By the time Maya’s car pulled up to the mansion gates, I was five seconds from face-planting into her dashboard.
Midterms had drained every last drop of serotonin from my soul. I was running on pure lip gloss, revenge, and one half-sipped iced coffee I’d abandoned in the quad after realizing it tasted like regret.
The gates rolled open like I was entering the final boss level of a video game. Maya, ever the optimist, whistled low as the car cruised down the long driveway.
“Still looks like a billionaire villain’s lair,” she said, eyes scanning the fountains, stone archways, and the looming façade of Dario’s mansion like it was going to sprout lasers.
“That’s because it is,” I muttered, grabbing my tote bag and pushing open the car door.
Maya snorted. “Okay, Ayla.”
I didn’t even bothe
