The Only Girl in the Penthouse

Aria's POV:

The morning light streaming through my bedroom window felt different today—colder, sharper, like it was exposing something I'd tried to hide for eighteen years.

I stood in front of the full-length mirror, my fingers hovering over the bandages wrapped around my chest, and I couldn't tell if what I felt was relief or something darker. The compression binder I'd worn every single day since I was twelve was gone now, surgically removed along with the breasts I'd been forced to flatten and hide.

My chest was flat for real this time, stitched and swollen, and I should have felt free, but all I felt was numb. It had been a week since the surgery, a week of staying home with the curtains drawn while my body healed and my parents told everyone I had the flu.

I pulled on a loose black hoodie and grabbed my car keys from the nightstand, my movements mechanical and practiced. The drive to St. Jude's Prep took twenty minutes along the coastal road, past sprawling oceanfront estates and perfectly manicured lawns that screamed old money. I'd made this drive hundreds of times as Aaron Sinclair, the kid who barely scraped passing grades and spent most classes staring out the window, the one with the androgynous face and the secret that would destroy my family if anyone ever found out. My GPA was a joke compared to the other students here—while they competed for valedictorian and Ivy League early admissions, I was just trying not to fail out completely.

I parked my silver Audi A4 in the student lot, wedged between a brand-new Tesla Model X and a cherry-red Porsche 911. My car wasn't cheap by normal standards—my parents had insisted on something respectable enough that I wouldn't embarrass them in front of the Rochesters—but here at St. Jude's, where half the senior class drove six-figure vehicles their parents bought them for their sixteenth birthdays, it might as well have been a rust bucket.

I was halfway to the main building when I saw them blocking the stone pathway—Isabella and her best friend Camila, standing side by side like they owned the entire campus. Isabella's golden hair caught the morning sun, making her look like she'd stepped out of a Ralph Lauren ad, all ice-blue eyes and effortless elegance. Camila stood next to her with her arms crossed, her dark eyes sharp and amused like she was watching a particularly entertaining reality show. I slowed my pace but didn't stop, my instincts telling me to keep walking and avoid whatever this was, but Isabella's gaze locked onto mine and I knew running wasn't an option.

They didn't move as I approached, forcing me to stop three feet away on the narrow path. Isabella's expression was as cold and distant as always, the same look she'd given me every time our parents dragged us to some charity gala or family dinner where we were supposed to play the perfect engaged couple. She'd never spoken to me directly at school, never acknowledged our arrangement. So why was she here now, standing in my way with Camila smirking beside her like they'd planned this ambush?

"Morning, Aaron," Camila said, her voice dripping with false sweetness. She stepped forward, her designer boots clicking against the stone, and I noticed the pink envelope she was holding in her manicured hand. "We have a proposition for you."

I didn't respond, just waited for her to continue while my mind raced through possible scenarios. Isabella remained silent, her perfect posture radiating disinterest, but I caught the slight tightening around her eyes that told me she was paying attention. Whatever this was, she'd approved it.

Camila's smirk widened as she waved the envelope between us like bait. "There's a chance for you to go on a date with Isabella. One real date, just the two of you. Interested?"

My heart stuttered in my chest, hope flaring before I could stop it. A date with Isabella meant a chance to actually talk to her, to maybe build some kind of connection before we were forced to walk down the aisle in a few months. Our parents had arranged everything without asking either of us, but if I could make her see that I wasn't the enemy, that I was just as trapped as she was, maybe we could find a way to make this bearable. I nodded once, trying to keep my expression neutral even as my pulse quickened.

"Great," Camila said, her smile turning sharp and predatory. She thrust the envelope toward me, and I took it automatically, my fingers brushing against the smooth pink paper. "All you have to do is deliver this to Julian Vance. Don't say a word, just hand it to him. And before you leave, you need to press your hips against his ass and moan. Nice and loud so people can hear."

The words hit me like a slap, and I stared at her, trying to process what she'd just said. The envelope in my hand suddenly felt heavy and wrong, and I looked down at the feminine handwriting on the front that spelled out Julian's name in curling script. This was a love letter from Camila to Julian—everyone knew she'd been chasing the school's top student for months, trying to get his attention with increasingly desperate attempts. But the rest of it, the physical contact and the sound she wanted me to make, that didn't make sense. Why would she want me to humiliate Julian like that? Wouldn't that ruin her chances with him?

I looked up at Camila, confusion and suspicion warring in my gut, but before I could ask any questions, her expression hardened into impatience. "What's wrong, Aaron? Don't you want to marry Isabella? Or are you saying you don't like her enough to do one simple favor?"

The accusation stung because it wasn't true, and she knew it. I shook my head quickly, my throat tight with frustration and something that felt dangerously close to panic. I didn't understand what game Camila was playing, but refusing would mean losing my only chance to connect with Isabella before our wedding. The task was humiliating and bizarre, but I tried to rationalize it in my head—guys bumped into each other all the time, shoulder checks in the hallway, shoving matches during sports, that kind of thing. This was just a hip bump, basically the same thing, nothing that would actually hurt him. I could handle people laughing at me if it meant getting closer to Isabella.