CHAPTER 191
**WINTER**
Zion hadn’t stopped staring.
Even as the professor droned on about something that wasn’t even registering anymore, I could feel the heat of his gaze like a slow burn against my skin.
I shifted in my seat, leaning slightly toward him and muttering under my breath,
“Will you stop staring?”
My voice came out sharper than I meant, but Zion had been burning holes into the side of my face for the past ten minutes.
His jaw ticked, eyes narrowing with a storm brewing just beneath the surface.
“Not until you tell me what’s going on. Did Damien say something—?”
“No,” I snapped, sharper than I meant to.
“I said I’m fine, Zion. Not everything has to be a damn crisis.”
He didn’t back off.
If anything, he leaned in closer, his voice a low rasp against the hum of the classroom.
“Yeah, except you don’t do fine with that face.” His eyes locked on mine.
“I know you, Snowflake. You’ve got that look—like something’s eating you alive.”
His gaze searched mine, unwavering.
“And whatever you’re pretending isn’t bothering you—is.”
I didn’t look at him.
Just stared straight ahead, whispering through clenched teeth.
“The only thing bothering me right now is you, Zion.”
His brows drew together, startled.
“You hijacked my break, wouldn’t let me work on my assignment, and now you’re breathing down my neck during class. I can't think straight with you hovering like this. So unless you suddenly developed a need for extra credit in irritating me, back off.”
For a heartbeat, he looked like I’d slapped him.
“Snowflake… I’m just trying to look out for you,” he said quietly.
“If there’s something on your mind—anything at all—you can tell me. Just… trust me, okay? I know I haven’t exactly earned that yet.”
His words hung in the air, soft but steady.
Should I tell him?
But what if it’s nothing—just some stupid prank?
Probably one of Zion’s long list of one-night stands trying to get to me.
He’d probably just laugh it off, tell me I’m overreacting… call me paranoid. After all, our friendship is barely even a thing yet.
“Winter. Zion.”
Professor Adler’s voice cracked through the air like a gunshot, slicing through the murmur of the room. Every head turned toward us, the silence is immediate and suffocating.
“If the two of you are quite finished starring in whatever drama you’ve decided to premiere in my classroom,” he snapped, his glare icy and unforgiving,
“Perhaps you’d like to rejoin the rest of us in this college-level lecture?”
He took a step forward, arms crossed, voice rising just enough to humiliate.
“Or shall I separate you like a pair of bickering twelve-year-olds?”
A pause. Then, more venomously—
“Better yet—since your little conversation seems so urgent, why don’t you enlighten the class? Please—by all means—share what’s so riveting that it apparently outranks my forty-minute lecture on cellular mechanisms.”
Zion leaned back in his chair, completely unfazed. A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he murmured,
“Oh, we were just debating which part of your lecture is less painful, sir. Thought the class might appreciate our expert insights.”
Professor Adler’s eyes narrowed, his patience wearing thin.
“Mr. Royal, if your goal is to earn detention, you’re off to a spectacular start. Now, unless you prefer to spend the rest of the semester outside this classroom, I suggest you keep your ‘expert insights’ to yourself.”
Professor Adler’s expression darkened, and he leaned forward, his voice low and firm.
“I suggest you pay attention, Mr. Royal. This is a lecture, not a social hour. If you can’t contribute something of value, then perhaps you should keep your comments to yourself. Or better yet, maybe you should leave if you find my lecture so uninteresting. The door is right there.” He pointed to the door with a sharp, dismissive gesture, his eyes never leaving Zion’s.
Zion’s jaw tensed, and he sat up straighter, his eyes locking onto Professor Adler’s in a silent standoff.
The classroom was so quiet you could hear a pin drop, the atmosphere thick with tension.
I reached out and grabbed his clenched hand, squeezing it tightly.
His eyes snapped to me, surprise flickering across his face. He looked at my hand on his, and I could see the tension in his shoulders begin to ease. He let out a heavy sigh, his voice low and controlled as he finally spoke.
“Fine, Professor. I’ll behave,” Zion said, his tone laced with a mix of resignation and defiance. He leaned back in his chair, his hand relaxing under mine, but his eyes never left Professor Adler’s.
Zion muttered under his breath, just loud enough for me to hear, “Might be easier if some people knew how to mind their own fucking business.”
The professor’s gaze sharpened.
“What was that, Mr. Royal?”
I spoke up quickly before things escalated.
“He was apologizing, sir… Actually, we’re both sorry.”
Zion let out a low chuckle, not bothering to hide the smirk tugging at his lips.
“Yeah. Right. Whatever you say.”
Professor Adler narrowed his eyes but moved on, clearly deciding we weren’t worth the energy
I sank back in my seat, heat crawling up my neck.
Zion didn’t respond, but his jaw flexed. He looked away for a beat, just long enough to pretend to listen to the lecture, but his eyes kept flicking back to me.
I kept my posture straight, head tilted just enough to appear engaged in the lesson, though my mind was anything but.
The bell rang—sharp, jarring.
I stood, careful not to rush.
No dramatic exits. Just me, grabbing my bag and slinging it over one shoulder like any other day, any other class.
“Snowflake—” Zion started, sliding his chair back.
But before he could move, Professor’s voice sliced through the room like a whip.
“Mr. Royal. A word.”
Zion froze, jaw clenching as he let out a low, irritated breath.
“Seriously? Can this fucking wait?”
“It can’t.”
His teeth clenched tighter, but he had no choice. He turned back toward the professor.
I moved down the aisle, steady, trying not to look back.
Then Zion’s voice stopped me—a low, urgent call.
“Wait up... Snowflake?”
I glanced over my shoulder without breaking pace.
“Talk to the professor. I’ll see you later.”
I kept walking.
I hurried down the hallway, trying to keep my steps steady but quick.
Every few seconds, I found myself glancing over my shoulder, then to the sides—just to make sure no one was watching me.
The noise of the crowded hallway felt muffled like it was happening somewhere far away, and my heart beat faster with every glance.
Was I just being paranoid? Or did someone actually have their eyes on me?
I stopped a few steps away.
There he was—Damien, arms crossed, leaning against my locker like he owned the place, laughing with some girl who was hanging on his every word.
I let out a sharp sigh, loud enough to cut through their bubble.
“Move.”
He glanced at me, a slow smirk curling on his lips, then turned right back to the girl without so much as lifting a finger.
Not a single inch. Just stood there, like a smug blockade.
“Damien,” I said, voice tighter than I wanted it to be,
“I need to get into my locker.”
My gaze dropped to his scuffed black Nikes, refusing to meet his eyes. I didn’t have the energy for his games—I just wanted to get home and disappear under my covers.
He finally turned, eyes gleaming with mock surprise as he looked me up and down.
“Oh? This your locker? What a coincidence,” he said, voice dripping with fake innocence.
The girl giggled nearby, her eyes sparkling as he flashed her a cheeky grin. Leaning closer to her, Damien whispered,
“If you think my smile’s distracting, wait till you see my moves in bed.”
She laughed softly, biting her lip, clearly hooked on every word.
He glanced back at me with a smug smirk, enjoying the show.
Then, without warning, he pulled the girl in for a fierce kiss, his hands roaming her back as she melted into him. I sighed, my heart pounding with a mix of frustration and disgust.
“Go and make out somewhere else, Damien,” I muttered, trying to keep my voice steady.
He broke the kiss, a crude grin spreading across his face as he turned to me.
“Jealous, Winter? You know, if you want a taste, all you have to do is ask. I’m more than willing to share.”
The girl blushed, a mix of embarrassment and excitement in her eyes as she looked from Damien to me.
I clenched my fists, my patience running thin, and took a deep breath, trying to hold onto the last shreds of my composure.
“Trust me, Damien, I have no interest in a taste of whatever that was. Now, move out of my way. I have better things to do than watch your pathetic attempts at flirting.”
He chuckled, clearly amused by my outburst, but didn’t budge.
“Say please,” he taunted, a mischievous glint in his eye.
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