CHAPTER 177

**ZION**

She says something to that idiot, and he actually laughs—loud and easy, like they’ve been best fucking friends forever. 

I stand there, frozen, like a stranger peering in on something I was never meant to be part of. Like an outsider in a story that used to be mine.

Who the hell does he think he is? Sitting that close, smiling like she’s already his.

And Winter—God, she’s looking at him. Not smiling, not laughing—just watching. 

But she’s not pulling away either. Not frowning. Not telling him to back the fuck off.

And somehow, that’s worse.

Because in my messed-up head, that blank stare twists into something else. 

Interest. Curiosity. Permission.

Not the guarded, clipped version she gives me lately. No, this looks different. 

The thought hits me out of nowhere, cold and brutal—Does she like him?

I don’t know where it comes from, but it guts me. Because maybe… maybe it’s true. Maybe she’s better off. Better off with someone safe. Someone stable. Someone, not me.

I’m the chaos. The mistake. The asshole who hurt her.

And for one unbearable second, I actually consider turning around, walking away, letting her go—until I see him lean in, eyes dark with something I know too well.

Lust.

He’s looking at her like she’s his next fucking conquest, and something inside me shatters. 

No. Fuck no.

She’s mine.

“Wow,” Clark mutters beside me, loud enough to earn a death glare. 

“I don’t know who that guy is, but damn—his eyes are practically undressing your Snowflake, Z.”

My jaw ticks. My fists clench.

And every part of me itches to plant that bastard through the floor.

Harry swears under his breath. “Why the fuck did you just say that you fucking moron— you just added fuel to the fucking fire ”

But damn it, Clark’s right. The bastard is looking at her like he’s mentally peeling off every layer she’s wearing—like she’s already his to take.

Something in me snaps. My fists clench, my jaw grinding so hard it feels like a bone might crack. 

One second, I’m standing there, watching like some pathetic outsider. The next, I’m storming across the cafeteria, zeroed in on the bastard like a fucking missile.

Behind me, footsteps fall into rhythm with mine, low curses slipping from their mouths as my friends close in at my sides—

“Z, calm the fuck down,” Harry hisses under his breath.

“Maybe it’s not what it looks like,” 

Ro's voice follows, tense and firm. 

“This isn’t the time to lose your fucking shit, man. Let’s go sit somewhere else, or just walk it off. Winter’s not going to be happy if you blow up like this.”

Clark mutters under his breath, 

“Jesus, Z… I was kidding, alright? You know how I am—my mouth runs faster than my brain. Winter’s gonna skin you alive for this. Aren’t you supposed to be getting back on her good side? Throwing punches isn’t exactly the smoothest way to win her over, genius.”

Clark’s words barely register. I hear him—hell, I even know he’s right—but it doesn’t matter.

My jaw tightens, blood roaring in my ears as I stare the bastard down. I’m supposed to be proving I’ve changed, supposed to be earning her trust back, not snapping like a goddamn psycho.

But all I can see is his face, that smug fucking grin, the way he looked at her like she was his to touch, to claim.

And just like that, reason burns out.

I don’t stop.

I can’t.

“I don’t care. He’s looking at her like she’s on the fucking menu.”

My fists curl so tight my knuckles crack, already hungry for impact. I can’t hear anything except the blood roaring in my ears, can’t see anything except him—laughing, leaning into her space, like he fucking belongs there.

He doesn’t.

He never will.

And if no one’s going to remind the fucking bastard of that?

I fucking will.

He doesn’t even notice me coming. 

Too busy ogling my girl like he’s got a shot.

Something in me coils—tight and sharp, like a spring ready to snap. 

My eyes find Winter just as she glances up. Her brows pinch in confusion, then lift in alarm. She’s already moving by the time I reach the table.

She jumps to her feet, stepping in front of me, her hand pressing firmly against my chest.

The moment her palm touches me, the tension in my shoulders dips—just slightly—but it’s enough to keep me from launching across the table.

“Zion? What’s the matter?” she asks, her voice low, as she follows my glare across the table to the asshole.

“Zion,” she says again, sharper now, eyes snapping back to mine—wary like she’s bracing for whatever I might do next.

I force a breath through my nose, jaw tight. 

“Nothings the matter” I mutter, tone way too casual to pass. 

“Just thought I’d join you.”

Her eyes narrow, clearly not buying it. 

“Zion…”

But I’ve already dragged a chair out and dropped into it like I own the damn place, jaw locked and eyes glued to the bastard across from me—who has the nerve to smirk like this is all some joke.

His gaze slides over me like I’m just an inconvenience.

His arm drapes over the back of Winter’s chair with infuriating ease, like he’s marking territory that isn’t his—relaxed, cocky, and way too comfortable for someone who should be sweating bullets.

A muscle twitches in his jaw. He stares back.

Winter slowly eases into the chair beside me, tension humming off her like static. I feel her watching me, waiting for me to say something. 

Anything.

Behind me, I hear the scrape of chairs as the guys pull up too. Clark flops into the seat beside me, grinning. 

“Where’s the popcorn? This is gonna be good.”

Harry smacks his arm. “Shut it, dumbass.”

Ro slides into the chair next to him and leans over, whispering in my ear, 

“Stay calm, man. Seriously. Winter looks like she’s about to blow a gasket. No psycho shit today, alright?”

My eyes stay locked on the smug bastard across from me, jaw clenched so tight it aches. 

I give the slightest nod—barely a movement—but it doesn’t change a damn thing. 

One wrong word about Snowflake, and I swear, this table’s flipping and his face is going through it.

The guy—still nameless and still pissing me off—leans back like he’s the king of the damn world, gaze skating over each of us with that same smug look. 

“Wow,” he says, voice slick with sarcasm. 

“The whole welcoming committee? What is this, the protective brother brigade? You guys always travel in packs, or is this some kind of turf claim?”

Clark smirks, leaning back in his chair.

“Nah, we just like to keep an eye on friend Winter. Especially when guys show up looking like they moisturize with ego and rinse with bullshit.”

The guy’s smirk doesn’t budge. He lets out a low chuckle, slow and deliberate.

“Cute. You rehearse that in the mirror, or does the sarcasm just come naturally when you’re playing backup dancer to Mr. Rage Issues over here?”

He flicks his eyes at me with a mock grin, clearly trying to stir the pot.

“Look, guys…” he says, voice dipped in mockery as he spreads his hands like he’s trying to be reasonable. 

“If you’re here to roll out the red carpet for the new guy, save it. Winter and I were in the middle of something before you all barged in like it was feeding time at the zoo. So if you'll excuse us....”

His gaze flickers over all of us, lingering just long enough to make it clear he’s sizing us up. Then he pauses—waiting, clearly expecting us to back off.

But we don’t move. Not an inch.

The irritation creeps into his expression, subtle but telling—the twitch of his jaw, the slight narrowing of his eyes. He didn’t expect resistance.

Too bad. He’s got it.

“What’s the deal, man? Can’t take a hint? Do you need a map to know you’re not wanted here? Or maybe this is just your daily ‘pretend I’m still relevant’ routine?”

I lean forward, resting my elbows on the table like I’m not one second away from lunging across it. 

“A map, huh? Maybe you need one to find your way out because you're clearly too busy getting lost in your own ego—or shoved so far up your own ass that you can't see where you’re standing.”

His smirk widens, smug and deliberate. 

“Is this just your usual ‘look tough, act territorial’ bit to feel important, or are you actually trying to mark your territory like a damn dog? What’s next—pissing circles around her?”

I chuckle...

"Keep talking, pretty boy. Sooner or later, that mouth’s gonna write a check your face can’t cash. And as for the 'rage issues'... you wouldn't last two minutes if you saw what real anger looks like."

He smirks, annoyance flashing in his eyes. 

“Cute. But if that’s your idea of intimidating me, you’ve completely missed the mark. You’re just another wannabe trying to play the hero.” 

His gaze drifts to Winter, a smirk tugging at his lips. “For someone who’s clearly way out of your league.”

Clark chuckles from the side, leaning in with a sarcastic grin. 

"Oh, this is getting good. Someone grabs the popcorn; I think we’re about to watch a masterclass on how to piss off Zion."

I don’t even crack a smile. I lean in, voice low and lethal.

“For the record, I don’t need to intimidate you to destroy you. Just keep talking, and I’ll prove it.....Let’s see how well that smug little smirk holds up when your teeth are scattered across the floor.”

The asshole’s smirk doesn’t waver—not even for a second. If anything, it sharpens, like he’s enjoying every second of this standoff. His eyes stay locked on mine, steady, challenging.

I lean back slowly, jaw clenched, matching his stare without blinking.

Alright, asshole. Game on.