CHAPTER 185
**WINTER**
I don’t know what stuns me more—the words Damien spits like venom or the silence that follows them.
He tilts his head, lips tugged into that same smug, punchable grin that makes my skin crawl.
Like he hasn’t just made enemies out of half the cafeteria. Like he hasn’t just crossed every possible line.
“You boys are cute when you’re angry,”
Damien drawls, wiping the corner of his mouth where the blood still lingers. His eyes gleam with something sharp and unbothered.
“But don’t get too comfortable. I’m a great friend when I want to be…” —he steps back with a smirk that doesn’t reach his eyes—
“…but as an enemy, I’m a fucking nightmare.”
Zion steps forward, slow and deliberate, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade.
“Your friends must be just as pathetic as you—would explain why you all get along.”
His eyes narrow, sharp and cold.
“But here’s something you should burn into that smug little brain of yours—I’m not just bad at being an enemy… I’m fucking unhinged when it comes to Winter. And if you ever so much as breathe wrong around her again, I won’t stop at a punch.”
Damien just chuckles, slow and unbothered, dabbing at the corner of his split lip with his thumb like it's a goddamn badge of honour.
“Well, now you’ve really got my attention,” he murmurs, grinning like the devil himself.
“Because, you might be unhinged, but I’m the type who likes watching my enemies burn—especially when I’m the one holding the match.”
Zion’s lips curl, but there’s no humour—just pure, icy venom.
He steps in closer, his voice a deadly whisper that somehow cuts louder than a shout.
“Then make sure you light it right, asshole …” he murmurs, eyes locked on his like a predator stalking prey.
“Because I don’t watch fires—I walk through them. And when I come out the other side, it’s never the same.”
He leans in just enough to make the threat personal.
“So if you want war, make damn sure you survive the first strike. Because I don’t stop. I finish.”
The smirk on Damien’s face twitches, falters for just a second.
God.
My hand instinctively went to my chest, pressing lightly as if I could steady the wild rhythm of my heartbeat. It wasn’t fear that gripped me. It was… something else entirely.
Oh my God.
Was it possible to be flustered and turned on while someone was actively threatening to go full villain mode on your behalf?
Because I was.
Completely.
His rage wasn’t just terrifying—it was powerful, raw, and somehow... incredibly magnetic.
What the hell was wrong with me?
All I could think—completely, irrationally—was fuck, he's hot when he’s threatening the enemy like that.
And that made my face heat instantly, a blush burning its way across my cheeks.
Get it together, I scolded myself. Now is not the time to think he's hot when he’s going full-on “dark avenger” mode.
He was supposed to be terrifying.
Dangerous.
Off-limits.
So why was I standing here like some dazed idiot, heart racing, stomach doing flips like I was in some dumb teenage rom-com?
Zion King had officially entered my “enemies-to-crushes” danger zone.
And I was in serious trouble.
I needed help.
Or therapy.
Maybe both.
Zion leans in just enough to make the threat personal.
“You think mouthing off makes you fearless? Nah. It makes you desperate. The kind of guy who talks just to be heard—because deep down, you know no one gives a damn about you.”
A quiet gasp ripples through the group, but Zion doesn’t flinch.
“So go ahead, play the part. Throw your little threats. But don’t forget this moment, Damien,” he says, voice low enough to send a chill.
“Because the next time you open your mouth, I won’t just shut it for you—I’ll make sure you remember who made you bleed.”
The silence that follows is heavier than any shout. A promise wrapped in steel.
Damien’s jaw tightened, a vein ticking in his temple as he let out a humourless laugh.
“You’ve got a real ego, don’t you?” he said, brushing imaginary dust off his shoulder like Zion’s words hadn’t just sliced through the air like a blade.
“But sure, play the big bad wolf all you want....”
"....But you don't scare me?" he spits, eyes gleaming with something unhinged.
"You're not the first psycho to throw a punch, and you won’t be the last. I’ve bled before. Big deal."
He steps back, his voice lowering into something darker.
"This isn’t over. Not even close."
—he turns and walks away, shoulders loose, like he hasn’t just declared war.
Just like that.
Like he didn’t just detonate a grenade and walk away from the blast.
Zion’s eyes never leave Damien as he walks away, the tension in his body like a coiled spring.
Every muscle is wound tight like he’s ready to break into a sprint and finish what Damien started.
His fists are clenched so hard, his knuckles are white, and I can see the storm raging behind his eyes. It’s like he’s barely holding it together.
Ro, though, doesn’t give him the space.
He steps in front of Zion, grabbing his arm with a force that snaps him out of whatever fury has consumed him.
“He’s not worth it,” Ro mutters under his breath, his grip tightening, pulling Zion in the opposite direction.
“Not here. Not like this.”
Zion doesn’t budge.
Not immediately.
His eyes are still locked on Damien’s retreating form, and for a moment, it feels like he might ignore Ro entirely, just keep walking, keep pursuing. I almost think that’s exactly what’s going to happen.
But then Ro’s hand slides from his arm to his shoulder, a little firmer this time. He speaks again, quieter, but no less intense.
“For fuck’s sake, Zion... go on.”
Zion resists for half a second, his jaw locked, eyes still fixed on Damien like he’s memorizing every step the bastard takes.
"Z!"
It’s a command.
And just like that, the grip Zion has on his restraint snaps.
He finally tears his gaze away from Damien, and for the first time since the confrontation started, his shoulders drop, just slightly, as if a part of him gave in—gave up the fight.
Clark looks back at Damien’s retreating figure, but the sarcastic edge in his voice cuts through the tension as he mutters,
“Damien’s got a real knack for making friends, doesn’t he?” He chuckles, but there’s no humour in it, just a bitter edge that sharpens with every word.
“I say we go after him—corner him, beat the shit out of him,” Clark continues, a wicked grin tugging at the corner of his lips.
“It’s been a while since my knuckles have been fed.”
Zion actually stops, his eyes narrowing as if the thought is tempting.
For a moment, I can see the wheels turning in his mind, his fury matching Clark’s.
He clenches his fists, every muscle in his body coiled with the urge to lash out.
But before Zion can make a move, Ro steps in, his voice a low, tight growl.
“Shut the fuck up. Not helping, you fucking moron.”
His hand shoots out, grabbing Zion’s arm not giving an inch.
“You wanna lose control? You wanna turn into a goddamn animal? Fine, but not here, not now.”
Zion glances at Ro, his jaw tight, but Ro’s stare is unwavering—like a challenge he can’t afford to ignore.
Zion hesitates for a split second, but then Harry yanks him harder, the grip on his arm not letting him even think about breaking free.
“Quit being stupid. You’re not ruining everything for the sake of some fucker who doesn’t even know how to fucking back off.”
Ro lets out a frustrated sigh, shaking his head.
“You think going after him is gonna fix shit? It’ll just make it worse. Get a grip, man.”
Zion hesitates, his gaze still locked on the direction Damien went, but Ro isn’t giving him an inch.
“I don’t give a fuck how pissed you are. We’re not making things worse. Move.”
With a sharp tug, Ro drags Zion in the opposite direction, his grip unrelenting.
The rest of the boys follow, each of them simmering with tension, their anger not quite spent but momentarily redirected.
Harry, on the other hand, bulldozes anyone in his way, his fury palpable as he shoves past people without a second thought.
A solid wall of rage and loyalty, he doesn’t care who sees it, doesn’t care who gets in his way. The intensity of it is enough to make everyone clear a path.
I’m left standing there, watching them disappear into the crowd, and for a moment, all I can do is stand there, my heart still hammering in my chest, thinking... what the hell just happened?
The crowd thins slowly after that, murmurs rippling out in every direction.
I should walk away too.
But I don’t.
I just stand there.
Paralyzed.
And, to my utter disbelief,
I’m completely turned on.
What the hell is wrong with me?
And completely… turned on,
What is wrong with me?
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