Chapter 4 Trapped Between The Montclair Brothers
Aria’s Pov.
The maid led me down a long, quiet corridor, her heels clicking softly against the polished marble floor.
Every sound echoed.
The house felt too big. Too quiet. Like the walls themselves were listening.
“This will be your room, miss,” the maid said, stopping in front of a pair of tall white doors.
She pushed them open.
I stepped inside and immediately froze.
The room was enormous.
Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked rolling green hills that stretched far into the distance. Crisp white sheets covered a king-sized bed, perfectly arranged like something from a luxury hotel.
A small sitting area faced the windows, and a dark wooden desk stood near the wall.
Then there was the wardrobe.
I walked toward it slowly and pushed the door open.
It was bigger than my entire bedroom back in Brooklyn.
Beautiful.
Perfect.
And completely unfamiliar.
“Dinner will be announced shortly,” the maid said quietly before slipping out of the room.
The door closed behind her, and the silence settled over me again.
I stood there for a long moment, still holding my suitcase.
None of this felt real.
None of it felt like mine.
I dropped the suitcase beside the bed and walked deeper into the wardrobe, staring at the empty shelves waiting to be filled.
Back home, my room had been messy and cramped. Clothes thrown over chairs. Books stacked everywhere. The faint smell of old paper and cheap perfume hanging in the air.
It felt lived in.
This place felt like a showroom.
Eventually exhaustion caught up with me.
I kicked off my shoes and collapsed onto the bed.
The mattress swallowed me instantly.
And before my brain could fully catch up with the fact that I was now living in a mansion in Paris, sleep dragged me under.
My phone buzzing against the mattress pulled me awake.
I groaned, squinting at the screen.
Ryan.
My stomach twisted slightly as I answered.
“Hey,” I said quietly.
“Yo,” he replied.
He sounded distracted.
Like he was doing something else while talking to me.
“You made it okay?” he asked.
“Yeah… I just got here,” I said. “The flight was fine.”
“Cool, cool.”
There was a pause.
A long one.
Like he was barely paying attention.
“So… everything good?” he asked finally.
I opened my mouth to answer.
To tell him the truth.
That everything felt weird and overwhelming and that I didn’t know anyone here.
But before I could say any of that, he spoke again.
“Look, I’ve gotta head to practice soon,” he said casually. “I’ll text you later, alright? Don’t stay up too late.”
I blinked.
“Oh… okay.”
“Alright, talk soon.”
The call ended.
Just like that.
I stared down at my phone for a few seconds longer than necessary.
Ryan hadn’t asked about Paris.
Or the house.
Or how I was feeling.
It was just… casual.
Like nothing important had happened.
I sighed and dropped the phone onto the bed.
Then I remembered Mia.
I’d texted her when I landed. Just a quick message.
Made it. Safe.
I opened our chat.
Her responses were short.
Almost distant.
One-word replies.
Short messages that ended the conversation instead of continuing it.
I frowned.
People move on faster than you expect.
Even your best friend.
Even your boyfriend.
And here I was… alone in Paris, feeling smaller than I ever had before.
A knock sounded at the door.
“Miss Aria,” a voice called politely. “Dinner is ready.”
The dining room looked staged, like a photograph in a luxury magazine .
A long table stretched across the room, every plate perfectly aligned, silverware gleaming at the chandelier's soft light.
Valentin Montclair sat at the head of the table, calm and composed as always.
Cecilia sat beside him, her posture straight and elegant.
Adrien looked up when I walked in and offered me a small, reassuring smile.
I forced one back and took my seat.
Lucien arrived last.
Of course he did.
He walked in like the entire dinner had been waiting for him.
One hand rested casually in his pocket as he pulled out his chair. His sleeve was pushed slightly up his arm, revealing dark tattoos that disappeared beneath his shirt cuff.
He looked bored.
Dangerous.
Like he’d already decided he didn’t want to be here.
Why does someone this irritating have to look this good? I thought.
As if he felt my stare, Lucien suddenly turned his head.
Our eyes met.
I quickly looked down at my plate.
Great.
Halfway through dinner, Valentin set down his fork.
“Aria,” he said calmly.
I looked up.
“You’ll be enrolling at Saint Clair Academy. It’s already been arranged.”
Of course it had.
My fork paused in the air.
“Oh,” I said, forcing a polite smile. “Okay.”
Not like anyone asked me.
“You’ll be in your final year,” my mom added gently.
Adrien glanced at me.
“We’ll be in the same class,” he said with an easy smile. “I can help you find your way around.”
Before I could respond, Lucien let out a quiet laugh.
Valentin’s eyes shifted towards him.
“Something amusing?”
Lucien leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms.
“Just interesting,” he said lazily, “how everything in this family is always arranged.”
My mom’s voice tightened.
“Lucien, please.”
“No,” he said flatly. “I’m tired of pretending this is normal.”
Valentin remained perfectly calm.
“Your grades are slipping.”
Lucien’s jaw tightened instantly.
“Stop monitoring my life.”
“You’re wasting opportunities,” Valentin replied evenly. “Opportunities others would kill for.”
Lucien scoffed.
“Right. Because I’m not Adrien.”
The table went completely silent.
Lucien pushed his chair back abruptly and stood.
His eyes flicked toward me.
Sharp.
Assessing.
Like he was trying to figure something out.
Then his expression hardened again.
“Enjoy the school,” he said flatly.
And with that, he walked out of the room.
No one followed him.
Valentin cleared his throat and continued eating like nothing had happened.
Cecilia stared down at her plate.
Adrien shifted awkwardly in his seat, glancing between Valentin and Cecilia like he was deciding whether stepping in would make things worse.
But my mind stayed stuck on the sound of Lucien’s footsteps fading down the hallway.
I told myself I didn’t care that he walked out.
The lie sat heavy in my chest.
