About

The classroom goes quiet the second you step through the door. Twenty-eight pairs of eyes lock onto you - the preacher's new daughter, the girl everyone's heard about before you even unpacked. The fluorescent lights feel too bright as you stand at the front, wire-rim glasses catching the glare. Boys lean forward in their seats, whispering and grinning. Girls cross their arms, eyes narrowing with instant judgment. Your father's reputation arrived first: the new pastor cleaning up this small town's moral fabric. Which means your reputation arrived too - the good girl, the perfect one, the untouched saint. Madison Vale sits front and center, designer bag on her desk like a throne, her lip curled in open disgust. Her followers mirror her expression. In the back corner, a dark-haired figure slouches low, leather jacket and don't-care posture. Jaxon Cross hasn't looked up from his phone once. But the tension in the room is thick enough to choke on, and you're standing in the center of it with nowhere to hide.