The car was impossible to miss.
Sleek. Black. Polished to a mirror-like finish that reflected the towering gates of Crestwood High as it rolled to a smooth, deliberate stop. The engine purred softly, controlled power restrained beneath expensive metal.
Cassandra Carter watched the school through the tinted window, her fingers laced tightly in her lap. Students milled about the front entrance, laughter echoing, bags slung carelessly over shoulders. It all looked normal. Ordinary.
That was the point.
The driver stepped out first, opening the door with practiced efficiency. Cassandra inhaled once before following her brothers out of the car. The morning air was crisp, carrying the scent of trimmed grass and fresh paint. Crestwood High stood tall and pristine—brick walls, wide windows, banners welcoming new and returning students.
Michael adjusted the strap of his duffel bag, already scanning the crowd like he was stepping onto a football field instead of a campus. Anthony, taller and quieter, shut the car door behind them and glanced back once before the vehicle pulled away.
Just like that, their safety net disappeared down the long driveway.
Cassandra resisted the urge to turn and watch it go.
"Alright," Michael said, clapping his hands together. "This is it."
Anthony nodded. "You good?"
She looked between them—her brothers, her constants. Despite the Carter name carrying weight in boardrooms and headlines, here they stood like any other students on their first day, armed with bags and nerves.
"I'm fine," she said, even though her chest felt tight.
They had fought hard for this. Endless arguments. Compromises that weren't really compromises. Their parents—Dennis and Ariel Carter—had laid out plans with precision and expectation, but Cassandra and her brothers had wanted something else.
Normalcy. Distance. Independence.
"We'll come see you later," Michael said, slinging an arm around her shoulders briefly. "Once we find our dorm."
Anthony offered a small smile. "Text us when you're settled."
She nodded, swallowing past the lump in her throat. "You better not disappear."
"Never," Michael promised easily. "Carter code."
They shared a brief moment—unspoken understanding, shared history—before the boys turned and headed toward the opposite wing of the building, their footsteps blending into the noise of the morning.
Cassandra stood alone for a second.
So this is it, she thought. Independence starts now.
Right now.
She squared her shoulders and stepped through the front doors.
The hallway was bustling—voices overlapping, lockers slamming, shoes scuffing against polished floors. She approached the front desk, provided her details, and was handed a small envelope with a key and a room number neatly written on the front.
Second floor. East wing.
The walk to her dorm felt longer than it should have. Each step carried the weight of decision—of choosing this life over the one laid out for her. When she reached the room, she paused, hand hovering over the handle.
Then she pushed the door open.
The room was modest but bright, sunlight streaming in through a wide window. Three beds lined the walls, each with a small desk and wardrobe. Two of the beds were already claimed—posters half-taped, bags tossed casually aside.
She gravitated immediately to the bed by the window.
The view overlooked the courtyard, trees swaying gently, students moving like pieces on a chessboard. It felt grounding. Like a choice she could stand by.
She dropped her bag onto the mattress and exhaled slowly.
Unpacking became her refuge. Clothes folded. Books stacked. Shoes lined carefully under the bed. The quiet rhythm steadied her nerves.
As she worked, her thoughts drifted—uninvited but persistent.
Crestwood. The name carried more than prestige. It carried history. Old faces. Old names. And somewhere beneath it all, a past she hadn't yet confronted.
She paused, hands resting on the edge of the desk.
Two years ago, she had been coming from the house but now she wants to experience having a roommate.
She shook her head slightly and resumed unpacking, determined not to let the family disagreement intrude. This was a fresh start. A clean slate.
Outside, laughter echoed down the hallway.
Inside, Cassandra Carter chose to believe that the quiet life she wanted was still possible.
For now.
Acknowledge. The prologue Cassandra and the Crestwood Cassandra are distinct phases.