Chapter 2 Trapped Between The Montclair Brothers

Aria’s Pov.

I woke up with a dull ache in my head and a knot twisted tight in my stomach.

For a moment I didn’t know why.

Then I saw the luggage.

Suitcases sat neatly beside my bedroom door, lined up like obedient soldiers. My clothes were folded inside, shoes arranged carefully at the bottom.

My chest tightened.

Dad packed them.

He must’ve done it while I was asleep.

He hadn’t even given me the chance to argue again. The decision had already been made. My life had been folded up and zipped shut without me.

And now I was leaving everything behind.

My friends. My school. Ryan.

I stared at the suitcases for a long time before forcing myself to move.

The house was quiet when I stepped into the hallway.

Dad sat in his usual chair with the morning paper open in his hands.

But he wasn’t really reading it.

I could tell from the way the same page stayed open while his eyes just stared at it.

His shoulders looked… heavier somehow.

I didn’t say anything.

Neither did he.

The silence between us felt thick and suffocating, like the argument from last night was still hanging in the air.

So I turned and went back to my room.

If he was sending me away, the least he could do was deal with my silence.

My hands shook slightly as I packed the few things he hadn’t touched.

My notebooks.

A worn scarf Mia gave me last winter.

And a photo of us at the beach last summer, our hair wild from the wind, both of us laughing so hard we could barely stand.

I stared at the picture for a second before slipping it carefully into my bag.

Each item felt like another piece of Brooklyn I was trying to smuggle with me.

When I finished, I zipped the bag shut and dropped onto the edge of my bed, running a hand through my tangled hair.

My phone suddenly buzzed on the nightstand.

I grabbed it quickly.

Mia.

I answered immediately.

“Hello?”

My voice came out rough and hoarse.

“Aria? Girl, are you okay?” Mia’s voice burst through the phone. “You sound like someone shoved gravel down your throat. Did you get caught yesterday?”

I rubbed my eyes.

“Yeah.”

“My dad packed my luggage,” I said quietly. “He’s sending me to Paris.”

There was a loud inhale on the other end.

“Wait… what?! Paris? He can’t just do that!”

“I know,” I muttered, gripping the strap of my bag. “He says I’m moving in with my mom and her husband.”

Saying it out loud made it feel terrifyingly real.

“Everything I know is here,” I continued softly. “You… Ryan… my whole life.”

Mia was quiet for a moment.

Then her voice softened.

“Oh, Aria… I’m going to miss you so much.”

My throat tightened.

“I feel like I’m being dropped into a completely different world.”

“Well…” Mia said slowly. “Your mom’s husband is Valentin Montclair , right?”

I scoffed.

“Yeah. Lucky me. I get to live with a bunch of rich, snobby French people.”

“You don’t know they’re snobby,” Mia said. “And your mom… maybe she deserves a second chance?”

I clenched my jaw.

“Yeah. Sure.”

“And his sons…” Mia suddenly gasped. “Wait, you’re living with them too?!”

I sighed.

“Unfortunately.”

“Girl,” Mia said, her voice rising with excitement. “I finally looked them up online.”

I blinked.

“You did what?”

“They’re gorgeous!” she squealed. “Like rich-European-movie-star gorgeous. Especially the taller one. If I were you I’d already be packing glitter dresses.”

I couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at my lips.

“Mia… they’re my stepbrothers.”

“Technically.”

“That’s still family,” I said.

“Still hot,” she replied immediately.

I groaned, rubbing my face.

“Mia.”

She laughed.

“Okay, okay. I’m serious now. This is a lot. You’re leaving Brooklyn… leaving Ryan…”

The mention of his name made something twist in my chest.

“I know,” I whispered.

“I just can’t believe your dad made the decision without asking you.”

“Yeah,” I said quietly. “It feels like I didn’t get a choice.”

“You didn’t,” Mia said bluntly. “He’s your dad and he’s already decided.”

She sighed.

“I wish I was there. I’d punch him for you.”

A small laugh slipped out of me despite everything.

“Thanks.”

“You’ll survive,” she said gently. “You’re Aria Hart. And who knows… maybe Paris won’t be terrible.”

“Right,” I muttered. “New city. New misery.”

“New experiences,” Mia corrected.

I groaned.

“If those experiences include rich French boys telling me what to do, I’m not interested.”

Mia giggled.

“Just promise you’ll text me the second you land. I want every detail.”

“I promise.”

We hung up, and the room fell quiet.

I stared at my packed luggage.

This was really happening.

In a few hours, Brooklyn would be behind me.

And Paris would be waiting.

A soft knock came from the door.

My stomach twisted instantly.

I stayed silent.

Maybe if I ignored it long enough, this whole thing would just disappear.

Another knock came, louder.

“Aria,” my dad said from the other side of the door. “I’m not asking. The car is waiting.”

I closed my eyes and exhaled slowly.

This was it.

I opened the door.

Dad stood in the hallway, adjusting his watch nervously. He avoided my eyes for a second before finally looking at me.

“Aria…”

I grabbed my bag .

“I know,” I muttered. “Let’s just go.”

The drive to the airstrip was quiet.

The city was barely awake. Early morning light washed over the streets, turning everything soft and gray. A cool breeze drifted through the cracked window.

Brooklyn looked the same as it always did.

But it didn’t feel like mine anymore.

Two stepbrothers.

Rich. French. Probably used to a completely different world.

I pictured polished accents, expensive clothes, and effortless confidence.

And then there was me…

Sneaking out of windows and running from police raids.

I slipped one AirPod into my ear, pretending to listen to music just in case Dad decided to talk.

He didn’t.

The only sound in the car was the hum of the tires against the road.

Finally, he cleared his throat.

“Please… just try to make the best of it," he said.

"Your mum...she really wants you there."

I didn’t answer.

I just stared out the window as the streets blurred past.

We pulled into a small gated airstrip.

And that’s when I saw it.

A sleek private jet gleamed under the morning sun, polished metal reflecting the sky like a mirror.

Of course.

Valentin Montclair’s jet.

Men in crisp uniforms stepped forward the moment we parked, moving efficiently toward my luggage.

The smell of jet fuel hung faintly in the air.

Dad got out of the car and stood beside it for a moment before looking at me.

He tried to smile.

But it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Call me when you land,” he said quietly. “I’ll be waiting for your message.”

My throat tightened.

I nodded because speaking felt impossible.

I grabbed my suitcase and walked toward the jet.

But halfway up the stairs, I looked back.

Dad was still standing beside the car, hands shoved in his pockets. The sunlight made the tired lines on his face more visible.

He lifted a small wave.

I looked out the small oval window, watching him grow smaller.

The engines roared to life.

The ground trembled beneath us as the jet began to move.

Brooklyn shrank below me

Street by street.

Building by building.

My old life was disappearing beneath the clouds.

And ahead of me waited a completely new world.

I had no idea what was waiting for me in Paris.

And for the first time...

I wondered if leaving Brooklyn wasn't just a new beginning.

But the start of something I couldn't escape.