FALLING FOR MR.WRONG (AGAIN)

CHAPTER 01 Six Years Ago The gates of Crestmont Academy were tall, ornate, and intimidating. Wrought iron twisted into perfect curves like they were built to impress—or keep people like her out. Ava Sinclair took a deep breath and clutched the fraying strap of her secondhand backpack a little tighter. Everything about this place screamed not for you. She wasn’t like the others here. She didn’t arrive in a black car with tinted windows. She didn’t wear shoes that cost more than a month’s rent. She had no legacy to uphold, no family name embroidered into history. She had her voice. And a scholarship that felt like a miracle. Just two months ago, she was standing in the tiny choir loft of her church, singing a solo during Sunday service. Her voice had filled the sanctuary, rich and trembling, like it always did when she closed her eyes and let the world fall away. When she finished, there had been a strange silence. Then her pastor had stood, eyes glassy, and said, “You’ve got a gift, child. A real one. I think God’s trying to take you somewhere.” She hadn’t thought much of it—people said things like that. But a week later, he introduced her to a woman who’d donated a scholarship fund to Crestmont Academy. “They have one spot left,” the woman said. “But they don’t usually give it to kids outside the system.” The pastor smiled. “They will this time.” And they did. Now she was here. Uniform crisp, shoes polished, heart hammering. Crestmont was different from any place she’d ever known. The buildings were old and beautiful, with ivy crawling up the stone walls and flowerbeds that bloomed like they’d been painted there. The students walked like they owned the world, laughing in groups, scrolling on phones, tossing perfect hair over perfect shoulders. She kept her head down, walking quickly toward the main office. Eyes flicked her way—curious, dismissive, amused. A few students whispered behind their hands. “Did you see her shoes?” “New girl. Total charity case.” “Looks like she walked here from another decade.” Ava pressed her lips together. She was used to whispers. Used to being the outsider. What she wasn’t used to was pretending she didn’t care. She reached the front desk, introduced herself, and received a worn map of the campus and a tight smile from the secretary. “You’re in Class B, Room 208. Choir rehearsals are Monday, Wednesday, and Friday after school. Mr. Hastings will be your music instructor. Welcome to Crestmont.” She nodded and turned to leave when she heard it—soft and distant, but unmistakable. Music. It wasn’t the formal kind of music you’d expect at a school like this. It wasn’t Mozart or Bach echoing through the halls. It was something raw. Improvised. A piano melody so full of emotion it stopped her in her tracks. She followed it. Her feet moved without permission, drawn toward the sound like a moth to a flickering flame. Down the hall, past portraits of stern-looking men and Latin inscriptions, she couldn’t read. The music got louder, fuller. The notes stumbled, surged, and whispered. She found the room. The door was cracked open just enough. She peeked in. A boy sat at the grand piano in the center of the music room, fingers gliding over the keys like the instrument was an extension of his soul. His uniform jacket was draped over a chair. His white shirt was untucked. His dark hair fell into his eyes, and his expression— It was the most heartbreakingly beautiful thing she’d ever seen. He looked lost and found all at once. She stepped closer. The floor creaked. He stopped playing. His head snapped up. Their eyes locked. For a moment, neither of them said anything. Then: “You know it’s rude to spy on people, right?” His voice was low, amused, and cocky. Ava flushed. “I wasn’t spying. I just heard the music.” He leaned back on the bench, arms spread over the backrest like a king on a throne. “And decided to sneak in?” “I didn’t sneak.” “You creaked.” She opened her mouth to reply, but he stood and walked over to her. Up close, he was taller than she expected. Older-looking, even though he couldn’t be more than a year or two ahead. His presence was magnetic in the most annoying way. “You’re new,” he said. “I would’ve remembered you.” She nodded, unsure if that was a compliment or an accusation. “Scholarship?” Her jaw tightened. “Yeah.” “Choir?” he added, gesturing to the music badge on her blazer. She hesitated. “Yes.” He studied her for a long moment like he was trying to read something she hadn’t written yet. Then, without another word, he turned and sat back down at the piano. He started playing again. It was something slower this time. A challenge wrapped in a melody. He didn’t look at her, but the question was there, clear as the notes he was hitting. Can you keep up? She took a step into the room. Then another. And she started to sing. Softly at first—just a hum. A thread of sound that wove itself around his playing like they’d rehearsed this a hundred times. He looked up, eyes widening just slightly, but he didn’t stop. He shifted into a different key, and she followed. Then the words came. Lyrics she didn’t know she remembered. A song half-written, made up on the spot. His fingers matched her voice, rising and falling in perfect time. For a moment, it wasn’t a piano and a girl. It was something alive. Something breathtaking. When they stopped, the silence felt sacred. He looked at her like she was a puzzle he hadn’t expected to solve. “What’s your name?” he asked, quieter now. “Ava. Ava Sinclair.” He nodded slowly. “Logan.” “Nice to meet you, Logan.” He gave her a crooked smile. “You’ve got a voice like thunder in a bottle.” She blinked. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?” “Definitely. You just blew out the windows of my mind.” She laughed despite herself. There was something about him—yes, he was arrogant, definitely trouble—but there was also something else. Something broken and beautiful and maybe a little familiar. He stood, suddenly serious. “You should come back here tomorrow.” “Why?” “I want to hear you sing again.” She tilted her head. “Just like that?” “Just like that,” he said. “You sing. I play. Maybe we make something worth remembering.” Ava bit the inside of her cheek. Everything about him said run. Everything about her heart said stay. She nodded. “Okay.” Logan grinned. “Welcome to Crestmont, Ava.” As she left the room, she didn’t hear him say the next part under his breath. “This year’s about to get complicated.”