One

I felt like I was drowning. My arms were thrashing about, but no matter how hard I kicked, the water kept dragging me under. My lungs burned as I struggled to push up to the surface, desperate to escape the laughter echoing above. It was sharp and mocking—much worse than the weight of the water pressing down on my chest.

Panic hit me hard. I reached out, grasping at nothing, as the light above slipped further away. The deeper I sank, the colder it got, shadows creeping around me, drowning out even the sound of my frantic heartbeat.

And then I heard him.

"What’s wrong, loser? Can’t swim?"

Rowan’s voice cut through the quiet, low and cruel, just like it had since freshman year. His laughter filled my head, pulling me under more quickly than the water ever could.

I screamed, but all that came out were bubbles, disappearing into the dark above. My chest lurched one last time before everything went black.

Suddenly, I jolted awake, gasping for air. Sweat streamed down my forehead, soaking my pillow. My hands shook as I pressed them against my chest, trying to calm my racing heart. For a moment, the nightmare gripped me so tightly that I half-expected to feel water filling my lungs.

But I was safe, in my own nearly empty room, with the soft morning light filtering through the blinds. My hair clung to my skin, damp with sweat, and I buried my face in the blanket.

That pool incident. No matter how much I wanted to forget it, my mind dragged me back to that day over and over. And Rowan’s voice was always there.

I blinked, wiping my face, almost expecting to find chlorine instead of sweat. My room looked the same as ever: posters peeling at the edges, clothes thrown over the chair in a chaotic pile, and the sound of my ancient ceiling fan.

So, definitely not the bottom of a pool. Good to know.

"Another dream?"

I jumped at the voice and turned to see my mom standing in the doorway, her robe loosely tied around her waist and a coffee cup in hand, like it was an extension of her arm. She leaned against the doorframe, looking at me with a patience only moms who’ve endured eighteen years of teenage drama can muster.

"Yeah," I said, rubbing the back of my neck. "I don’t get why I keep dreaming about that pool incident. You’d think my brain would stop replaying it so vividly by now."

She stepped inside and sat on the edge of my bed, the mattress dipping slightly. The smell of her strong coffee filled the room. "Sweetheart, it was terrible, I know. But once we move into Roderick’s house today, maybe everything will start to feel different. A new place, a fresh start."

I forced a smile and nodded, even though my stomach twisted like a pretzel. "Yeah. A fresh start...exactly what I need."

Inside, though, my thoughts were far less optimistic. Roderick’s house wasn’t just any old place. It was a mansion. With marble floors that probably cost more than everything I owned combined, and a driveway big enough for a small concert. Plus, it was home to Rowan Harrigan, the living embodiment of a migraine—and my new stepbrother, whether I liked it or not.

So sure, a fresh start...with my worst nightmare as family. No big deal.

Mom stood up, kissed the top of my head, and gave me that look that said she was trying to be hopeful for both of us. "Get ready and go grab some breakfast. We’ll need all the energy we can get to finish packing before the movers come."

"Sure," I mumbled, even though the thought of pancakes did nothing for the knot in my stomach.

When she left, I dragged myself into the bathroom and flicked on the light. My reflection was a mess frizzed hair plastered to my forehead and tired eyes that looked like they had binge-watched crime documentaries all night...which I probably did but whatever. So, basically, a solid eight out of ten on the disaster scale.

I shoved my toothbrush into my mouth and started scrubbing, because what else could I do? And while I stood there, foam building up like a toothpaste volcano, my mind did that thing it always does when I’m stressed: narrating my life like it’s some terrible diary entry.

My name is Atlas Loren. I’m eighteen years old, a senior, and living proof that you can get through high school if you keep your expectations low. I’m not popular, not athletic, and the last time I was invited to a party, I ended up face-down in a swimming pool thanks to Rowan Harrigan and his group of privileged asshole friends. Spoiler alert: I didn’t drown, but my dignity has been MIA ever since.

Now, thanks to fate and my mom’s poor choices in men, I’m moving into a mansion. Sounds glamorous, right? Wrong. Because that mansion is owned by Roderick Harrigan, who—surprise—happens to be Rowan’s dad. Which means Rowan, the bane of my existence, is now my stepbrother.

I spat into the sink and rinsed my mouth, staring at my reflection, hoping maybe I’d wake up and this would all be a bad dream. No such luck. My toothbrush was pink, my pajamas were covered in cartoon cats, and today, I was packing up my life to move into enemy territory.

Lucky me.

After brushing my teeth and splashing cold water on my face until I felt somewhat alive, I shuffled back into my room. Draped across the chair was the outfit my mom laid out last night. She said I needed to "make a good impression" on my new family, like I was trying out for a reality show.

The clothes were simple but definitely not my usual style. A pale blue button up shirt with tiny gold buttons that looked like they belonged to someone who actually read fashion magazines. Dark pants stiff enough to cut off circulation. And a pair of crisp white sneakers that were so spotless I was afraid to even breathe near them.

I struggled into the outfit and stood in front of the mirror. At five-foot-five, I barely took up any space, but somehow my reflection still managed to make me feel like an extra in my own life. My hair, wild and curly and defiant, wouldn’t cooperate, no matter how much I attacked it with a brush. My brown eyes stared back, tired and heavy-lidded, ringed with under-eye bags that even a ton of concealer couldn’t hide, and my fair skin with freckles dotting my nose area.

"Perfect," I muttered, tugging at the shirt. "So ready for my new family."

"Atlas?" Mom’s voice echoed down the hall before she appeared in the doorway, dressed in a soft cream dress and heels, her lipstick applied with surgical precision. She looked excited, almost glowing in a way I hadn’t seen in years, which made me feel a little guilty.

"The movers already sent the last boxes to Oakfield," she said, her smile bright. "We should head out too."

I forced a grin and grabbed my phone and bag. "Right. Oakfield. Home of the wealthy and glamorous."

"Don’t be sarcastic," she gently reprimanded, though she was still smiling.

Oakfield was the kind of neighborhood where lawns were manicured to perfection and even the mailboxes probably cost more than my entire room. It was where the wealthy families of Willow Haven lived in houses that looked like they belonged in glossy magazines. And now, thanks to my mom somehow marrying Roderick Harrigan a multi millionaire, I was about to call that place home.

Not as a guest. Not as a gardener or whatever. As family.

As I caught my reflection one last time, I had to suppress a laugh. Family. Sure.

Isn’t this the plot to Sofia The First or am I just crazy?

Mom’s old car sputtered to life, sounding like it hated the idea of making the trip as much as I did. I slid into the passenger seat, hugging my bag to my lap while Mom adjusted her mirrors and hummed softly.

As we drove away, I looked out the window. The streets I’d walked my whole life rolled by, familiar but worn. Old houses with crooked fences, corner stores with paint peeling off, kids racing their bikes down sidewalks cracked over years of heat. It wasn’t perfect, but it was home. Watching it fade in the rearview mirror left a tight knot in my chest.

"Sweetheart," Mom said softly, glancing at me. "I know your history with Roderick’s son isn’t...great. But everything will be fine. Just focus on yourself, keep your head high, and try to start fresh this year. Soon, you’ll graduate, head off to college, and all this will be behind you."

I managed a small smile, even though she was mistaken. I wasn’t sad about leaving Rowan behind. I was sad about leaving my neighborhood, the one place that still felt like mine. But explaining that would just worry her, and she deserved her happiness.

So I nodded. "You’re right, Mom. It’ll be fine."

We drove for nearly an hour, the scenery changing bit by bit. Small houses gave way to larger homes with trimmed lawns, then to gated communities where every mailbox looked like a piece of art. By the time we rolled into Oakfield, I had to press my face against the window.

It was surreal. The streets were wide and clean, dotted with tall oaks that probably had their own gardeners. Mansions towered on either side, each uniquely extravagant. White columns, balconies, sprawling driveways—it felt like we had driven straight into a luxury magazine.

Mom sat up a little straighter with pride as we approached Roderick’s place. And wow. His mansion didn’t just stand out; it loomed high above us. Three stories of pale stone with tall windows sparkling in the sunlight. A fountain stood in the middle of the driveway, spraying arcs of water into the air as if it were auditioning for a movie role. Even the lawn looked suspiciously perfect, every blade of grass in line.

The gate swung open as we approached, like the house was expecting us. My stomach dropped.

Mom drove up the path and parked. On the front steps stood Roderick Harrigan, tall and sleek in a suit despite the heat, and right next to him... Rowan.

I didn’t need to hear him to feel the hostility radiating from him. His emerald green eyes locked onto mine through the windshield, burning with the same scowl I had come to despise over the years.

My chest tightened, and all the earlier dread came flooding back. My new stepbrother. My worst enemy. Waiting at the door of what was meant to be my new home.

I hate to admit it but, I was beyond terrified.

Pray for me.