CHAPTER 189

**WINTER**

I can feel it before I even look up—Cindy’s presence, loud and suffocating, even without her saying a word. 

The tapping of her nails on her desk, the way her laugh cuts through the silence like a blade, all of it grates on my nerves.

Still, I try to focus. 

My eyes are glued to the page of my notebook, my pen dragging lines that make no sense anymore. I’m not even writing real words. 

Just loops and scribbles and lines that blur together.

Then I hear her giggle. 

Not the cute, harmless kind. 

The kind that’s designed to draw attention.

I glance up—couldn’t help myself even if I tried—and there she is. 

Cindy, leaning forward in her seat two rows down, flipping her hair like she’s in some shampoo commercial, her chest subtly pushed out, her mouth curled into a predatory smirk.

I should look away. 

Hell, I want to look away. 

But my gaze is locked, frozen on the spectacle unfolding in front of me.

Cindy is all pouty and performing like she’s centre stage. 

She twirls a lock of hair around her finger, slow and deliberate, then lets it fall as her hand glides down the curve of her neck to her collarbone. 

It’s not subtle—not even trying to be. 

Lip-bitten, posture arched just enough to be obvious, her gaze locked onto Zion like he’s the prize she’s already undressing in her head.

She doesn’t need to say a word.

Her body’s practically screaming it—she wants him.

And not in some sweet, schoolgirl crush kind of way.

No, she wants him in the filthiest sense of the word.

A part of me burns to get up, storm over there, and slap her hand off her neck—tell her to quit the pathetic seduction routine and keep her hungry eyes off Zion. 

Off what's not hers. 

Off what never was.

But why? 

Why do I even care?

I shouldn’t.

Her eyes flick toward me for a split second—sharp, smug—before snapping right back to Zion.

She slowly drags her fingers over her neck, tracing down to her collarbone in that exaggerated, deliberate way she always does when she’s fishing for attention. Then she bites her lip—soft, teasing—like she’s daring me to look away.

Seriously?

She’s acting so damn slutty it’s disgusting.

My gaze shifts to Zion—and sure enough, he’s looking at her.

Of course, he is.

Something tightens in my chest as I follow his line of sight, my eyes landing back on her like I’m punishing myself on purpose.

My eyes rake over her—the way she leans back in her chair, that smug little smile playing on her lips, the way her chest rises and falls like she owns the room.

Why do guys like Zion always go for girls like her? 

Confident. Flirty. Perfectly put together.

What does she have that I don’t?

My gaze drops to myself—a white t-shirt, scuffed shoes, hair pulled back in a loose, messy knot I barely had time to fix this morning.

Maybe that’s why.

Maybe if I dressed up more… maybe if I let Jenny drag me to the mall like she keeps threatening to and pick out something tighter, prettier. 

Learn how to be the kind of girl who turns heads—who turns his head.

God, stop.

What the hell is wrong with me?

Since when do I care what I look like? 

Since when do I care about impressing a guy?

Especially Zion.

I close my eyes tight, trying to shut those thoughts down.

Why the hell am I even thinking this?

But the truth is, my heart is twisting, and my stomach tightens in a way I can’t explain.

My grip tightens on my pen until my knuckles go white. I force myself to look down at my assignment, but the paper crumples beneath my fingers. Nothing’s calming me.

I glance back up—and yep, she’s still at it. 

Flirting like it’s her full-time job, twirling her hair, leaning just a little too close, laughing at things that aren't even funny.

Zion’s probably loving this. That’s why she’s still putting on the act—because he’s letting her. 

Maybe even encouraging it.

Of course, he is.

Cindy’s just one of the many girls he’s been with before… and probably will be again. That kind of attention? 

That’s normal for him. 

Routine.

So why does that thought feel like a punch to the gut?

Why am I sitting here, gripping my pen like it personally offended me, burning with this strange, unwelcome heat in my chest?

I wasn’t prepared for this feeling.

I didn’t want to feel it.

But here it is, rising up like jealousy wrapped in confusion—and it’s messing with my head more than I want to admit.

Jealousy?

Wait!

No. I’m not jealous.

He’s a friend. 

—Just a friend—who stood up for me like it was second nature. Who silenced Damien’s bullshit—in front of everyone, defending my honour.

The way his muscles tensed beneath that fitted shirt, the way his jaw locked, sharp and unforgiving—it shouldn’t have made my stomach flip the way it did.

His arms—God, his arms—solid, veined, flexed like he could lift the whole damn cafeteria without breaking a sweat.
Even the way he stood, tall and broad and unbothered, like he owned the space around him—when did he start looking like that?

"And damn it, he looked hot, dangerous and gorgeous all at once—like trouble I wouldn’t mind getting into."

Stop.

Where are these thoughts coming from?

What the hell is wrong with me?

I’m not supposed to be thinking this way.

I take a deep, shaky breath, forcing my thoughts to steady as I finally turn to look at him again.

I’m half-expecting to catch him soaking up Cindy’s attention—leaning in with that lazy smirk, maybe eye-fucking her without shame like it’s just another casual Tuesday.

But no.

He’s not looking at her.

He’s looking right at me.

His brows are furrowed, jaw tight, like he’s trying to read something behind my eyes—like he’s searching for answers I don’t even have.

“Snowflake?” he murmurs, voice low, gaze flicking from me to Cindy.

That one word—soft, careful—hits harder than it should.

Wait… does he want my permission? 

To sit with her? To flirt back? Maybe even disappear with her and do more?

Is he checking to see if I’d mind?

God, he’s just being nice. 

Considerate. 

Right?

Being a friend!!!!

So why does that word suddenly feel like a slap?

My chest twists uncomfortably, the air suddenly too thick, like I’m under some spotlight I never agreed to stand in. 

I don’t know what this is. 

I don’t know why I feel like this.

But I hate it.

He doesn’t need my permission. 

Zion Royal can do whatever the hell he wants.

And I know what he’s done. 

Everyone does. 

He and Cindy? 

Yeah, that happened. 

Probably more than once. 

I’ve heard the whispers. 

I told myself it didn’t matter. 

That I didn’t care.

So why does the thought of her hands on him make my stomach churn?

Why does it feel like acid’s pouring through my veins?

Why does the image of her wrapped around him make something sharp and ugly twist inside me?

Why does it make me feel… small?

Like I’m the one being left behind.

And worse—why does it feel like jealousy?

No. No. No.

I’m not jealous. I can’t be.

Right?

Ugh. 

I want to disappear. 

I want to be anywhere but here, stuck between the flicker of Zion’s stare and the fake sweetness of Cindy’s smile.

I look down quickly, pen scratching across the page again, pretending like I’m totally unfazed.

Suddenly, Zion’s hand lands on mine—light but deliberate—and I freeze, my heart stuttering like I’ve been caught in a spotlight.

“Snowflake,” he murmurs, his voice low and calm, but there’s something raw in it, a quiet concern underneath the surface. 

“What’s the matter? You seem... tense.”

I lift my gaze to meet his. 

His brows knit together, eyes narrowing as if he’s trying to unravel a secret I didn’t know I was hiding. It’s like he’s reading beneath my skin, searching for a crack in my armour.

“If it’s the—”

I cut him off with a shake of my head, swallowing the lump rising in my throat.

I yank my hand back before he can finish, the words rushing out of me before I even realize it.

“You can go sit with Cindy. It’s okay. I know you want to...” My voice trails off, unsure even to say it, but the meaning hangs heavy between us.

His jaw clenches hard enough I can see the muscle twitch, frustration flashing like a storm behind his eyes.

“I’m exactly where I want to be.”

He turns back to Cindy, who’s still batting her lashes with all the desperate charm of someone who knows they’re losing.

“You know, Cindy, maybe it's time to retire the 'slut act.' It's getting old, and frankly, it's not doing you any favours. You're starting to look more desperate than desirable. And let's not forget, what happened between you and me was a mistake—a mistake I have no interest in repeating. So, why don't you save yourself the embarrassment and tone it down a notch?”

She gasped 

I gasped.

But then, a small, almost guilty smile plays at the corner of my lips, betraying the amusement I feel despite myself.

My phone buzzes softly in my pocket, vibrating against my thigh. I pull it out, glancing at the screen to see a new message waiting for me.

**Looks like Zion’s your bodyguard. Let’s see how long he can actually keep you safe.**

The threat hangs heavy, dark and chilling, sending a shiver down my spine.