The engine stuttered one last time before giving up completely - just like she had.

Averie Langford sat behind the wheel of her luxury coupe, tapping her manicured nails against the steering wheel as the car rolled to a stop on the edge of Rivet Street. A thin line of smoke curled out from under the hood. Perfect. Just perfect.

She checked her phone - no service. Of course. Her father had warned her not to take the back roads. "They're not safe," he'd said. "That's where those people live."

Those people. As if they were a different species.

She stepped out of the car, heels clicking against gravel. The summer heat pressed against her skin like a second coat, heavy and humid. In the distance, across a field of rusted chain-link and sun-bleached signs, sat the Marrow family's mechanic shop.

Langfords didn't walk into Marrow territory. Not since the feud. Not since the scandal.

And yet, her feet moved anyway.

The bell above the garage door gave a dry jingle when she stepped inside. The scent of grease, engine oil, and metal filled her lungs. It was nothing like the sterile marble floors and lemon polish of her family's estate.

It was real.

A voice called out from the back. "Need somethin', princess?"

She turned toward the sound - and froze.

Wes Marrow stood beneath a hanging light, wiping his hands with a grease-stained rag. He wore a black tank that clung to his frame, arms streaked with oil and heat. His jaw was sharp, mouth curled in a smirk that looked like it belonged on the cover of a magazine - or in a courtroom confession.

He wasn't what she expected.

He was worse. Because she couldn't look away.

"My car broke down," Averie said, lifting her chin. "A few miles back."

"That so?" Wes asked, leaning casually against the frame of the lift. "You lost? or slumming it?"

"I didn't know this place still ran," she replied, eyes narrowing.

Wes grinned. "Still does. Even without Langford money."

Heat crept up her neck. She should have turned around. Should have called a tow truck. Should have done anything but keep standing there, locked in a stare-off with a boy her family would burn down a house to keep her away from.

But she didn't.

"I'm Averie," she said finally, her voice steady.

"I know who you are," Wes said, tossing the rag aside. "Hard to forget a name when it's on every billboard and campaign banner in town."

Averie smirked despite herself. "You're Wes."

He raised an eyebrow. "You keep tabs on the enemy?"

"I read a file once," she said. "My father's."

Wes let out a low whistle. "Dangerous girl."

She tilted her head. "You're not what I expected."

He stepped forward, just once. "Neither are you."

The air between them grew thick, the kind that hummed between lightning and thunder. Everything felt louder. The creak of the fan. The slow drip of something in the back. The way her pulse thudded behind her ribs.

Averie crossed her arms. "You gonna fix my car?"

Wes took another step toward her. "I can."

She hesitated. "But?"

He grinned. "But you'll owe me."

"How much?" she asked.

Wes shook his head. "Not money."

Her throat tightened. "Then what?"

His voice dropped, quieter now - deeper. "Something real."

She blinked. "What does that mean?"

"One truth," he said, eyes dark with something unreadable. "Something you've never told anyone. Something that's actually yours - not your father's. Not your family's. Just? you."

Averie froze.

Wes waited.

The girl she was supposed to be wanted to laugh it off. Wanted to tell him he was insane and storm out. But she didn't move.

She stepped closer.

And then she said it.

"I hate my name."

Wes blinked, surprised. "Averie?"

"No," she said softly. "Her. The version of me they made up. The one on the billboards. The girl who shakes hands and smiles and never says what she really thinks."

He watched her for a long beat.

Then, with that same quiet voice, Wes asked, "So what's your real name?"

She exhaled. "Still Averie. But not the one you've read about."

Wes didn't speak again. He just nodded, like he understood her in a way that scared her a little.

And for the first time in weeks, maybe months, Averie didn't feel like someone's perfect daughter.

She felt like a girl on the edge of something dangerous.

Something real.