*TEMPTED*

TEMPTED

*Chapter 1:

THE RELOCATION

The Harper family had just moved from the city to a small, quiet town on the East Side of Da Capo. The reason for the sudden relocation? Their daughter’s troublesome attitude.

Their daughter, Brittany “Britt” Harper, was notorious for her trouble-seeking ways. At eighteen, she had already crashed three of her cars, vandalized half the town’s property, and been expelled from every private school she’d ever attended. The last incident had been the final straw—setting off the school’s fire alarm during finals week “as a prank.” She claimed it was to test the evacuation system. The principal didn’t find it funny. Neither did the parents of the three students who broke their ankles jumping out of second-story windows.

Their expensive Rolls-Royce glided to a stop in front of their new house: a modest, single-story bungalow tucked behind a white picket fence. It was intentionally understated, chosen to help them keep a low profile. Behind them, the moving truck carrying all their belongings had just pulled up. Hired workers were already unloading sofas, suitcases, and boxes, moving quickly to get out of the summer heat.

Britt stepped out of the Rolls-Royce with deliberate slowness, as if she were arriving at a red carpet event. She wore a hot pink Chanel knee-length dress, carried a matching Prada bag, and had oversized designer sunglasses perched on her nose despite the fact that it was barely nine in the morning.

“Ugh,” she scoffed, glancing around at the quiet street with obvious distaste. The houses were too small, the lawns too green, the silence too loud. “Why did we even have to move? I hate this place already.” She turned to her parents, arms crossed, radiating the energy of someone who’d just been told her Wi-Fi was down forever.

“Britt,” her mother said gently, stepping forward and touching her arm. “We had to move because those people didn’t deserve you. Remember?” Her voice was calm, but there was a hint of exhaustion beneath it—years of defending her daughter’s behavior had taken a toll.

“Of course they didn’t deserve me,” Britt replied, flipping her blonde hair over her shoulder with a satisfied smile. “None of them did.”

Without waiting for another word, she adjusted her sunglasses and made her way carefully up the front steps, avoiding the moving workers as if they might scuff her shoes. She was 90% sure one of them looked at her bag and judged it. She took it personally.

“At least the interior designs are pretty,” she muttered under her breath, glancing around the entryway. It wasn’t a mansion, but it was clean, modern, and far more elegant than she’d expected for a “small town.” The kitchen had marble countertops. That was a win. Satisfied for now, she headed upstairs to her bedroom.

Once inside, she dropped her Prada bag onto the floor and collapsed onto the large four-poster bed with a dramatic sigh. The room was already set up—her mother had made sure of it. For a moment, Britt stared at the ceiling, boredom settling in almost instantly. This town was going to be a problem. A big, boring, slow problem.

Reaching for her phone, she unlocked it and opened FaceTime. If she was stuck in this boring town, at least she could complain to her friends about it in real time.

---

Britt FaceTimed her friends the moment the movers finished unpacking the last box.

“Hey, girls!” Britt said excitedly, holding the phone up to show off her new room. “We’ve finally arrived at our new house.” She said it proudly, though a small pout tugged at her lips. “Although I really miss you guys.”

“We miss you too,” one of her friends replied, her voice crackling slightly through the bad connection. “But hey, maybe this is a fresh start? No more expulsion letters?”

Britt laughed, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, right. Fresh start, sure. I give myself two weeks before I get bored and accidentally set something on fire.”

They chatted for almost an hour, catching up on everything—new boys, old drama, and how boring Da Capo already looked from what she’d seen through the car window. When she finally ended the call, the room felt quieter than before.

With nothing better to do, she started unpacking her designer clothes and skincare products, organizing them with meticulous care. Tomorrow was Sunday, which meant one thing: she could sleep in. Or at least, that was the plan. She didn’t know her mother had other ideas.

---

*The Next Morning*

“Rise and shine, sweetheart,” Britt’s mother said softly as she pushed the door open and walked into the room, carrying a tray with breakfast.

“Ugh, Mom, let me sleep,” Britt groaned annoyedly, yanking the duvet over her head and brushing a strand of blonde hair out of her face. The smell of fresh toast and coffee drifted to her nose, making it harder to pretend she was still asleep.

“Britt, get up. Today’s Sunday,” her mother said firmly, setting the tray down on the bedside table. “You never went to church in the city, but you _will_ go here. This town is different. People notice. And your father thinks it’ll be good for you.”

“You can leave without me. I’m not going,” Britt said flatly, pulling the covers tighter around herself. Church was for people who felt guilty. She felt fabulous.

Her mother sighed, then reached down and pulled the covers off her body in one swift motion. The cool morning air hit Britt’s skin immediately, and she sat up with a glare that could curdle milk.

“Get up, Britt. Please. Just come with us,” her mother pleaded, her voice softer now, almost desperate. “It’ll make your father happy. And maybe… maybe it’ll be good for you.”

Britt stared at her for a long moment. That “please” voice was her mother’s nuclear option. When she used it, arguing was pointless.

“Fine,” she muttered, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. “But I’m not promising to behave. If someone starts singing off-key, I’m walking out.”

She grabbed a piece of toast, shoved it into her mouth, and gulped down the lukewarm coffee in three large swallows. Still half-asleep and thoroughly reluctant, she dragged herself into the bathroom, letting the hot water from the shower wash away the last traces of sleep.

By the time she stepped out, her mother had already left the room with a small, victorious smile.

Wrapping herself in a fluffy white towel, Britt stood in front of the mirror and began drying her hair with another towel. She stared at her reflection for a moment—made-up eyes even without makeup, sharp jawline, the kind of face that always got attention.

_Maybe church won’t be so boring after all,_ she thought, smirking to herself. _If nothing else, it’ll be fun to watch people stare. And if the sermon is bad, I can always rate it on Google Reviews later._

She dressed carefully, choosing a slinky blue gown that walked the line between elegant and defiant. It wasn’t modest by church standards, but it was enough to keep her mother from complaining again. By the time she walked downstairs, her parents were already waiting by the car.

“You look beautiful, darling,” her father said as she approached.

“I always do, Dad,” Britt replied with a confident smirk, sliding into the back seat.

The drive to church was short, but long enough for her to post a quick photo on her social media—captioned _“Sunday best… or close enough”_—and watch the likes and comments flood in. By the time they pulled up in front of the massive stone church, she was in a better mood.

Britt stepped out of the car and stared up at the towering building. Stained glass windows glowed in the morning light, and the sound of hymns drifted through the open doors. The place looked old, grand, and slightly intimidating—like a building that had seen too many secrets and judged everyone for them.

“Not bad,” she muttered under her breath. “At least they didn’t make me go to a tent.”

Inside, the service had already started. A man in his late forties stood at the pulpit, his voice steady and commanding as he preached. But the moment Britt’s heels clicked against the tiled floor, everything stopped. The priest paused mid-sentence, blinking as if he’d just been interrupted by a marching band.

Heads turned. Necks creaked. Whispers rippled through the congregation like a wave.

“Who does she think she is?”

“Is that the new family?”

“Please tell me she’s not sitting in front of me.”

Britt didn’t slow down. She walked straight to an empty pew near the front and sat down, crossing her legs as if she belonged there. Her parents sat beside her, their faces a mix of embarrassment and forced calm. Her mother was already mentally drafting an apology email to the entire town.

Across the aisle, a pair of sharp blue eyes watched her. They belonged to Oliver—the priest’s only son. He sat stiffly next to his mother, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. When their eyes met, Britt stared back and smirked, slow and deliberate, like a cat who’d just cornered a mouse.

Oliver’s face flushed instantly. He looked away so fast it was almost comical, as if eye contact with her was some kind of sin he hadn’t confessed yet. His mother leaned over and whispered something in his ear, and he nodded, trying very hard to focus on the sermon about “resisting temptation.”

The irony was not lost on him.

Everyone in the pews was left with the same burning questions:

_“Who was this rude girl?”_

_“Where is she from?”_

_“Does she know church isn’t a runway?”_

But the only question in Oliver’s mind was…

_Why does she look at me like she’s already planning to ruin my life?_

And somewhere in the back of the church, the heavy wooden door creaked open.

A cold breeze swept through the hall, making the candles flicker. The preaching stopped.

Everyone turned.

In the doorway stood a man in a black coat,his face half-hidden in shadow.He wasn't from around here.And he was looking straight at Britt.

.......

TO BE CONTINUED