The first day at Crestwood Elite Academy was nothing like Riley Morgan expected. For one, the place didn't look like a school—it looked like a castle. Marble columns framed the front entrance, iron gates taller than most buildings she'd ever seen guarded the perimeter, and luxury cars glided into the parking lot like they were on display at an auto show.
Riley tightened her grip on the worn handlebars of her beat-up bicycle. Her helmet sat crooked on her head, and her backpack—patched up in more places than she could count—was slung haphazardly over one shoulder.
Breathe, Riley. It's just a school, she reminded herself. A school filled with people who wouldn't last five minutes in your neighborhood.
She pedaled forward, determined to get through the day without drawing attention. But fate, as always, had other plans.
As she approached the student parking area, a sleek black Lamborghini pulled in at the same time, its engine purring like a predator stalking its prey. Riley swerved to avoid a sudden dip in the road—and in that exact moment, her front wheel jerked out of alignment. The bike veered sharply… and scraped right against the side of the sports car.
The screech of metal against metal cut through the air like a knife.
Riley slammed her foot down, skidding to a stop, heart pounding in her chest. "No, no, no…" she whispered, already wincing as she turned to look.
The driver's door swung open, and out stepped trouble incarnate.
He was tall, lean, and devastatingly good-looking, with messy jet-black hair that fell just above eyes cold enough to freeze fire. Dressed in a designer uniform that probably cost more than her family's rent, he looked down at the scrape on his car, then at her, like she'd just spit in his face.
"You've got to be kidding me."
His voice was calm, but deadly. The kind that made your stomach twist with warning.
"I—uh, sorry," Riley stammered, hopping off her bike. "Didn't mean to hit it. Just swerved a little, I can fix it—"
"You're going to fix a Lamborghini?" he cut in, one eyebrow arched. "With what? Duct tape and a prayer?"
Riley bristled. "Well, I wouldn't have to if you hadn't parked like a damn show-off."
Zayden Adrian blinked. He wasn't used to being talked to like that. Most girls swooned when he so much as looked at them. This one was scowling, her fists clenched like she was ready to swing.
"Do you know who I am?" he asked, stepping closer.
"Yeah," Riley shot back. "A spoiled, overgrown man-child with too much money and zero patience."
The crowd of students gathering around gasped.
Zayden stared at her. Then, to everyone's surprise, he smiled—but it wasn't kind. It was a challenge. A warning.
"Oh, this is going to be fun."
Riley didn't flinch. She met his gaze with fire in her own.
"Bring it."
The crowd buzzed around them, students whispering and laughing, clearly enjoying the drama unfolding in front of the school gates. But Riley didn't care. She'd dealt with worse than some spoiled rich boy with a bruised ego and a shiny car.
"Zayden, man, let it go. She's not worth the scratch," one of the guys standing nearby said with a lazy grin.
Riley shot him a glare. "Excuse me?"
Zayden held up a hand. "No, no. Let her speak. She's already done such a great job making a first impression."
"Glad to hear I'm memorable," Riley snapped, shoving her bike toward the rack. "Didn't realize Crestwood came with so many royal crybabies."
"You've got guts," Zayden said as he followed her. "I'll give you that. But don't think guts will save you here."
She wheeled around. "You threatening me, Mr. Lamborghini?"
He smirked. "More like warning you. You've got no idea what kind of world you just stepped into."
"I'm not here to impress anyone," Riley said, squaring her shoulders. "I'm here on a scholarship. I earned it. And I'm not going to let a rich brat with a bruised car or ego get in my way."
Zayden tilted his head, his gaze sharper now. "Scholarship, huh? That explains the attitude. And the bike."
Riley ignored the sting in his words and turned away. "Stay out of my way and I'll stay out of yours."
"Not a chance," Zayden murmured to himself, watching her walk toward the main building like she owned the place. There was something about her—fire and defiance wrapped in a body that didn't belong in his world, and yet, somehow… fit too perfectly.
As she disappeared into the crowd, Zayden's smirk faded, just a little.
"She has no idea who she's dealing with."
And neither did he.