Chapter 7 The Girl Named Mia
Liam's POV
"Good luck on your first day at Suncrest, Liam. I know I don't need to remind you to ace every subject. I know you too well," my father said as he set his coffee down, his voice steady but warm. "Your mother and I are proud of you."
I nodded and swallowed the last bite of breakfast, the food sitting heavier in my stomach than it should have. "Thank you, Dad," I murmured, keeping my eyes on my plate.
There was a brief silence, the kind that carried more than words ever could. I felt it before he spoke again.
"I know you hate the idea of being here," he said carefully. "But I didn't have a choice, Liam. I hope one day you won't hate me for this."
I looked up then, meeting his gaze. He looked older than I remembered. Tired in a way sleep could not fix. A man who had already buried one son and lived every day terrified of burying another. I forced a smile onto my face because I knew it was the one he needed to see.
"Dad," I said lightly, even though something in my chest tightened, "I love it here. Being with you and Mom makes me feel safe."
The lie slid out too smoothly.
My mother reached across the table and squeezed my hand, her eyes shining with relief. That made it worse. I nodded once more, stood, and kissed her cheek before grabbing my keys. I said my goodbyes like this was just another ordinary morning and not the beginning of a life I never chose.
I got into my car and sat there for a moment longer than necessary, hands resting on the steering wheel, staring at nothing. This was it. This was my world now. Not London. Not freedom. Not the future I had planned. Just careful steps and watched movements and a father who loved me too much to let me live freely.
I started the engine and drove toward Suncrest Academy, the road stretching out in front of me like a quiet promise I did not believe in.
I hated this place. Suncrest Academy was polished to the point of suffocation, every hallway gleaming with money and expectation, every smile practiced and hollow. My father called it safe. A controlled environment. A place where nothing bad could happen. To me, it felt like a cage dressed up as privilege.
I was never meant to be here. My life had already been mapped out somewhere else. Abroad. Universities that wanted me for my mind, not my last name. Acceptance letters folded neatly in a drawer my father pretended not to see.
A future that made sense. One that did not revolve around fear. But then my brother died, and everything after that became about prevention instead of living. About guarding what was left. About keeping the last surviving son close enough to watch.
So I complied. I wore the uniform. I learned quickly that people here did not see me as a person. They saw a name. A fortune. A legacy they wanted to stand near. I let them believe whatever made them comfortable.
Then I walked into that classroom and saw her. She was already seated, head bent over her notebook, shoulders drawn in slightly as if she were bracing for something that never quite arrived but always threatened to.
She did not look up when I entered, not when the whispers started, not when the room subtly shifted to make space for me. It was only when I stopped beside her desk and asked if the seat was taken that she finally lifted her eyes.
Just briefly. Just enough.
She nodded and went back to her notes as if I were nothing special, as if I had not just disrupted the entire room. Around us, girls sighed and straightened in their chairs, eyes bright with interest, already imagining stories about me. I barely noticed. All I could focus on was the fact that she did not.
Throughout the lesson, I stole glances that I pretended were accidental. The way she wrote quickly, like she was racing against something. The way she chewed the inside of her lip when she paused to think. The tension she carried in her posture was constant and quiet. She never smiled. She never tried to catch my eye. She acted as though I did not exist.
And somehow, that unsettled me more than anything else had since I arrived.
I wanted to speak to her properly. To hear her voice without the teacher calling for attention. To ask her name. But when the bell rang and I stood, intending to follow her, the space between us was swallowed by movement. Girls surged forward, laughter and curiosity pressing in from all sides. They knew exactly who I was. The Alcaraz heir. The son of a business tycoon. The last boy left standing in a family that had already buried one.
I smiled automatically, saying nothing, my gaze lifting over their heads toward the door.
Mia was already gone.
My jaw tightened as something sharp and unfamiliar settled in my chest. The one girl who had not cared about my face, my fortune, or the weight of my surname had walked away without a backward glance. And in that moment, surrounded by people who wanted me for everything I was not, I realized I had never resented being wanted by all the wrong people more.
"Welcome to Suncrest. I'm Daniel," the guy beside me said, his tone easy and open. I had already noticed him earlier, noticed the way his attention kept drifting toward the same girl who had caught mine. He seemed genuine in a place full of polished performances, and something about him felt familiar in a way that suggested we could actually get along.
"Thanks. I'm Liam," I replied, taking his hand when he offered it. His grip was firm, honest. I smiled without thinking.
"I already know who you are," Daniel said with a small laugh. "Everyone in Suncrest does."
I laughed too, because it was easier than correcting him, and we fell into conversation as we walked toward our next class. It surprised me how natural it felt. We talked about schedules, teachers, how unbearable the heat was, and how confusing the campus layout could be in the first week. When I realized we were still classmates, something light settled in my chest.
As if the universe had decided to indulge me, she was in the same class with me during the second period.
I took my seat and tried to act normal, but the moment she walked in, the air shifted. It was the kind of tension you felt before a storm, subtle and vibrating, humming beneath the surface of everything else. I had barely finished a sentence to Daniel when I felt it. The strange, unmistakable weight that entered the room with her.
She did not look at us. Not once. But Daniel did.
Just a glance. Just enough for me to catch the flicker in his eyes before it disappeared. Regret, maybe. Or memory. Something personal. I had grown up surrounded by people who hid their intentions behind smiles and contracts, and I had learned to recognize the difference between performance and truth. Whatever passed between them was real.
I did not ask. I kept the conversation light and easy. We talked about schedules and teachers. Anything that did not touch the thing I could feel pressing between us. But my attention was no longer fully there. It kept drifting back to her.
Mia, the girl who never looked up unless she had to. The girl who carried herself like she was constantly bracing for impact. The girl who said her name softly, as it belonged only to her. Her voice, when I first heard it, had been quiet but certain, carrying more truth in a single word than most people managed in an entire conversation.
Now she sat two rows ahead, back straight, shoulders tight, eyes forward. She did not spare either of us a glance. That was not indifference. It was a distance. Deliberate and carefully maintained. Daniel seemed to feel it too. His smile faltered for the briefest second, his gaze drifting toward her longer than necessary before he looked back at me as if nothing had happened.
But something had. And I hated that it bothered me.
I had not come here to get involved in anything. I had not even wanted to come here at all. If my brother were still alive, I would have been studying in London, building a life that felt like mine instead of living inside a carefully monitored version of it. My father's words echoed in my head, heavy and unyielding.
"You are all I have left, Liam. I cannot lose you too." So I stayed.
And now I found myself sitting between a boy who clearly liked her and a girl who refused to be seen. I leaned back in my chair and allowed myself one more glance at her, not with pity, but with interest. There was something unfinished in the silence between Mia and Daniel, something sharp and unresolved, like a fuse burning quietly beneath the floor.
And for the first time since arriving at Suncrest, I realized I was not entirely sure I wanted to stay out of it anymore.