CHAPTER 165
**WINTER**
I stare at my reflection, eyes puffy, nose red, and a streak of mascara clinging to the edge of my cheekbone like it’s refusing to let go—just like my brain refuses to stop thinking about him.
Zion-freaking-Royal.
I take a deep breath, splash cold water on my face again, and whisper to myself like I’m my own therapist.
“Enough. You’re not crying over a guy today. We are bunking school and eating junk food and doing girl things. You are a queen. Queens do not mope. They glow.”
I square my shoulders, dab my face dry, and push open the bathroom door like I’m about to enter a runway instead of Claire’s bedroom.
But then I stop.
Claire and Ariel are sitting cross-legged on the bed, heads close, whispering with the intensity of people plotting a heist—or worse, a double date. Their eyes snap up the second they see me, and the silence that falls is loud.
My eyes narrow immediately.
“Okay… what top-secret mission did I just interrupt?”
Neither of them answers right away.
Claire’s eyes dart to Ariel, who looks like she’s trying to melt into the bedspread.
I cross my arms, raising a brow.
“What’s going on? You two look guiltier than me faking stomach cramps during a math test.”
Claire clears her throat. “Nothing. Just… talking.”
“Uh-huh.” I walk closer, peering at them suspiciously.
“What’s the plan now? Are we summoning spirits? Plotting to get me a new man? Or did one of you finally decide to sabotage the school’s vending machine?”
Claire cracks a grin. “I mean… two out of three isn’t bad.”
Ariel just giggles nervously.
I stare at the two of them for a long moment.
They're definitely up to something.
I sigh.
Whatever.
"Anyway... I'll be back in a while," I say, already heading toward the door.
Claire's eyes widen.
"Where are you going?"
I tug on my hoodie from the back of the chair.
“Just stepping out for a bit. Need some air. Clear my head.”
I make it halfway to the door, hand curling around the knob—when Claire suddenly launches off the bed like a squirrel on energy drinks and throws herself in front of me, arms wide, blocking the exit like she’s the final boss in some absurd video game.
“You can’t go.”
I blink. “Um. What?”
“You can’t go,” she repeats, with the kind of dramatics usually reserved for soap operas.
“We haven’t finished the dart game.”
“Claire, we played that thirty minutes ago. And honestly? It didn’t hit the same as last time—emotionally or literally. I’m not really in the mood for chucking sharp objects at poster faces, okay?”
She tilts her head, giving me that overly sweet, Claire-style grin that almost always spells trouble.
“That’s because you only got Zion in the chest. Three times. Not even close to a bullseye. We were rooting for a forehead shot.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Claire. Are you okay? Or did you overdose on gummy worms again?”
She shrugs, completely unbothered.
“Maybe a few. But that’s not the point. Me and Ariel were just thinking—charades! Yeah! We could totally play charades.”
“Right, Ariel?” she says, glancing to the side like she just remembered her backup dancer.
Ariel’s suddenly there, standing beside her.
“Right! Totally,” she blurts.
“Um… charades. Sounds… fun.”
I narrow my eyes at her. “Why do you look like you’re about to confess to tax fraud?”
A thud sounds from downstairs.
All three of us freeze.
I frown. “Who’s downstairs?”
Then, a voice—definitely Clark—shouts,
“Ow!”
“Claire,” I say slowly “Is Clark home?”
Claire immediately starts inspecting her nails like she’s solving a murder mystery under them.
Ariel hesitates, then looks down.
And then I hear it.
“Fuck off, Clark!”
My breath catches.
Zion.
He's here?
I go still, every nerve in my body going haywire.
I turn to Claire, who offers me a guilty smile and a half-hearted shrug.
“Sooo… about that dartboard game round seven…”
“Z-Zion downstairs?”
I ask, the name catching in my throat like it physically hurts to say. My voice is sharper now, brittle with disbelief.
“What is he even doing here?” The words leave my mouth sharp, cracking through the still air.
“Claire… Ariel?” My eyes lock on them, my voice low, shaky, already knowing I won’t like the answer.
Claire's eyes flicker with something unspoken. Guilt? Worry? I can’t tell.
But the look she shares with Ariel—quick, tense, silent—says more than I think either of them wants me to know.
My gaze jumps between them, suspicion curling in my gut like smoke.
“Claire,” I say again, more firmly now.
“What the hell is going on...why is Zion here?”
Claire sighs, rubbing her temple like this is the world’s biggest inconvenience.
“Let’s just sit, okay?” she says, motioning to the bed.
“We’ll explain everything.”
“Well?”
I echo, blinking at them.
My gaze flicks between the two—Ariel standing stiff and guilty, Claire avoiding eye contact like the floor suddenly got fascinating.
“You knew,” I whisper, realization slicing through the fog.
“You both knew he was here.”
Neither of them denies it.
“He’s… he’s not alone,” Ariel says, her voice soft and hesitant.
“Um, Clark… Harry… and Ro. They’re here too.”
She shifts where she stands, offering a tiny, hopeful smile like that somehow makes it better—like the presence of the whole gang might soften the blow.
As if saying they’re all here will magically make this whole thing feel less like an ambush and more like a casual, accidental reunion.
“Of course they are....” I whisper, a sick sensation twisting in my stomach.
“What—do they just skip classes too? Decided to crash girls’ day because apparently, showing up uninvited counts as some sort of twisted attempt at winning me over?” I snap, my frustration flaring.
Ariel glances at Claire like she wants to disappear. Claire’s mouth opens, then closes again—caught.
“When?” I demand. “When did he get here?”
Before either of them can answer, Claire steps toward me and grabs my hand—tight, grounding—but it only makes the panic rise faster, hotter.
“Winter, just breathe, okay—”
I yank my hand away, the anger surging through me.
“I don’t want him here! I told him—I told him I didn’t want to talk!”
“Winter..calm down. He won’t be coming anywhere near you. I crucified him for even showing. I fucking told him you didn’t want to see him, Winter. I made it crystal clear.”
I narrow my eyes, frustration making my pulse quicken.
“But he’s still here. Because he’s so goddamn stubborn. He thinks he can just push me into this, and I’ll cave.”
Ariel hesitates, but then, with a soft, almost reluctant sigh, she speaks up.
“Zion… he said he’s not leaving until he talks to you. He… he looked really upset.”
I scoff, shaking my head in disbelief.
“Upset? Of course, he is,” I snap, my voice tight with frustration.
“Because he didn’t get his way. No warning, no respect—just barging in, forcing his way like he always does. It’s always about what he wants, never about what I need.”
I take a shaky breath, my chest rising and falling with the weight of it all as I lock eyes with both of them.
“I told him I needed space. I told him I wasn’t ready to talk—and this is how he reacts? Trying to force me into a conversation I already said I didn’t want to have?”
Unbelievable!
After everything I’ve been through, you’d think I’d know better than to even flinch at the mention of his name. That I’d be done—completely, utterly, and irreversibly done.
But I’m not.
Because despite everything, despite how he tore me down and twisted the knife, some part of me still wonders why. Still wants to understand.
And that terrifies me.
I still can’t trust him not to be cruel. Not to take the pieces he broke and shatter them further, just because he can. That fear? It’s not irrational—it’s earned. Carved into every moment he made me feel like I wasn’t enough.
But the worst part?
I keep questioning it anyway.
Maybe if I just listen… Maybe if I hear him out, it’ll make sense. Maybe I’ll finally get the closure I was too naive to ask for before.
No.
No.
What the hell is wrong with me?
I shouldn’t want to hear his voice. I shouldn’t even be entertaining the idea of letting him speak. He planned to hurt me. He made me trust him only to watch me fall.
How do you forgive that?
How do you forget that?
You don’t.
I clench my fists, forcing myself to stay grounded. To stop spinning.
Fine.
If he wants to talk, then we’ll talk. He can say whatever he’s come to say. I’ll listen. I’ll stand there and let him get it all off his chest.
Then maybe, just maybe, after that, he’ll finally leave me the hell alone.
Log in with Google Account
Chapters
Favorite
Settings
