Chapter 5 Someone Else's Life

Aria's POV

The gates of Westbrook Academy rose higher than necessary-arched, silver-flecked, and glinting in the crisp Swiss afternoon like they were guarding the future.

I sat stiffly in the back of the town car, my hands clenched in my lap, knuckles pale. The academy loomed in the distance, its stone buildings old and perfectly preserved, like something out of a museum or a dream I hadn't meant to step into.

Not mine. Not really.

I shifted in my seat and glanced at the tinted window again. I could already see other students filtering in-some with parents helping with luggage, others already deep in conversation with friends they hadn't seen all summer. It all looked seamless. Natural.

I was about to walk in and pretend I belonged.

The driver cleared his throat gently. "Miss Laurent?"

I blinked. That was me now. "Yes. Right. Thank you."

The trunk opened. A porter appeared, lifting out my suitcases like they were weightless. As I stepped out, the afternoon breeze tugged at my sweater, and for a brief second, I felt like myself again-plain me, nervous about walking into a room full of strangers. But then I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the polished glass of the school entrance.

The chestnut waves, the precise makeup, the expensive bag looped over my shoulder. Sophia.

I adjusted the strap and followed the porter through the stone archway, my footsteps echoing too loudly in my ears.

Room 317. West Wing.

The hallways were wide, walls lined with soft lights and old portraits. My room was at the far end. The door was already open.

I hovered just outside the threshold.

Inside was a girl-not what I expected. Her hair was tied back in a perfect braid, not a strand out of place. She was organizing her shelf by color. Actually color. Textbooks, notebooks, binders-all arranged like a gradient.

"Hi," I offered, awkwardly stepping in.

The girl turned. Her eyes were sharper than expected, studying me like a scan. Then her expression flickered, just slightly, into something polite but unsure.

"Sophia." Not a question.

I nodded. "Yeah. Hi."

A pause. Then the girl stepped forward. "I'm Noa. Roommate. Obviously." She gestured at the side of the room still untouched. "You can take that bed."

"Thanks," I said, wheeling in my suitcase.

For a moment, neither of us spoke. I busied myself with unpacking, opening drawers, arranging things like I wasn't being watched.

Then Noa said, carefully, "You look different."

I froze. "Different?"

"I mean-" Noa hesitated, waving a hand. "Not bad. Just... more approachable than last year." She didn't sound like she was trying to insult me, just stating facts.

"Oh. Yeah. I guess I just-changed over the summer."

Noa nodded, thoughtful. "People do that."

We settled into a strange kind of rhythm, arranging our things without much small talk. But I kept glancing sideways, trying to figure her out. Noa didn't seem unfriendly-just observant. Like someone who never said more than they needed to, but probably noticed everything.

I didn't mind it. There was a quiet in Noa that steadied me a little. If anything, it made it easier to breathe.

About an hour later, as I was trying to decide whether to fake a stomach ache and hide for the rest of the evening, Noa spoke up.

"Dinner?"

I blinked. "Sorry?"

"Do you want to go to dinner? Together?" She looked vaguely embarrassed to ask.

And just like that, the nervous edge softened. I smiled, genuinely. "Yeah. Sure."

We walked side by side through the courtyard, the sky now tinted with the beginnings of dusk. Campus buildings framed us like quiet monuments. The air was cooler now, and students flowed past in relaxed clusters, laughter echoing between buildings. Everything felt like a set piece I hadn't rehearsed.

I kept my shoulders straight, my pace even. I didn't look around too much. I was Sophia. And Sophia knew her way around.

We were just passing a stretch of hedges when a figure turned the corner sharply, nearly colliding into me.

"Whoa-sorry," the guy said, steadying himself. Tall, olive-toned, with messy curls tucked under a beanie, his eyes flicked up to meet mine. Then widened. "Sophia?"

I blinked, instinct kicking in. "Yeah?"

"Didn't think I'd see you before orientation," he said with a small grin. "You remember me, right? Luca. From last year. Lit class. I sat two rows behind you and watched you roast Professor Hennessy on the irony in The Bell Jar."

I blinked again, the memory clearly not mine. "Right," I said carefully. "I do remember."

He fell in step beside us without asking. "You heading to dinner?"

"Yes," Noa replied simply.

"Cool. I'll tag along." He glanced back at me with a crooked smile. "Hope that's not weird."

It was. But I didn't say it out loud.

I was still trying to get a read on him. There was something disarming about him-effortlessly social, clearly observant, and probably dangerous if I said the wrong thing.

We walked into the cafeteria together. It was loud-tables filled with groups, long lines at the food stations, the unmistakable buzz of students back from break. It was chaos, and I felt myself slipping, just a little.

I stayed close to Noa. Luca veered off briefly to grab a drink. That's when I saw him.

Jared.

He was across the room, standing near a table, talking to someone-but his head turned, like he felt me looking.

Our eyes met.

His brow furrowed. Just slightly.

I looked away instantly, heart leaping.

No. Not now.

I didn't stop to think-just stepped closer to Luca, looping my arm through his like we were close. His eyebrows shot up at the contact, but to his credit, he didn't say a word. Just followed my lead as I moved through the crowd and toward a table near the far windows.

I could feel Jared watching. Even as I sat down. Even as I laughed at something Luca said. Even as Noa rolled her eyes at both of us and picked at her salad.

I didn't glance back until halfway through the meal. Jared was still standing near that same table. He hadn't moved.

His expression was unreadable.

Confused.

Like something wasn't adding up.

I turned my head quickly and forced myself to chew. To smile. To speak.

But my stomach was coiled tight.

He had noticed something.

And this was only day one.