ISABELLA
Flashback
Love at sixteen is supposed to be silly. Giggles in the hallway, notes passed under desks, crushes that fade when summer ends. But with Adrian, it was never silly. It was fire.
He wasn’t even supposed to be at St. Augustine Preparatory Academy. He transferred in junior year, quiet at first, carrying himself with this strange mix of arrogance and mystery. Everyone whispered about him — Adrian Costa, the boy with the sharp jaw and sharper eyes, who never seemed to care what anyone thought.
But with me, he cared.
It started with the pen. My favorite pen — sleek, black, the one I used for every test — vanished from my desk during history class. I knew exactly who took it.
“Costa,” I hissed, turning in my seat. Adrian was leaning back, twirling my pen between his fing
