CHAPTER 137

**WINTER** 

My stomach drops.

The words shouldn’t mean anything—just another asshole trying to get a rise out of me. But the way he said it… the way he looked at me…

No need. I already have plenty.

My pulse thunders in my ears as I shove past him, my feet moving on instinct. I push through the girls’ bathroom door, Claire right behind me.

I go straight to the sink, twisting the faucet and splashing cold water on my face. My hands are shaking. My whole body feels wrong as if I’ve stepped into some twisted nightmare.

"What the hell was that about?" Claire demands, arms crossed, eyes flashing with anger.

I shake my head, my pulse hammering. "I don’t know."

But something is wrong.

The way they were looking at me—like I was some kind of joke.

The laughter.

The crude taunts from the guys, their smirks curling with something more than amusement.

The way their eyes kept flicking to their phones before landing back on me.

What were they looking at?

A cold dread slithers down my spine. Whatever it was, I have a feeling it had everything to do with me.

Claire notices the fear creeping into my face. Her expression darkens.

Then her phone pings. She glances down, and I watch as all the colour drains from her face.

"No," she breathes, shaking her head like she can will it away. Her grip on the phone tightens.

Claire's fingers fly over the screen as she flicks through something, her eyes narrowing with each passing second.

"No way," she mutters, her voice sharp with disbelief. Then, it hardens, laced with fury. 

"That fucking bastard. I swear to God if this is what I think it is—"

Her voice trails off, but I barely hear it. A cold, suffocating weight settles over me, rooting me in place. My fingers tighten around the sink’s edge, knuckles turning white as my pulse pounds in my ears. Claire’s fingers fly over her screen, but I can’t move, can’t breathe—because deep down, 

I don’t want to know.

I swallow hard, my voice barely steady as I force the words out.

“Claire… what is it?”

Claire stiffens. 

Her breath catches. The glow of her phone screen turns her face ghostly pale.

A sick feeling crawls up my spine.

"Claire," I whisper. "What is it?"

She doesn’t answer. Just turns the phone toward me.

And my entire world shatters.

I stare. I can’t stop staring.

It’s me.

Me in my bed.

Last night’s night dress rumpled, thin straps barely clinging to my shoulders. The hem hiked up high on my thighs. The curve of my back was exposed.

And Zion.

Shirtless.

He’s behind me, his face mostly hidden, but his lips are against my bare shoulder. His hand is on my waist.

It’s not just one picture.

It’s a thread.

One after the other, worse than the last. His lips at my neck. His fingers brushed under the fabric.

The final photo was the most damning of all, implying a level of intimacy and sexual activity that had never occurred.

Oh my God.

I stumble back. The bathroom spins. My stomach lurches.

Claire grabs my arm, steadying me. “Winter—”

But I can’t process anything except the caption beneath the pictures.

"Figured I’d share the fun. Easiest lay of my life."

The words sear into my brain, burning through my chest like acid.

I can’t breathe.

Zion took these.

Zion posted them.

My lungs refuse to work. My entire body is shaking.

Claire’s grip tightens, her voice rising. “That motherfucker—”

A sob claws up my throat, but I choke it down. 

No. 

No tears. 

Not for him.

But my hands won’t stop trembling.

My entire life—my dignity—blasted across the college website like a fucking joke. 

A sharp gasp escapes me. My stomach twists, bile rising.

I shove past Claire, barely making it to a stall before I collapse to my knees, heaving.

I want to rip my skin off. I want to scream.

I want to kill him.

Claire is right there, rubbing my back, whispering something—but I barely hear her over the ringing in my ears.

I wipe my mouth, breathing hard, gripping the stall wall to pull myself up.

I meet Claire’s eyes. Furious. Devastated.

But she doesn’t look at me like they do.

Not with disgust. Not with pity.

Just pure, seething rage.

"We find out how to take this shit down," she says, voice sharp as a blade. "Now."

I nod, even though my pulse is still racing, my entire body burning with shame and fury.

And then?

Then, I destroy Zion Royal.

Because whatever lie he thinks I told—whatever twisted reason he’s convinced himself justifies this—nothing gives him the right to do this to me. I didn’t deserve this sick, calculated revenge.

Especially not from him.

Not when, for a moment, I thought he cared. That, even if it was fleeting, even if it was a lie, there was something real beneath the games.

How fucking wrong was I?

He didn’t care. He never did.

He only wanted to get even. And this? This is how he did it.

But he’s about to learn that I’m not the girl he thought I was.

I’m done playing nice.

**ZION**

I roll my neck, trying to shake off the tension coiled inside me. It’s thick, pressing, suffocating. I haven’t had sex in days, and my emotions are spiralling out. 

That has to be the reason for this… this guilt clawing at my chest. 

And I don’t even know why I feel guilty.

I shove the feeling down.

The three of us—Clark, Ro, and I—step out of the car, moving together like a force of nature. Heads turn, eyes flickering toward us. Girls don’t just stare—they flirt with their eyes, their lips curving into interested smirks. Not that I blame them. The three of us? We’re sexy as sin, and we know it.

The football team is gathered ahead, their conversation pausing the second we approach.

Then the back slaps start.

"Yo, you’re the man, Z!"

“Damn, dude. Didn’t think you’d do it.”

"Can’t believe you fucked her, bro."

Clark and Ro exchange a look, frowning.

“What the hell are they talking about?” Ro mutters, his eyes narrowing as he glances at me.

Clark’s phone pings. He sighs, pulling it out like he already knows it’s going to be annoying. 

"What the fuck does my twin want now—"

Then silence.

Clark freezes. His brows pull together, his expression shifting from confused to pissed. Ro leans over, catching a glimpse of the screen before his head snaps toward me, his jaw tightening.

Clark’s voice is sharp, loud enough to turn heads. “You fucked Winter?”

I don’t even flinch. I meet his gaze, holding it for just a beat too long before a slow, lazy grin spreads across my face.

“Damn, straight I did,” I say, loud enough for the whole damn team to hear.

The reaction is instant. The guys erupt into cheers, hoots, and hollers. More back slaps, more knowing laughs. It’s what they expect from me, the guy who doesn’t give a fuck, who takes what he wants and moves on.

I don’t tell them the truth. That I didn’t fuck Snowflake.

They don’t need to know that.

All they have to believe is what I tell them.

"She was fucking all over me and....."

The words have barely left my mouth when my head snaps to the side.

The sting blooms across my jaw, sharp and sudden, and for a second, I don’t even register what the hell just happened. My fingers flex, curling into a fist as I turn, ready to swing—

And then I see her.

*Winter*.

Standing right there, chest rising and falling fast like she ran all the way here just to find me. Her hands are trembling at her sides, but her eyes—fuck, her eyes—are what stop me cold. 

They’re red, swollen from crying and rimmed with the kind of devastation that does something to my chest. Something I don’t like.

I swallow it down.

Her gaze flickers over me, then to the guys behind me, all still smirking, nudging each other like this is some fucking joke. Her breath hitches.

So I force a smirk, shove my hands into my pockets, and let the words slide out smooth as ever.

“Still angry I didn’t give you round two? Even though you begged for it?”

The moment the words leave my mouth, her face contorts—shifting from hurt to pure, unfiltered rage.

"You think you can twist the truth, manipulate these pictures, and paint me as some kind of slut?" Her tone dripped with venom, her eyes blazing with fury. 

"You took pictures of me while I was asleep. Asleep. And then you twisted them into a disgusting lie, just to make me look like I was yours. Like I wanted you." She let out a harsh laugh, but there was no humour in it—just raw, bitter anger. 

"You’re a monster, Zion. A sick, twisted monster who plays God with people's lives, who thinks revenge justifies anything."

She took a step closer, fists trembling at her sides. "But let me tell you something." Her voice was quieter now, deadlier. 

"You made a mistake. A huge mistake." Her breath shook, but she didn’t falter. 

"You messed with the wrong person."

Her stare burned into me, and for the first time, something inside me shifted—something I refused to acknowledge.

"I will never forget this," she snarled. 

"I will never forget the way you tried to ruin me. And from now on?" She tilted her chin up, her final blow slicing deeper than any slap could. 

"You don’t exist to me. You’re already dead in my mind, Zion. Nothing but a stain, a distant reminder of the filth people like you leave behind."

And then she turns and walks away, not looking back.

I don’t know why my chest tightens as I watch her go, but before I can think about it before I can breathe—

Smack.

Another slap, this one even harder, sharp enough to make my head jerk to the side again.

“You piece of shit,” Claire hisses, her face twisted in pure fury. She takes a threatening step toward me, like she actually might hit me again, but then scoffs, shaking her head in disgust.

“You couldn’t even be man enough to face her. To tell her to her damn face what your problem was. Instead, you pull this—the lowest, most cowardly move possible.” Her voice drips with contempt, her eyes burning with hatred. “I hope it was worth it, Zion. Because whatever little game you were playing? You’ve already lost.”

She spits at the ground near my feet before turning on her heel, storming after Winter without sparing me another glance.

I barely get a second to react, to process, before—

CRACK.

A punch. 

Harder than the first. My body lurches back, my feet scrambling for balance, and this time, my vision flashes white-hot.

I whip around, teeth gritted, done with this bullshit—ready to hit whoever the fuck just tried me—

And freeze.

Harry.

His jaw is clenched so tight I swear I hear his teeth grind. His eyes, dark with barely controlled rage, are locked onto me like a fucking target. His fists are still curled, like he’s debating whether or not to hit me again.

And from the way his chest is rising and falling, from the way his entire being is radiating anger, I know he wants to.

And fuck, maybe he will.