CHAPTER 190
**WINTER**
The low murmur of the classroom faded into a muffled roar, drowned out by the thundering pulse in my ears.
Zion’s gaze burned against my skin—I could feel it—but I didn’t dare look up. My eyes stayed locked on my phone, even though the screen had started to blur.
My fingers trembled as I reread the message.
**Looks like Zion’s your bodyguard. Let’s see how long he can actually keep you safe.**
I swallowed hard, a lump lodged in my throat, thick and unmoving.
My thumb hit the power button, the screen going black, but it did nothing to erase the words now seared into my memory.
What the hell is this?
Another twisted joke?
This was the second time—and it wasn’t funny anymore.
My hands wouldn’t stop shaking. Fear slithered under my skin, quiet and cold, wrapping tighter with every breath.
And I didn’t know if I should be angry, scared… or both.
I pressed my phone tight against my thigh like that would silence the echo of the message still ringing in my head.
My heart wouldn’t slow. My thoughts wouldn’t either.
Someone sent that.
Maybe someone in this room?
I forced myself to breathe, then casually glanced around.
Cindy was still in her seat, two rows down, stiff-backed and sulking.
She wasn't twirling her hair anymore. Instead, she kept adjusting her top like she suddenly hated how it fit, her eyes flicking toward Zion every few seconds—less flirtatious now, more wounded and calculating.
Whatever hope she'd had of catching his attention had clearly gone up in flames the moment he shut her down with that brutal remark.
Her lips were pressed into a thin, fake pout, but I could see the crack beneath the surface—embarrassment painted in pink blush and too much lip gloss.
Still, no phone in her hand. Just her pen clenched so tightly between her fingers that I half expected it to snap.
Besides, she couldn’t string a coherent sentence together, let alone a threat that subtle.
Her games were loud, obvious, desperate.
This? This was something else.
Cold. Quiet. Personal.
And that made it worse.
But at least that ruled her out. If she'd sent the message, she wouldn't be that focused on ogling him like he was dessert.
My gaze flicked to Zion beside me—stoic, calm, watching me his brows furrowed.
He wasn’t texting. His phone was face-down on the table, untouched.
That small relief hit harder than I expected.
I didn’t want to believe it, but part of me had feared—just this morning —that this was his game again. That maybe this was him… slipping back into who he used to be.
But no.
It wasn’t him.
I knew it now.
So who was it?
My eyes darted to Harry and Ro a few seats away.
Ro had his elbow propped on the desk, chin resting in his palm, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else.
Harry was half-laughing at something Clark was doing—juggling pens like an idiot and trying to get a reaction from the row behind him.
None of them had their phones out. None of them were even pretending to care about anything serious.
A few other students had their heads bent over their devices—texting, scrolling, watching whatever.
But no one looked suspicious.
No quick glances.
No subtle smirks.
No one watching me to see how I’d react.
It was just… normal.
And somehow, that made it worse.
Because whoever sent that message may still be sitting here, in this class.
Still watching.
Still hidden.
And I didn’t know who they were or what they wanted.
But I could feel it now—this creeping sensation like eyes on the back of my neck, like the room had tilted slightly, like the floor beneath me wasn’t entirely solid anymore.
Like I’d just become prey without even realizing it.
“Snowflake,” Zion said, his voice a low, rough murmur that sent a shiver down my spine.
That name—his alone to say. Since we were kids, he was the only one who ever called me that, and every time he did, it made me feel like I was the only one who mattered to him.
Anyone else daring to say it would have faced his anger—because that name was his, a secret mark that made me feel special like I belonged only to him.
I turned to him, forcing a smile that felt more like a grimace.
“Yeah?”
“You alright?”
"Why wouldn't I be?" I muttered, but even to my own ears, my voice sounded flat and unconvincing, as my eyes met his.
Zion's eyes darkened, and his voice dropped to a low rumble.
"Because you look like you've just seen a ghost." The way he said it, slow and measured, sent a chill down my spine.
It was like he could see right through me like he knew something was seriously wrong.
His eyes flickered briefly to my phone.
I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, avoiding his gaze.
“No, it’s nothing like that. It’s just this damn assignment—the one you and Damien completely ruined with your inflated egos and that ridiculous ‘who’s got the bigger dick’ contest.”
I didn’t mean for it to come out so sharp, but the words were out before I could stop them. Zion looked away, a flicker of hurt in his eyes.
“Snowflake,” he murmured softly, his voice laced with genuine regret.
“I know you’re pissed about all this, and I get why. But it’s just… I don’t trust that guy. There’s something off about him. I never meant to upset you—hurting you was the last thing on my mind.”
My breath caught in my throat. I hated how sincere he sounded, how genuine his concern was. It made it harder to keep my walls up.
I exhaled slowly, trying to regain some semblance of control.
“I’ve got another assignment piling up on top of this one, and Damien’s already checked out—probably planning to drool and flirt with me the entire time instead of actually helping, while I’m left carrying the weight of his laziness and attitude. So yeah, I’m a little on edge. No big deal, right?”
The second I mentioned Damien, Zion’s entire demeanour shifted. His jaw tightened like a trap snapping shut, his shoulders squared, and his voice dropped, low and sharp with something I hadn’t heard before—jealousy.
“He’s been flirting with you? Is he the one who just texted you? Wait—did you give him your number?”
His eyes burned, accusing as if the idea of Damien crossing a line was the only thing that could shake him this much.
Seriously? That’s what’s got him so rattled?
I gave a sharp laugh and shook my head slowly, deliberately.
“No. We didn’t exchange numbers. Not that it’s any of your business. We’re doing a project. Together. That’s it.”
He didn’t look convinced. His eyes dropped to my hand—still trembling slightly despite my efforts to hide it.
“Then what was it?” he asked, quieter now.
"The notification."
“It was nothing,” I said quickly, too quickly.
“Just a random ping. Could’ve been spam. Not everything has to mean something, Zion.”
His brows drew together like he knew I was lying. Like he could hear the panic I was trying to hide behind all the sarcasm.
He reached out—just a small movement, his hand hovering near mine, not quite touching, but close enough that I felt the warmth of his skin.
“You’re shaking.”
I flinched and pulled my hand away before he could really notice, tucking it under my arm like I was cold.
“Because I’m tired and annoyed,” I snapped.
“That’s all. Not everything is a crisis, okay?”
"Snowf....."
The door creaked open, and the professor entered, slamming a stack of papers onto the desk.
The sound echoed like a gunshot, making me jump. I straightened up, forcing my eyes forward, trying to look like I had it all together.
But Zion’s gaze didn’t waver. It burned into me, a mix of worry and determination. He knew something was up, and he wouldn’t let it go.
The walls seemed to press in tighter around me, the secret I’d been carrying like a ticking bomb ready to blow.
I wasn’t ready to tell him—not yet.
Maybe it was just some sick prank.
But beneath that doubt, a raw part of me ached for his comfort, craved the safety of his arms.
Still, I knew Zion—if he caught even a whiff of this, he wouldn’t just lose control; he’d tear through the college like a storm, leaving chaos in his wake.
The whole college might pay the price.
If this wasn’t just a prank, I was scared—for him, for what he might do when pushed too far. That terrified me more than the message itself.
So I wouldn't tell him.
Not yet, I told myself. Not until I know what I’m dealing with.
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