ARIA'S POV
Isabella Laurent was a liar.
I knew it the second she stepped onto that stage with tears in her crystal blue eyes, talking about how her family lost everything in some business scandal back in Paris. How she was so grateful for this "second chance" at Crestwood Academy.
Everyone else bought it. The whole auditorium erupted in applause like she was some kind of hero just for showing up.
But I saw the truth in the millisecond before she started her sad story—when she scanned the crowd and her eyes landed on Ethan. The way her mouth curved into a tiny, satisfied smile before she forced it into something tragic.
She came here for him.
"She seems nice," Maya whispered beside me, clapping politely.
I couldn't answer. My throat was too tight. Because three rows behind us, Ethan was staring at Isabella like people stare at miracles. Like she was the answer to every question he'd ever asked.
He'd never looked at me like that. Not once in six years.
"Our community is built on supporting one another," Principal Hart continued, one arm around Isabella's shoulders. "I know you'll all make Miss Laurent feel welcome."
More applause. Isabella dabbed at her eyes with a tissue—perfect timing, perfect tears. She was good. Really good.
Too good.
"Thank you all so much," Isabella said, her French accent making everything sound elegant. "I hope to make friends who will accept me despite my family's disgrace. I promise I'll work hard and prove I deserve to be here."
The applause got louder. Some guys in the front row were already pulling out their phones, probably looking up her social media.
I felt sick.
The assembly ended, and students flooded toward the exits. I tried to slip out fast, but Maya grabbed my arm.
"You okay? You look like you're gonna throw up."
"I'm fine," I lied. "Just tired."
"You're always tired lately." Maya's eyes narrowed. "And it's always because of—"
"Aria! Wait up!"
Ethan's voice cut through the noise. He was pushing through the crowd, and my stomach dropped because Isabella was right behind him. Of course she was.
"Hey," Ethan said, slightly breathless when he reached us. He didn't even glance at me—his eyes were locked on Maya. "Maya, right? You're in my economics class?"
Maya blinked, surprised. "Uh, yeah?"
"Cool, cool." Then, finally, Ethan looked at me. "Aria, I want you to meet someone. This is Isabella."
Isabella stepped forward, and up close she was even more perfect. Flawless skin. Designer clothes that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe. She smiled, and it looked so genuine I almost believed it.
"You must be Aria," Isabella said warmly. "Ethan has told me so much about you!"
The world tilted sideways.
Ethan had told her about me? When? How long had they been talking?
"He... has?" My voice came out smaller than I meant it to.
"Of course! You're his best friend, right?" Isabella's smile widened. "He says you're incredibly smart. I'm actually quite nervous about classes here—the American system is so different from Paris. Perhaps you could help me catch up?"
It was a trap. I felt it in my bones. But everyone was watching—Ethan, Maya, the students lingering nearby. If I said no, I'd look mean. Selfish. Like I was jealous of the poor transfer student who'd lost everything.
"Sure," I heard myself say. "I can help."
"You're an angel!" Isabella clasped her hands together. "Thank you so much."
Ethan beamed like I'd just done something wonderful. "Actually, I was thinking—Isabella should join our study group. You know, the one that meets Tuesdays and Thursdays? It would help her make friends and get caught up on coursework."
Our study group. The one that was supposed to be me, Ethan, and two other students. Our thing.
Except now it would be Ethan and Isabella's thing, and I'd just be... there.
"That's a great idea," I said, because what else could I say?
"Perfect!" Ethan put his arm around Isabella's shoulders—casually, like it was the most natural thing in the world. "We meet in the library after school on Tuesday. Aria's basically a genius, so you're in good hands."
Isabella looked up at him through her lashes. "You're so kind to help me."
"It's nothing," Ethan said, and the way he said it—soft and warm—made my chest ache.
He'd never used that tone with me.
Maya tugged my arm. "We're gonna be late for fourth period."
I let her pull me away, but I felt Ethan's absence like a physical thing. For six years, he'd walked me to class. Now he was walking Isabella, talking and laughing like they'd known each other forever.
"Okay, what the hell was that?" Maya demanded once we were in the stairwell. "Since when does Ethan know the new girl?"
"I don't know."
"And why did you agree to tutor her? Aria, you already do everything for Ethan—now you're gonna do everything for his new friend too?"
"I was being nice!"
"You were being a doormat!" Maya's voice echoed. Then she sighed, gentler. "Look, I'm not trying to be mean. But something's off about that girl. Did you see how she looked at Ethan? Like she was hunting."
I had seen it. I just didn't want to admit it.
Fourth period was torture. I couldn't focus on anything the teacher said. My mind kept replaying the assembly—the way Ethan had looked at Isabella. The way he'd touched her shoulder. How he'd said her name like it was special.
My phone buzzed halfway through class.
Ethan: Thanks for being cool about Isabella joining the group. You're the best!
The best. His favorite phrase for me. The one that really meant "thanks for doing what I want without complaining."
I didn't text back.
After class, I went to my locker to grab my chemistry textbook. The hallway was packed, everyone talking about Isabella. How pretty she was. How tragic her story was. How lucky Crestwood was to have her.
I was slamming my locker shut when I heard it—Ethan's laugh, loud and genuine, coming from around the corner.
I shouldn't have looked. I should've walked away.
But I looked.
Ethan and Isabella stood by the water fountain. She was telling some story, her hands moving expressively, and Ethan was completely focused on her. Captivated. He laughed again, then said something I couldn't hear. Isabella playfully swatted his arm.
They looked like a couple. Like they'd always been a couple.
And suddenly I understood.
This wasn't new. This wasn't some instant connection. They knew each other already. Maybe they'd been talking for weeks. Months, even. Planning this.
Isabella didn't transfer here because of some family scandal.
She transferred here for Ethan.
And Ethan had been waiting for her.
Which meant everything—every late-night call, every hand-holding at school events, every time he'd called me "babe" or said I was "the best"—had been a lie.
I'd been keeping his spot warm until the girl he really wanted could get here.
My vision blurred with tears I refused to let fall. Not here. Not where people could see.
I turned to run—and crashed straight into someone's chest.
"Whoa, easy."
Strong hands steadied me. I looked up into dark, concerned eyes.
Kai Winters.
"Sorry," I mumbled, trying to step back. "I wasn't watching where—"
"You're crying."
"I'm not—"
"Your eyes are red." His voice was surprisingly gentle for someone who looked like he could break someone in half. "What did he do?"
"Who?"
"Park." Kai's jaw clenched. "What did he do this time?"
I should've said nothing. Should've walked away. Kai Winters was dangerous—everyone said so. I'd never even spoken to him except for that one time sophomore year in the music room, and he probably didn't even remember.
But he was looking at me like he actually cared about the answer.
And I was so tired of people not caring.
"He's replacing me," I whispered.
Kai's eyes darkened with something that looked like rage. But when he spoke, his voice was soft.
"Then he's an idiot."
Before I could respond, Ethan's voice called out: "Aria? Who are you talking to?"
I turned to see Ethan approaching, Isabella still at his side. His expression shifted when he saw Kai—friendly confusion replaced by something harder.
"Winters," Ethan said coolly. "Didn't know you and Aria were friends."
"We're not," Kai replied, his voice flat. He looked at me one more time, something unreadable in his expression. "Yet."
Then he walked away, leaving me standing between Ethan's confusion and Isabella's calculating smile.
"What was that about?" Ethan asked.
"Nothing," I said.
But it wasn't nothing.
Because for the first time in two years, someone had looked at me and seen that I was breaking.
And that someone wasn't Ethan Park.