Chapter 1 Ive so got one less problem without you.

It was a Sunday afternoon, the kind that usually meant lazy brunches at the country club and maybe a slow set of tennis with Jeremy before dinner. Instead, my mother had announced that the Whitmores were coming over. "To welcome them to town," she'd said, with that tone that meant I had no choice.

I didn't care. New families moved in all the time. They came, they made a splash, they faded into the background. This town wasn't big enough for anyone to stay interesting for long.

I was in the kitchen, pulling fresh flowers out of the vase on the island, when I heard the front door open. The deep hum of voices—my father's warm greeting, my mother's practiced charm. Then footsteps, polished and confident, heading toward the living room.

I didn't rush. I took my time arranging the white peonies, because I knew exactly what I was doing. Let them settle in. Let them think I was just another member of the household. I'd make my entrance when I was ready.

When I finally walked in, the conversation paused.

They were all there—the Whitmores. Lucas, tall and composed, already shaking hands with Jasper. Tyler, broad-shouldered with an easy smile, laughing at something Kol said. And then there was him.

Shane.

He stood by the fireplace, one hand in the pocket of his jeans, the other holding a glass of water. He wasn't looking at me when I entered, but I felt his attention shift. Like a weight settling on my skin.

He was—infuriatingly—gorgeous. Dark hair, cut clean. Sharp jaw. Eyes that were a shade too observant, taking in the room like he was cataloging exits and weaknesses. Everything about him was calm. Controlled. Like he knew something I didn't.

I hated him instantly.

"Juliette, darling, come meet our new neighbors," my mother said, gesturing me forward.

I smiled. My practiced, warm smile. The one that made people feel welcome even when I wanted to be anywhere else.

"It's so nice to meet you all," I said, extending a hand to Lucas first. "I hope you're settling in well."

Lucas took my hand firmly, his grip warm but respectful. "Thank you, Juliette. Your parents have been incredibly welcoming."

"We take hospitality seriously around here," I said, and meant it.

I made my way through the introductions. Tyler was easy, charming, exactly the kind of guy you'd want on your team. Jeremy was already talking to him like they'd known each other for years. Typical Jeremy—making friends before I'd even had a chance to decide if I liked them.

And then I reached Shane.

He turned to face me fully, a slow movement that felt deliberate. Calculated. His eyes met mine and held, and I felt a flicker of something I refused to name.

"Shane," I said, my voice even.

"Juliette." He said my name like he was testing it. Like he was tasting each syllable. It made my skin prickle.

I waited for him to say something else. A compliment, maybe. An observation. Most people did. But he just stood there, a faint curve to his lips, like he was amused by something I hadn't said.

"Shane, I've heard so much about you," I lied.

"I'm sure you have." His voice was low, unhurried. "You're the one everyone talks about. Juliette White. The girl who has everything."

My smile didn't waver. "I don't know about everything. But I do try."

"Try to have everything?" He tilted his head slightly. "Or try to look like you don't want it?"

Something cold and sharp settled in my chest. He was baiting me. And he knew I knew.

"Neither," I said, my voice still sweet. "I just don't believe in settling for less than I deserve."

His eyes flickered. A spark of something. "Good. Neither do I."

We stood there for a beat too long. The conversation around us had resumed, but I was acutely aware of the space between us—close enough to be proper, far enough to be intentional. He didn't step back. Neither did I.

"So," I said, breaking the silence first because I refused to let him win, "what do you think of our little town so far?"

"It's charming," he said, and the word sounded almost like an insult. "Very... predictable."

"Predictable can be comforting."

"Or boring."

"I guess you'll have to decide which."

His smile widened, just a fraction. "I plan to."

I turned away before he could say anything else, my heart beating a rhythm I didn't want to examine. I moved to the kitchen, pretending to check on the refreshments, but my mind was spinning.

He was going to be a problem.

A big one.

For the rest of the afternoon, I watched him. From across the room, from the corner of my eye. He did the same. I'd catch him looking, and he wouldn't look away. He'd just hold my gaze until I did, like it was a game he was already winning.

It drove me insane.

By the time the Whitmores left, I was exhausted. Not from the socializing—I could do that in my sleep. But from the constant, simmering tension that had coiled in my stomach every time Shane was in my line of sight.

Jeremy found me in the garden, sitting on the stone bench, staring at nothing.

"So?" he said, dropping down beside me. "What do you think?"

"I think," I said carefully, "that the Whitmores are very... polished."

Jeremy laughed. "That's code for 'I'm going to hate Shane and I don't know why yet.'"

"I don't hate him."

"You hate him."

I pressed my lips together. "I just don't like him."

"Same thing." Jeremy stretched his arms above his head. "He's not that bad, Jules. He's just different."

"Different how?"

"Quiet. Observant. He doesn't talk unless he has something worth saying."

"That's not different. That's annoying."

Jeremy shrugged. "I think you're just not used to someone not falling at your feet the second you walk into a room."

I looked at him, my twin, the one person who could get away with saying things like that. "I don't expect people to fall at my feet."

"No. You expect them to admire you. And when they don't, you get... prickly."

"I am not prickly."

"You're a cactus, Jules."

I shoved his shoulder, but I was smiling. "I'm not."

"You are. But it's okay. That's why I love you."

We sat in comfortable silence for a moment, the sun dipping lower, casting long shadows across the lawn.

"He's going to be around a lot, isn't he?" I asked, not really wanting the answer.

"Probably. His mom and our mom hit it off. And Shawn's already planning a party for next weekend. You know how that goes."

Of course I knew. Shawn Samuels threw parties that were legendary—and loud enough to wake the neighbors. Everyone would be there. Including Shane Whitmore.

"I'm not going," I said.

"Yes you are."

"I'm not."

"Juliette, you're the captain of the cheerleading team. And the debate team. And basically everything else. You can't miss the first big party of the semester. People will talk."

I didn't care about what people said. But I cared about appearing weak. About letting someone think they could rattle me.

"Fine," I said, my voice clipped. "I'll go. But I'm not talking to him."

"You don't have to. He might not even talk to you."

But even as Jeremy said it, I knew it wasn't true. Shane Whitmore wasn't the kind of person who just let things happen. He made them happen. And I had a sinking feeling that I was on his list.

The next few days passed in a blur of classes, practice, and carefully avoiding any mention of the Whitmores. But the house felt different. My mother talked about their mother like they were old friends. My father mentioned playing golf with Lucas. And Jeremy kept mentioning Shane in passing—how he'd helped with a problem in chemistry, how he'd caught a pass at rugby practice.

I ignored it all. Or tried to.

Then came Friday. The party.

Shawn's house was a sprawling colonial on the edge of town, with a massive backyard that had seen more than its share of late-night gatherings. When I arrived with Jeremy and Kol, the music was already thumping, and the air smelled like smoke and cheap cologne.

I put on my best smile, the one that said I was having fun even when I was plotting my exit.

"Drink?" Kol asked, already heading toward the cooler.

"Something strong."

He grinned. "That's my girl."

I took the drink he handed me—something pink and sweet—and let myself be pulled into conversations. People greeted me with the usual warmth. Admiration. Respect. It was comfortable. Familiar.

But I felt him before I saw him.

A shift in the crowd. A pause in the noise. I turned, and there he was, leaning against the railing of the back porch, a red cup in his hand, watching the party like it was a specimen under a microscope.

When his eyes found mine, he didn't smile. He just raised his cup slightly, a silent acknowledgment.

I looked away first. Again.

This was going to be a long night.

I made my rounds, laughed at jokes I didn't find funny, posed for pictures I'd probably delete later. I let myself get swept up in the current of the party, because if I stopped moving, I'd have to think about why my stomach flipped every time I sensed him nearby.

An hour passed. Maybe two. The party swelled and ebbed, and I found myself near the edge of the yard, away from the speakers, nursing a drink I'd barely touched.

"You're not much for crowds, are you?"

His voice came from behind me, low and amused. I didn't turn.

"I love crowds," I said, my voice flat. "I just needed a break from the noise."

"Liar."

Now I turned. He was closer than I'd expected, only a few feet away, hands in his pockets. The porch light caught his face in sharp angles.

"Excuse me?"

"You're not a liar. You're too proud for that. But you're not being honest with yourself either."

"And what would you know about me, Shane?"

He took a step forward, then another, until he was standing right in front of me. Close enough that I could smell his cologne—something clean and woodsy. Close enough that I had to look up to meet his eyes.

"I know that you're the most beautiful woman in this room. I know that everyone here is probably in love with you. And I know that you're bored out of your mind because you've had everything handed to you since the day you were born."

My breath caught. Not because he was wrong, but because he was right.

"You don't know anything," I said, my voice barely steady.

"I know more than you think." He leaned in, just slightly. "I know that you like games, Juliette. And I know that you've never met anyone who can play them as well as you."

"Is that a challenge?"

"It's an observation." He straightened, and the space between us felt colder. "The question is: are you brave enough to find out if you're wrong?"

I opened my mouth to reply, but he was already walking away, disappearing into the crowd like he'd never been there.

I stood in the dark, my heart hammering, my hands trembling.

He was right. I loved games. And he had just set the board.

The only question was: did I have the nerve to play?