*TEMPTED*

first day, first disaster

*Chapter 2: First Day, First Disaster*

_TEMPTED_

The heavy wooden door creaked open.

A cold breeze swept through the church hall, making the candles flicker and throw dancing shadows across the stained glass. The preaching stopped mid-sentence. One hundred and forty-seven heads turned in unison.

In the doorway stood a man in a black coat, face half-hidden in shadow. He didn’t look at the priest. Didn’t look at the congregation. His eyes were locked on Britt.

Her smirk vanished. The girl who’d been enjoying making Oliver squirm two minutes ago was gone, replaced by someone who looked like she’d just seen a ghost she owed money to.

Oliver noticed instantly. “Do you know him?” he whispered, keeping his voice low so only she could hear.

Britt didn’t answer. Her fingers tightened around the strap of her Prada bag until her knuckles went white.

The man took one slow step forward.

The lights in the hallway flickered once, then died.

---

20 minutes earlier

“Who is she?”

Britt thought, _Oh, a cute priest,_ as she scanned Oliver’s outfit. _He’s definitely a priest. A little priest, maybe. Like a priest in training. Priest-lite._

She shrugged and went back to her phone, thumb scrolling through i********: like the sermon was background noise. But Oliver’s eyes kept darting back to her seat and then down to the Bible in his hands. His mind was trying desperately to concentrate on one thing: his father’s preaching about resisting temptation.

It wasn’t working. Not with her sitting there looking like she’d wandered in from Paris Fashion Week and brought trouble as a plus-one.

After the service, Britt’s parents were busy introducing themselves to the curious townspeople. Small talk, handshakes, forced smiles. The usual small-town performance.

“Ugh, why is this taking so long?” she groaned, slumping in her seat, unable to sit still for another minute. “Do they hand out certificates for small talk? Because I’m about to start a union.”

With a sigh, she got up and wandered off further into the church, peeking into the built-in side rooms. The place smelled like old wood, polish, and expensive candles. Honestly, it was fancier than half the restaurants she’d been banned from.

Then she stopped.

Her lips curled into a sinister smile as she stared at the brown-haired boy standing in front of her—hands gripping the back of a pew like it had personally insulted his mother.

“So,” she said, voice dripping with amusement, “you’re the cute priest who couldn’t keep his eyes off me.” She tilted her head, noticing the way Oliver’s face froze the second he realized she’d caught him staring.

“Cat got your tongue, priest?” Britt asked, one eyebrow raised.

“Excuse me,” Oliver said quickly, trying to step around her and escape. His cheeks were pink, and he was failing at looking anywhere except the floor.

“Not so fast, priest,” she said, shifting slightly to block his path. “You shouldn’t stare at people you don’t even know. It’s rude. Also illegal in three states, I think. I’m not a lawyer.”

“I’m not a priest!” he blurted out, finally looking up. “My father’s the priest. I’m his son. And I didn’t mean to stare at you. I’m sorry, okay?” He exhaled like he’d been holding his breath since the first hymn.

Britt studied him for a second, then grinned.

“You look so cute when you’re flustered,” she said lightly, leaning in just enough to make him take a step back.

Oliver stumbled backward, bumping into the pew behind him.

“Stop calling me priest,” he muttered. “And stop following me. You’re…” He searched for the word. “You’re distracting.”

Britt laughed. It wasn’t a nice laugh. It was the kind of laugh that meant she’d found a new toy.

“Distracting, huh? Good. Means I’m doing my job.” She crossed her arms. “I’m Britt Harper, by the way. I just moved here. You probably heard about me.”

Oliver’s eyes widened slightly. Of course he had. The whole town had been talking about the Harpers’ daughter for a week. The girl who got kicked out of three schools and crashed a Mercedes into a bakery sign. The bakery was still recovering emotionally.

“You’re _that_ Britt Harper?” he said before he could stop himself.

“And you’re the priest’s son who can’t lie without turning red,” she shot back. “We’re going to get along great.”

Before he could answer, the voice echoed down the hallway—low, cold, and far too close.

“Britt.”

The rest was history. Lights out. Suspense on.

---

Monday Morning: Welcome to Hell, aka School

The next day was Monday, and Britt’s parents had already enrolled her in Da Capo High on the other side of town. They woke her up at 7 a.m. sharp, which in Britt’s world counted as a war crime punishable by silent treatment for 48 hours.

After much persuasion, threats of confiscating her phone, and one very dramatic pillow fight that she technically lost, she finally got dressed.

She grabbed her Stanley Cup off the kitchen island and walked out to meet her waiting father, dressed in a black polka-dotted Louis Vuitton gown, a matching LV bag slung over her shoulder, and Chanel sneakers that had probably cost more than his first car. Practicality was not her brand. Comfort was. And Chanel was comfortable if you had enough money.

She slid into the car and immediately texted her friends:

_“First day of school. I’m not even at school yet but I already hate it here.”_

Sent. Read. Ignored. Typical.

As she walked into the hallway like she owned the place, heads turned. Boys fixed their hair. Girls rolled their eyes and whispered amongst themselves. Some gushed over her bag and shoes.

“I really want to be friends with her,” one girl whispered.

“I really want to _be_ her,” another muttered under her breath.

Britt found the principal’s office, got handed her schedule, and headed to her first class. She walked like she was late for a photoshoot, not algebra.

Halfway down the hall, she accidentally bumped into someone.

“Watch it,” a voice snapped.

She looked up—and froze.

It was him. The cute priest. Or rather, the _not-priest_. Oliver.

He was holding a stack of books, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. His eyes widened when he saw her, and for a split second, he looked like he was considering turning around and walking the other way.

“Great,” Britt said with a smirk. “The universe hates me. It’s the only explanation.”

Oliver exhaled sharply. “You’re in my school now?”

“Surprise,” she said, popping the ‘p’. “Try not to faint, priest.”

“I told you I’m not a priest!” he hissed, glancing around to make sure no one heard.

“And I told you to stop being cute when you’re mad. It’s unfair,” she replied, grinning.

Before he could retort, the bell rang, loud and jarring.

“Class,” Oliver said quickly, stepping past her. “Don’t follow me this time.”

Britt watched him go, tapping her Stanley Cup against her thigh.

“Oh, I’m definitely following you,” she whispered.

But as she turned to head to her own class, she noticed something.

A girl a few lockers down was staring at her. Not the usual curious stare. This one was sharp, calculating. And when their eyes met, the girl smiled. It wasn’t a friendly smile.

Britt’s smirk faded.

She didn’t know this girl. But the girl sure seemed to know her.

And that was never a good sign in Da Capo.

---

First Class, First Problem

She said and reached out to ruffle his hair.

“Hey, stop that! I am not cute, stranger,” Oliver muttered, brushing her hand away and walking off quickly, ears still red.

“Good day to you too, cute priest,” she called after him, voice dripping with mock sweetness.

“He’s cute. Like a rabbit,” she said to herself as her phone dinged with her parents’ text: _Come to the car._

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” she muttered, rolling her eyes and hurrying back toward the parking lot.

The drive home was quiet, except for the sound of Britt’s thumb tapping rapidly on her phone screen. She was already posting a blurry photo of the church’s stained glass with the caption: _“Sunday service: 0/10. Too much eye contact.”_

---

But she kept moving toward him in class, heels clicking against the linoleum floor like a warning bell.

“Ugh, why do you keep doing this?” Oliver said with a sigh, stopping just short of backing into a locker. His arms were full of books, and he looked like he was calculating the fastest escape route.

“I just want to get to know you,” she said, tilting her head and giving him that slow, deliberate smile that made people either blush or call security.

“Get to know me?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “There’s nothing special about me. My name’s Oliver. That’s all.”

“Oliver?” she repeated, drawing the name out like she was tasting it. “Cute name for a cute priest.”

He groaned. “I’m not a priest. I’ve told you that like five times in ten minutes.”

She was about to add something else—something probably illegal in three states—when the classroom door swung open.

“Alright, settle down, everyone,” a tall woman with sharp eyes and a stack of folders said as she walked in. Mrs. Chen. Rumor had it she’d eaten a student’s late homework for breakfast once. “We’ve got a new student today. Britt Harper, why don’t you introduce yourself to the class?”

Britt didn’t flinch. She stepped forward, gave the room a once-over like she was judging a runway, and said,

“Britt Harper. I’m new. I’m rich. And I don’t do group projects unless there’s snacks involved.”

A few students choked on their laughter. Oliver buried his face in his hands.

The teacher blinked, then nodded slowly. “Right. Take a seat, Britt. Anywhere.”

Britt chose the seat right behind Oliver, because of course she did. For the next half hour, she spent more time watching the back of his head than listening to the lecture. He shifted in his seat every time she tapped her pen. It was adorable. And effective.

When the bell finally rang for lunch, the classroom erupted into noise. Britt started packing her books, but by the time she zipped her bag, Oliver had already slipped out of the room like he’d been trained in stealth.

“Run while you still can, priest,” she muttered under her breath. “You can’t avoid me forever.”

She slung her bag over her shoulder and made her way to the cafeteria. Just as she reached the double doors, a voice called out,

“Britt!”

She turned to see a girl with curly brown hair waving her over. She looked friendly. Too friendly.

“I’m Amy,” the girl said, falling into step beside her. “I’m in your English class. You’re kinda famous already.”

Britt smirked. “Good. I like a reputation. It saves me time.”

Amy laughed. “So… you and Oliver? What’s that about?”

Britt paused.

“What do you mean, me and Oliver?”

Amy gave her a look that said _don’t play dumb with me_.

“You’ve been staring at him since you walked in. And he’s been trying not to look at you back. It’s like a bad teen drama.”

Britt laughed, but her eyes flicked toward the cafeteria entrance. Oliver was nowhere in sight.

“I don’t chase people, Amy. I collect them.”

Amy raised an eyebrow but didn’t push it. Instead, she pointed to an empty table.

“Sit with me. I’ll warn you who to avoid before you accidentally insult the principal’s daughter.”

As they sat down, Britt felt eyes on her again. Not Amy’s. Someone else. Someone watching from across the room.

She looked up.

The girl from the hallway was there, sitting with a group of girls who all looked like they’d stepped out of a perfume ad. She didn’t smile this time. She just stared.

And then she mouthed one word:

_Run._

Britt’s fingers tightened around her fork.

---

Lunch and Other Bad Decisions

“Okay, so who’s the ice queen?” Britt asked, nodding toward the girl across the room without being obvious about it. She wasn’t obvious. Ever.

“That’s Chloe Vance,” Amy said quietly, lowering her voice like Chloe had ears on the back of her head. “Chloe’s dad owns half the town. She’s… territorial. Especially about Oliver.”

Britt’s eyebrows shot up. “Oliver? The priest’s son?”

“Ex-priest-in-training,” Amy corrected. “He quit altar serving last year. Said it was ‘too much commitment.’”

“Smart man,” Britt said. “Commitment is scary. Like taxes. And loyalty programs.”

Amy laughed. “Anyway, Chloe’s been interested in him since middle school. And you just walked in here acting like you own him.”

“I don’t own him,” Britt said quickly. “I’m just… collecting him. There’s a difference.”

Before Amy could respond, Chloe stood up from her table. She didn’t walk over. She didn’t need to. Her presence was enough to make the cafeteria noise drop a few decibels.

She stopped a few feet from their table and looked down at Britt.

“So you’re the new girl,” Chloe said. Her voice was smooth, controlled. Dangerous.

Britt leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. “And you’re the one who mouthed ‘run’ at me. Creative. Did you practice that in the mirror?”

Chloe’s lips twitched, but it wasn’t a smile.

“Listen, Britt. I don’t know what game you’re playing, but Da Capo isn’t the city. People here remember things. And they don’t like outsiders causing trouble.”

Britt smiled slowly. “Good thing I love trouble. Trouble and I go way back. We’re like that.”

Chloe’s eyes narrowed. “Stay away from Oliver.”

“Why? Is he allergic to fun?” Britt asked innocently.

Chloe didn’t answer. She just turned and walked away, her entourage following like ducklings.

Amy exhaled. “Well. That went well.”

“Define ‘well,’” Britt said, stabbing her salad aggressively. “Because I feel like I just got challenged to a duel.”

“You did,” Amy said. “Welcome to Da Capo High.”

---

Afternoon: The Confrontation, Round Two

The rest of the day passed in a blur of introductions, awkward small talk, and Britt’s pointed refusal to participate in anything that required teamwork.

Last period was history. And of course, Oliver was in it.

Britt walked into the room and saw him sitting in the back, staring at his notebook like it contained the secrets of the universe. She slid into the seat beside him before he could protest.

“Hi,” she said, casual as if they hadn’t had that awkward church encounter and that awkward hallway encounter and that awkward _every_ encounter.

“Hi,” Oliver said back, surprised. “I’m not your classmate, are you?”

“No,” she said. “I’m just here to see my favorite priest-in-training.”

“Brittany, hold it for a second,” he said. “Can you please leave me alone? Please?”

“No,” she said, settling into the seat beside him. “I’m sitting right next to you.”

Oliver groaned. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because you’re fun to mess with,” she said honestly. “And because you look at me like I’m a problem you can’t solve.”

“I can’t solve you,” he muttered. “You’re not a math equation.”

“Exactly,” Britt said, grinning. “I’m worse.”

Mrs. Chen started the lesson, and for once, Britt actually paid attention. It was about Da Capo’s history. Founded in 1823 by a guy who got lost looking for gold and decided the swamp was good enough. Classic.

When the bell rang, Oliver packed up fast. Too fast.

“Run while you still can, priest,” Britt called after him.

“I’m not running,” he said without turning around.

“Sure you’re not,” she said. “That’s why you’re walking like the floor is lava.”

He didn’t respond. But he didn’t tell her to stop following him either.

Progress.

---

After School: The Warning

Britt was waiting by her car when she saw him again. Oliver was walking toward the parking lot with a few other guys, laughing about something. He stopped when he saw her.

“What do you want now?” he asked, crossing his arms.

“Nothing,” Britt said, leaning against her car. “Just wanted to say thanks for making my first day interesting.”

“You call this interesting?” he asked.

“I call this fun,” she said. “Big difference.”

Before he could reply, a voice called out from behind them.

“Britt.”

Both of them turned.

It was the man from the church. The one in the black coat. He was standing by the school gate, hands in his pockets, face still half in shadow.

Britt’s face went pale.

Oliver noticed immediately. “Do you know him?” he asked quietly.

Britt didn’t answer. She just stared at the man, her fingers tightening around her car keys until her knuckles went white.

The man took one step forward.

“Britt,” he said again. His voice was low, calm. But there was something in it that made the air feel heavy.

“Britt, who is he?” Oliver asked, his voice dropping.

Britt finally looked at him. And for the first time since she’d arrived in Da Capo, she looked scared.

“Get in the car,” she said quietly. “Now.”

Oliver frowned. “What’s going on?”

“Get in the car, Oliver,” she said, and her voice left no room for argument.

He hesitated, then nodded and moved toward the passenger side.

The man in the black coat took another step forward.

Britt unlocked her car with shaking hands.

And just as Oliver opened the door, the man called out one last time.

“You can’t run forever, Brittany.”

Britt froze.

Oliver froze.

The man smiled. It wasn’t a nice smile.

And then he turned and walked away, disappearing into the crowd of students leaving school.

Britt exhaled shakily and got into the driver’s seat. Her hands were trembling too much to start the engine.

Oliver looked at her. “Britt, what was that about?”

“Nothing,” she said quickly, too quickly. “Forget it.”

“Britt—”

“Forget it!” she snapped, then immediately softened her voice. “Please. Just… not now.”

Oliver stared at her for a long moment, then nodded. He didn’t push it. Not yet.

As they drove away, Britt glanced in the rearview mirror.

The man in the black coat was gone.

But she had a feeling he wasn’t done with her.