CHAPTER 156
WINTER
My heart pounds in my chest, rising to my throat, and my fingers feel like they’ve turned to ice.
And my mind is going a million miles an hour.
I don’t want to trust him—not after everything. I’ve been burned too many times, and I refuse to let it happen again.
But why did he go to such great lengths to apologize?
What does he gain from this?
For a fleeting moment, doubt creeps in.
Was this some elaborate trick? Another cruel joke at my expense?
No.
I shove the thought away. This wasn’t a prank. It couldn’t be.
I stare at him on the stage, trying to convince myself this is real. That Zion Royal —the same boy who made my life hell—is standing there, laying himself bare for everyone to see. If someone had told me this would happen, I would’ve laughed in their face.
Because of this...This doesn’t make sense.
Zion just stood in front of the entire campus and bared his soul.
He spilt every ugly truth, every cruel thing he did to me, and for the first time, there was no smugness, no arrogance—just raw, unfiltered regret.
But does that make it okay?
Does one heartfelt apology erase months of pain?
The isolation?
The whispers behind my back?
The humiliation?
Does it erase the nights I spent curled up in my bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering what I had done to deserve this?
Does it erase the way I flinched every time someone walked past me, expecting another cruel remark, another taunt, another reminder that I didn’t belong there?
No. It doesn’t.
The moments when I doubted myself, when I questioned my own worth when I believed—even for a second—that maybe I really was as pathetic as he made me feel?
What about the betrayal?
Because that’s exactly what it was.
A deep, gut-wrenching betrayal.
That night, when I was at my lowest, I trusted him. I let my guard down, believing—naively—that while he was cruel, he wasn’t the kind of person who would destroy me. That if he hated me, it was because I had earned it.
But I hadn’t.
And he destroyed me anyway.
He took pictures—private, vulnerable moments when I was too broken to protect myself. Then, without hesitation, he made sure the entire school saw them. He humiliated me, stripped me of any dignity I had left, and turned my pain into entertainment.
All because he assumed. Because he wanted me to hurt.
And that’s what kills me.
He hated me over a lie.
Over something he never even bothered to question.
He tore me apart without hesitation, without giving me a chance to defend myself.
And now, he expects me to forgive him?
The echoes of laughter in the gym still ring in my ears, sharp and unforgiving.
The sting of every cruel word still lingers, each one carving deeper into me. And worst of all, I can still see the way he looked at me—like I was nothing.
Like I was worthless.
Maybe he regrets it now. Maybe he's finally seeing the damage he’s done.
But I lived through it.
I carried the weight of his hatred every single day from the moment I stepped into this school. And no apology—no matter how raw, no matter how public—can it erase that?
No, it doesn't.
And now, after standing in front of the entire school and bleeding out his apology, does he expect me to just—what?
Accept it?
Move on?
Act like none of it ever happened?
No, I can’t.
And yet…
Something inside me ached watching him up there. Seeing him so open, so exposed, so—human.
My chest tightens, my breaths coming too fast.
His eyes haven’t left me. Not for a second.
There’s something about the way he’s looking at me—desperate, unwavering like I’m the only thing in the room that matters. Like if he blinks, I might disappear. It’s intense and suffocating, and I hate that a part of me wants to believe it.
Beside me, Claire leans in, her voice barely above a whisper.
"I don’t know if this is real, but if it’s not… damn, he’s one hell of an actor."
My throat feels tight as I swallow hard, my gaze fixed on the floor.
"I don't know either, Claire... and that's the problem."
She tugs at my arm, snapping me back.
“What do you want?” she asks, her voice quiet but firm.
I take a shaky breath, my chest tightening.
"I just... " I whisper.
"I don’t know what to think, what to feel. He stood up there and—" My voice catches, and I shake my head.
"It doesn't just erase everything. It doesn't make it hurt any less."
Claire nods, her grip on my arm steady.
"Then take all the time you need, babe. He can wait."
Ariel squeezes my hand again, silent but understanding.
No matter how much Zion regrets it, the damage is still there, burned into me like a scar that may never fully fade.
I glance up at him.
He’s still looking at me.
Waiting.
For me to say something.
To react.
To tell him it’s okay, that I understand, that I forgive him.
But I can’t.
Not now.
His jaw is clenched so tightly I can see the muscle twitch. His usually sharp, calculating eyes are raw—stormy with something I don’t want to name. Regret? Desperation? Fear? Maybe all three. His fingers flex at his sides like he wants to reach for me, but he doesn’t. He just stands there, shoulders stiff, waiting for something I’m not ready to give.
I rip my gaze away, refusing to meet his eyes. But I can still feel them—heavy, searing into me, silently pleading for something I can’t give. My throat tightens, my chest constricting like all the air has been sucked from the room, leaving me struggling to breathe.
Ariel’s grip on my hand tightens.
“Winter…” she whispers, her voice barely audible.
“He really does look sorry. This doesn’t feel like an act… his eyes, they’re just—”
She doesn’t finish, but I know what she means.
Against my better judgment, I glance back at him.
Zion’s eyes are locked onto mine, raw and desperate. His lips part slightly, and then—sorry. He mouths the word, barely a breath, but I see it.
A sharp pang shoots through my chest, and before I can even process it, I tear my gaze away. My heart pounds as I look down, anywhere but at him. I can’t. Not now.
Maybe not ever.
My hands tremble at my sides, my breaths coming too fast, too shallow.
I need to get out of here.
Now.
“I… I…” My voice catches, my thoughts a jumbled mess.
A sudden, firm tug on my arm jolts me back. Claire.
She’s right there, steady and unshaken, her grip grounding me. Her gaze was sharp but not impatient. Just waiting.
“What do you want to do?” she whispers, her voice softer than usual—gentle, but sure.
Ariel’s fingers tighten around mine, her warmth a quiet reassurance. She doesn’t say anything at first, just holds on, as if bracing for whatever I decide. Then, softly, hesitantly, she murmurs,
“You don’t have to do anything right now, Winter. We can just… go.”
Her voice is so small, but it slices through the chaos in my head like a lifeline.
I swallow hard, my chest tightening under the weight of their silent support. I don’t know what I want.
But I know I don’t want to be here.
I squeeze my eyes shut for half a second, trying to gather the thoughts, racing a million miles an hour in my head.
The lights flicker back on, making me flinch.
Professor Higgins claps his hands.
“Alright, enough. Everyone is back in class. Now!”
His voice snaps me out of my trance as he gestures for the other teachers to open the auditorium doors.
The teachers rush to unlock the doors, ushering students out as murmurs and whispers fill the auditorium.
Students murmur, chairs scrape against the floor, and just like that—life moves on. As if nothing happened. As if Zion didn’t just lay himself bare in front of everyone.
But not everyone moves on.
Eyes flick between me and Zion, whispers spreading like wildfire.
“I bet she’ll forgive him,” someone says, not even bothering to lower their voice.
“Nah,” another replies, just as loud.
“I don’t think so.”
Everyone’s watching, waiting to see if I’ll break, if I’ll run to him, or turn my back for good.
But I can’t think about that. Not now. Not when my heart is still racing, my mind still spinning.
My heart pounds as I glance toward the doors, my escape now open, then back at Zion.
His expression is unreadable, but I see the tension in his jaw. The slight downturn of his lips.
He’s still waiting.
No.
I can’t.
Not now.
His expression shifts—panic flickering in his eyes as if he knows I’m about to run.
And he’s right.
“No,” I whisper, my voice barely audible over the noise.
I turn to Claire, my chest tight and aching.
“Claire, I need to—”
She doesn’t even let me finish.
“Say no more. Let’s go.”
Without hesitation, she grabs my arm and pulls me forward. Ariel doesn’t let go of my hand as we push through the crowd, weaving between students still buzzing from Zion’s confession.
I hear him.
Calling my name.
His voice was desperate, urgent—Winter, please!—but I don’t look back.
I can’t.
Because if I do, I might see something in his eyes that makes me hesitate. And I can’t afford to hesitate. Not when my heart is still bleeding.
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