest. My stomach dropped as I realized why his father's knuckles were bruised.
"Now's not a good time, Anastasia. Leave," he muttered, starting to shut the door.
"Wait," I said quickly, holding up the wallet. "I came to return this."
He snatched it from my hand and tossed it onto his bed. He wouldn't meet my eyes, anger and something else swirling in his gaze.
"Are you... okay?" The words slipped out before I could stop them.
Luca let out a bitter laugh, crossing his arms. "Do I look okay?" His tone was laced with warning. "One word about this, Anastasia, and I swear, you'll regret it. I know your reputation — blackmailing and tearing people down. Try that with me, and I'll ruin you right back."
I raised my hands in surrender. "Fair enough. But I'm not here to blackmail you." I softened my tone. "Let me help you. Do you have bandages or something?"
He looked at me warily for a second, the fight in his eyes dimming, before he nodded. "Fine. Bathroom's over there."
I followed him inside, grabbing the first-aid kit from the counter. I couldn't believe I was here, offering to patch up Luca Castillars of all people—my supposed enemy. I opened the first-aid kit, pulling out alcohol wipes and gauze. Luca sat on the edge of the counter, his gaze somewhere far away, shoulders tense and jaw set in a stubborn line.
"Hold still," I murmured, pressing a wipe gently against the bruise on his jaw. He flinched slightly but didn't pull away, letting me clean the cuts in silence.
The silence hung between us, thick and unyielding. I could feel his eyes on me, sharp and studying, as if he was trying to read me like a puzzle he couldn't solve. I ignored the heat from his gaze, focusing on cleaning up his injuries.
"Does this happen often?" The words slipped out before I could stop them.
He scoffed, shaking his head slightly, but his voice was low when he replied. "Does it matter?"
"It does if it keeps happening," I replied softly, moving to a deeper bruise on his collarbone. His skin was warm, but tense under my fingers, as though he was holding back a storm.
"Why do you care?" he asked, his voice quieter this time, almost... vulnerable.
I bit my lip, looking up at him, really seeing the pain he tried so hard to bury under his arrogance and bravado. "Maybe because I know what it's like to have people who are supposed to protect you be the ones who hurt you the most."
His gaze flicked up, his expression softening for just a moment. Then it hardened again, as if he couldn't allow himself to show weakness.
He looked away, jaw clenching. "This doesn't change anything, you know. Just because you patch me up doesn't mean we're friends, or anything, or whatever you're hoping for."
I smirked a little, finishing the last of the bandages. "You went to jail for me." I joked. "Trust me, I'm not looking to be friends. But even enemies can be decent sometimes."
His mouth quirked into something that almost looked like a smile, but it was gone as quickly as it came. "Don't get used to it."
"Wouldn't dream of it," I said, stepping back. "But just so you know, Luca, you don't have to fight all your battles alone. I do, it doesn't feel good very often." I admitted.
He scoffed again, but this time there was a flicker of something else in his eyes—maybe a sliver of gratitude he'd never admit to.
