Debate, Death Glare & Disaster.

Three Days Before the Debate.

If hard work guaranteed a win, I would have had Zayne McCall mounted on a trophy shelf by now.

Instead, I was three days away from the biggest debate of the year, running on caffeine, four hours of sleep, and sheer spite.

"Jasmine, honey, you're going to burn a hole through those cue cards," my mom teased from across the dinner table.

I blinked, realizing I'd been staring daggers at my handwritten notes like they personally offended me. My fingers curled around the edges of the flashcards, the words practically burned into my brain. **Affirmative rebuttals, counterarguments, logical fallacies-**I had to be flawless.

Because if I wasn't? Zayne would win. Again.

And that was not happening.

"She's in the zone," my dad commented, flipping the page of his newspaper. "Classic pre-debate meltdown."

I scowled. "I don't melt down."

"You do this every time, sweetheart," my mom said with an affectionate smile. "And every time, you do amazing."

"Yeah, except the part where I don't win," I muttered.

My dad smirked behind his coffee cup. "Still McCall?"

I groaned, slumping against my chair. "It's always McCall."

"That boy does have an impressive record," he mused.

I shot him a glare. "Whose side are you on?"

"Yours, obviously," he said, unfazed. "But I appreciate a strong competitor. Keeps things interesting."

Interesting? Losing to Zayne McCall was not interesting. It was infuriating.

"You'll get him this time," my mom reassured, reaching over to squeeze my hand. "And even if you don't-"

"Don't finish that sentence," I deadpanned.

Her eyes twinkled with amusement. "I was going to say, it builds character."

I groaned dramatically, letting my forehead hit the table. "I have enough character. I need a damn victory."

A buzz from my phone pulled me from my self-pity.

Xan: Library. Now. Emergency.

My brows furrowed. What emergency could Xan possibly have in a library?

"I gotta go," I announced, grabbing my bag.

Mom raised a brow. "Library at this hour?"

"Xan emergency," I said vaguely.

Dad nodded sagely. "Ah. The universal excuse for avoiding your mother's lecture."

Mom swatted his arm as I grabbed my jacket and slipped out the door, smiling despite my stress. At least I had some people rooting for me.

---At The Westrange Library.

"Let me get this straight," I said, dropping into the chair across from Xan, who was currently hunched over a massive textbook, looking one minor inconvenience away from a breakdown. "You dragged me here for... math?"

Xan looked up, pushing his dark curls back in frustration. "It's not just math. It's pre-calc. The devil's subject. The academic equivalent of heartbreak."

I snorted. "Dramatic, much?"

He scowled. "Jasmine, I play the violin. Of course I'm dramatic."

Fair point.

I smirked, leaning on the table. "So... let me get this straight. You, Xan Ashworth, smartest guy I know, need tutoring?"

"From you?" He scoffed. "God, no. But Ava's late, and I'm suffering."

As if summoned, Ava strolled in, looking completely unbothered. "You texted 'emergency' over pre-calc?"

Xan pointed at the equation in front of him. "That-that is an emergency."

Ava sighed, dropping her bag onto the table. "You're lucky you're pretty, Ashworth."

I choked on my water. Xan smirked. "You think I'm pretty?"

"I think you're hopeless." Ava plopped into the chair beside him, grabbing a pencil. "Now shut up and let me fix your tragic math skills."

I grinned, shaking my head as they bickered. This-the quiet hum of the library, the scratch of pencils on paper, the easy flow of teasing and banter-this was my safe space.

A world where Zayne McCall didn't exist.

Unfortunately, it wouldn't last.

Three days.

Three days until I had to face him again.

And this time, I was not walking away empty-handed.

But right now? I needed a break before my brain fried itself.

I stretched my arms above my head, rolling my shoulders as I glanced at Xan and Ava, still deep in their math war. Xan was gesturing wildly at the equation in front of him, his face twisted in betrayal, while Ava looked like she was reconsidering all her life choices.

"You're seriously struggling this hard?" she groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose.

Xan ran a hand through his curls, sighing dramatically. "Ava, some of us weren't born with a calculator for a brain."

I laughed, tucking my legs under the chair. "This is embarrassing for you, Ashworth."

He shot me a mock glare. "Says the girl currently planning Zayne McCall's funeral."

My eye twitched. "I-okay, first of all, it's not that deep."

Ava snorted. "You looked five seconds away from throwing hands at dinner."

"Whatever." I waved them off, checking my phone. Late. I still had to finish an essay, go over my rebuttal notes, and somehow not spiral into insanity before debate day.

"I'm heading out," I said, shoving my books into my bag.

"Don't stay up all night obsessing over McCall," Ava teased.

Xan grinned. "Or do. He might finally lose sleep over you, too."

I threw my water bottle at him.

Two Days Before the Debate.

Mornings at Westrange were chaotic, competitive, and caffeine-fueled.

Students flooded the halls, voices blending into a constant hum of gossip, laughter, and the occasional dramatic rant. Designer backpacks slung over shoulders, expensive perfume lingering in the air-it was like stepping into a high-budget teen drama.

I walked into homeroom, sliding into my usual seat beside Ava. She barely looked up from her notebook, where she was sketching something probably better than half the art department's projects.

"Two days," she said without preamble. "How's the game plan?"

"Solid," I replied, flipping open my planner. "If I don't win this time, I'm-"

"Committing arson?" she finished dryly.

I grinned. "I was gonna say dropping out, but sure."

Before she could respond, the classroom door swung open, and in walked Salomi Michealson.

And, of course, she made an entrance.

Blonde waves cascading down her back, perfectly manicured nails tapping against her Prada bag, her uniform skirt just short enough to be considered borderline illegal. The room practically tilted in her direction as she strolled in, because that was the effect Salomi had on people-effortless attention.

I wasn't impressed.

She spotted me instantly, flashing a sweet-but-not-really smile as she slid into the seat directly in front of me. "Jasmine," she purred. "Prepping for your big loss?"

Ava muttered something under her breath that sounded a lot like brainless barbie, and I bit back a smirk.

"I don't plan on losing," I said coolly, leaning back in my chair.

Salomi propped her chin on her hand, studying me like I was some kind of amusing puzzle. "Mm. You should really try it sometime. Humbles you."

I gave her my best fake smile. "I'll pass."

A flicker of irritation crossed her ember-green eyes, but it was gone in an instant. She turned away, pulling out her lip gloss like I was suddenly too insignificant to entertain.

Ava nudged me under the desk, mouthing what the hell does she want?

I didn't have an answer, but one thing was clear-Salomi Michealson never did anything without a reason.

Westrange High's golden girl wasn't just popular; she was ruthlessly strategic. The kind of person who could destroy you with a well-placed rumor while reapplying her Chanel lip gloss. And, most importantly, she was Zayne McCall's ex.

Not that it mattered.

Not that I cared.

Salomi tossed her hair over her shoulder, her emerald eyes flicking back toward me. "Oh, by the way," she said, her voice silky smooth, "Zayne and I are meeting up later. Thought I'd let you know, since you seem so... invested."

Ava's pen snapped in half.

I gave Salomi a blank stare, refusing to take the bait. "Wow," I deadpanned. "You and your ex hanging out. That's so groundbreaking."

Her lips curled. "You're funny, Thompson."

I leaned forward, resting my chin on my palm. "And you're still hung up on a guy who dumped you. We all have our strengths."

Ava choked on air, and for a second, I thought I saw a crack in Salomi's perfect expression. It was gone as quickly as it came, replaced with a saccharine smile.

"Hm." She turned back around, dismissing me like I wasn't worth her time.

I rolled my eyes, but my fingers clenched around my notebook. Zayne and Salomi. Again.

Not my problem. Not my business.

One Day Before the Debate - Thursday Night.

Group Chat: The Chaos Coven

Ava: Party. Xavier Collins' house. Be there.

Xan: Football dude? The guy who called you "nerdy hot" last semester?

Ava: That was one time. And it was a valid observation.

Jasmine: So... what's the vibe?

Ava: Hot guys, alcohol, bad decisions.

Jasmine: Sold.

Xan: This is why we're all going to hell.

I smirked, tossing my phone onto my bed. A party was exactly what I needed-something to take my mind off debate prep, Westrange politics, and certain people I refused to name.

Xavier Collins' House - 10:47 PM

The party was chaos in the best possible way-expensive liquor flowing, bass shaking the walls, bodies pressed together in every available space.

Westrange didn't do anything halfway.

And Xavier Collins? He was their golden boy. Star quarterback, rich, cocky, the type who walked through school like he owned it. Judging by the barely-dressed, half-drunk girls draped over him, I wasn't about to argue.

I linked arms with Ava, weaving through the crowd, past couples tangled against the walls, laughing against lips, hands sliding beneath clothes like they weren't surrounded by people.

Ava let out a low whistle. "Damn. Westrange knows how to throw a party."

I smirked. "You sound impressed."

"I'm intrigued." Her gaze flicked toward a group of football players near the bar. "Also, those guys are hot."

I raised a brow. "See something you like?"

She shrugged. "Maybe."

A slow grin spread across my lips. "Then do something about it."

Ava rolled her eyes. "Like what? Just walk up to one and flirt?"

"Yes." I tilted my head. "Or, if you need motivation... I dare you."

Her lips parted slightly, amusement flashing in her dark eyes. "You think I won't?"

I smirked. "I think you talk a big game."

Ava narrowed her gaze. "Fine. Pick one."

I scanned the crowd, searching-then found him.

A broad-shouldered guy leaned against the bar, tall, built, with tanned skin and messy dark hair. His sharp jawline caught the glow of the overhead lights, a lazy smirk curving his lips as he chuckled at something his friend said.

Football poster-boy levels of attractive.

I pointed. "Him."

Ava exhaled dramatically. "Alright. Watch and learn."

I watched.

Every damn person in the room did.

The moment she strutted over, hips swaying with a confidence that could kill, the guy locked onto her instantly. His smirk deepened, eyes raking over her as she leaned in, saying something too low for me to hear.

He grinned, tilting his head, his fingers grazing the inside of her wrist as he murmured something back. Smooth.

Then, without hesitation, he grabbed her hand and pulled her onto the dance floor.

Xan appeared beside me, arching a brow. "She's actually doing it."

I smirked. "I taught her well."

We both turned toward the dance floor-and damn.

Ava wasn't just dancing. She was commanding attention.

The guy pulled her close, hands skimming the dip of her waist, but Ava was the one in control. Rolling her hips with slow, deliberate movements, tilting her head back just enough to let her hair cascade down her back.

His grip tightened.

His mouth dipped to her neck.

A test. A challenge. A dare.

She twisted in his hold, arching against him, pressing back into his chest like she belonged there.

The energy between them was electric, palpable. The kind of tension that had people stopping mid-drink, drawn in like moths to a flame.

Xan let out a low whistle. "Damn. She's good."

I took a sip of my drink, completely **unbothered-**until my gaze flicked across the room-

And landed on Zayne.

With Salomi.

Kissing.

The sight knocked the air from my lungs, sharp and unexpected.

Salomi's voice echoed in my head-Zayne and I are meeting up later.

Well. She wasn't lying.

His hands gripped her ass giving it a squeeze, pulling her flush against him. She tangled her fingers in his dark hair, nails skimming the back of his neck as she kissed him slow, deep, like she knew exactly who was watching.

I took a long sip of my drink.

Not my problem.

Not my business.

And yet-

I couldn't stop looking.

Xan noticed.

"You good?"

I swallowed hard, forcing an easy smirk. "Why wouldn't I be?"

His gaze flicked toward Zayne and Salomi, then back to me. "No reason."

A challenge.

I took another sip. Bigger this time.

The alcohol burned, but not enough to drown it out.

Not enough to make me not imagine how Zayne's lips felt on mine.

Or how, right now, they were on her.

Zayne's POV .

The party was exactly what I expected-booze, music so loud it rattled the walls, and people who weren't sober enough to care that they were practically fucking in the open.

Westrange always delivered.

I stepped through the doorway, rolling my shoulders, taking in the familiar chaos when I heard my name.

"McCall!"

I turned just as Xavier Collins-quarterback, rich, cocky as hell-grinned and clapped a hand on my shoulder.

"You made it," he said, his voice carrying over the music.

I smirked, tapping my fingers against the bottle in my hand. "Wouldn't miss it."

"Damn right, you wouldn't." He pulled back, giving me a once-over. "You're too serious, man. Loosen up."

"I'm plenty loose."

Xavier chuckled. "That's what she said."

I shook my head, laughing as he turned toward the party, throwing an arm around a blonde who was already pressed against him. "Enjoy, McCall. Drinks are stacked, and the girls are everywhere."

That much was obvious.

I made my way inside, my two closest friends, Ryan and Jace, already flanking me. Ryan had a drink in one hand and an arm around a girl, while Jace-smirking, always watching-scanned the crowd like he was looking for his next victim.

"Xavier's got a point," Jace mused, leaning in just enough to be heard. "You're tense, man. Need to take the edge off."

Ryan smirked. "You already know how."

And just like that, I felt her before I saw her.

Salomi.

Her perfume hit first-rich, warm, and something undeniably feminine. Then her fingers, delicate but certain, sliding up my arm as she pressed her body into my side.

"You're late," she murmured.

I tipped my head, studying her. Her lips were painted deep red, her emerald eyes gleaming under the dim lights. She wore a silk mini dress, dark green and criminally short, hugging every curve she damn well knew how to use.

I smirked. "You waiting for me, princess?"

She smiled-slow, knowing. "Maybe."

Ryan whistled low under his breath. "Well, shit. Looks like McCall's already occupied."

Jace chuckled. "We should leave him to it."

They disappeared into the crowd, and just like that, it was just me and Salomi.

She slid her arms around my neck, pressing closer. "How much have you had to drink?"

"Not enough."

"Want to fix that?"

I exhaled a laugh. "Not yet."

Her fingers traced the collar of my shirt. "Then what do you want?"

I didn't answer.

Not with words.

Instead, I gripped her waist, pulling her against me, hard enough that she gasped, sharp and pleased.

She grinned. "That's more like it."

And then-

I kissed her.

Or maybe she kissed me.

Either way, it hit fast, deep, all tongues and teeth and fucking fire.

Her nails scraped the back of my neck as I tilted her chin, owning the kiss, deepening it.

She moaned into my mouth, and something in me liked that sound a little too much.

I backed her against the nearest wall, my hand sliding down the curve of her ass, gripping, teasing, keeping her exactly where I wanted her.

Her fingers slipped into my hair, tugging just right, her body arching into me, meeting every movement with one of her own.

The party disappeared.

It was just us.

Heat. Contact. Friction.

She tasted like whiskey and sin, like something dangerous, like something that knew how to play the game.

A distraction.

And I was fine with that.

Until I felt it.

A gaze.

And I knew exactly who it belonged to.

I pulled back just slightly, lips still ghosting over Salomi's, my breathing heavy, controlled.

Then, as if I had all the time in the world, I turned my head.

And locked eyes with Jasmine.

She was across the room, frozen mid-sip, staring.

A slow, sharp tug pulled at the corner of my mouth.

Interesting.

Salomi ran her fingers down my chest, murmuring something against my lips, but I wasn't listening anymore.

Because Jasmine wasn't just looking.

She was watching.

And I fucking liked that.

I was about to push further, to see how long she could hold that stare, when-

Xan distracted her.

He said something-**a joke, a tease-**and just like that, she snapped out of it.

Laughed.

And the moment was gone.

I watched as she turned away, shaking her head, letting Xan pull her attention back to Ava on the dance floor.

And just like that, I was the one left watching.

I clenched my jaw, something sharp tugging at my chest as I watched them smiling, laughing, carrying on like I wasn't even there.

Salomi's nails traced patterns down my arm, her voice silk-soft against my ear. "Where'd you go just now?"

I exhaled through my nose, rolling my shoulders like I could shake it off.

"Nowhere."

I should've turned back to her. Should've pulled her in again, given her the attention she was clearly waiting for.

But I didn't feel like it anymore.

Instead, I pulled away.

"I need a drink."

And before she could stop me, I turned and disappeared into the crowd.

The Day of the Debate .

Jasmine's POV.

If stress could kill, I'd be dead by now.

The Westrange High Debate Finals were the event of the year-where reputations were made, futures were secured, and most importantly? Where I was finally, finally going to beat Zayne McCall.

At least, that was the plan.

I gripped my notes, my pulse pounding as I stood backstage, waiting for the auditorium to fill. The noise of hundreds of students, teachers, and the school board settling into their seats echoed behind the curtain.

Ava stood beside me, scrolling on her phone. "Did you see the betting pool?"

I blinked. "The what?"

She turned her screen toward me. A student-run forum had polls, live predictions, and-

I snatched her phone. "They're taking bets on the debate?!"

Ava nodded. "Fifty bucks says Zayne wins."

I stared at the screen, offended on a personal level. "What the actual fuck-"

"Relax," Ava smirked. "Some people are betting on you too. Mostly nerds and feminists, but still."

I groaned, rubbing my temples. Great. No pressure.

Then, as if the universe wanted to make my day worse, I heard his voice.

"Morning, Thompson."

Zayne.

I closed my eyes. Mentally counted to five. Then turned.

He stood a few feet away, hands in his pockets, wearing his typical mix of arrogance and expensive cologne.

And the worst part? He looked completely unfazed.

No nerves. No stress. No sign that he'd spent the night at a party, making out with his ex like it meant nothing.

Like I hadn't been there at all.

I straightened, tilting my chin. "McCall."

His gaze flicked down to the cue cards clenched in my hand. Amusement flashed in his golden-brown eyes.

"Nervous?"

I forced a mock smile. "Hope you're ready to lose."

His lips curved-slow, deliberate, like he was already winning.

"Cute," he murmured. Then brushed past me, walking onto the stage.

I exhaled sharply. Fucking asshole.

Ava patted my shoulder. "Manifest violence, babe."

I gritted my teeth. Oh, I planned to.

Game. Fucking. On.

Or at least, it was supposed to be-until I turned and locked eyes with Salomi.

She stood near the entrance to the stage, arms crossed, lips painted in a smug shade of red that matched the blood pressure spike she gave me.

"Well, well," she mused, tilting her head. "The girl of the hour."

I forced a tight smile. "Michealson."

Salomi was a lot of things-annoying, calculating, hot enough to make any guy lose IQ points-but above all, she was relentless. And judging by the glint in her green eyes, she was here to play.

She leaned in slightly, voice just low enough for only me to hear. "Hope you're not still distracted from last night."

My stomach tensed.

I kept my expression blank. "Should I be?"

She smirked, too pleased with herself. "I don't know. Watching your rival kiss his ex? That has to sting a little."

I didn't blink. Didn't react.

Because that's what she wanted.

Instead, I shrugged, forcing my body to stay relaxed. "Not really. But I guess if he's still entertaining you, he must be bored."

Her smirk faltered just slightly, but before she could snap back, Xan appeared beside me.

"Wow," he said, flashing a mock-impressed look between us. "Two alpha females going head-to-head. I should sell tickets."

Salomi scoffed. "Please. I don't fight over men."

Xan's lips twitched. "That's cute. You think Zayne is a man."

I snorted. Salomi's nostrils flared.

Before she could murder us both, Ava grabbed my wrist, completely unbothered by the tension. "Come on, Thompson. You have a debate to win."

I let her drag me away, ignoring the heat crawling up my spine.

"Ugh, I hate her," I muttered.

Xan chuckled. "I love that she hates you more."

Ava grinned, but before I could dwell on Salomi, she casually dropped the biggest bomb of the day.

"Oh, by the way," she said, flipping her hair, "I fucked that football guy from the party."

Xan and I stopped walking at the exact same time.

I blinked. "Excuse me?"

Xan coughed. "I-what?"

Ava smirked. "Yeah. Tall guy, big hands, stamina? Chef's kiss."

My jaw hit the floor. "What the hell-when? How? Where?"

"After the dance," she said easily. "Upstairs. Third guest room. Surprisingly clean."

Xan made a choked noise. "I can't believe I just heard that sentence."

Ava patted my back. "Debate first. Sex debrief later." Then, before I could react, she shoved me onto the stage.

I barely had time to glare before the lights hit me, and the auditorium roared to life.

Shit.

Focus, Jasmine.

The Debate Begins.

The stage was set.

Two podiums. Two microphones. One battleground.

Westrange didn't just host debates. They made them a spectacle.

The judges sat in a sharp row, clipboards poised, calculating every move like referees in a championship fight. The crowd-students, faculty, even press from top universities-leaned forward, waiting for blood.

And across from me?

Zayne McCall.

He stood there, relaxed, unreadable, twirling a damn pen between his fingers like this was fun for him. Like we weren't about to go to war.

Our topic? Does artificial intelligence do more harm than good?

I was arguing for AI. He was arguing against it.

The moderator cleared his throat. "Ms. Thompson, you may begin."

I stepped forward, gripping the podium, voice steady.

Time to destroy him.

"Artificial Intelligence is the future. It's revolutionizing medicine, education, and security. To claim it's purely harmful is to ignore the potential for progress-"

"Progress, or replacement?"

Zayne's voice cut through mine, smooth and effortless.

I barely stopped my eye roll. "Progress. AI isn't replacing humans, it's enhancing efficiency."

He leaned forward slightly, eyes glinting under the stage lights. "Tell that to the millions of people losing jobs to automation."

Damn him.

I kept my expression cool. "AI creates new industries, new career paths. With innovation comes adaptation."

Zayne's brow arched, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Right. Because the average worker can just wake up one day and become a robotics engineer?"

Laughter rippled through the crowd.

Asshole.

I pushed back. "That's a defeatist mindset. Historically, every industrial revolution has displaced jobs-but it also created more in return."

Zayne tilted his head, pretending to consider. "So... survival of the fittest?"

I clenched my jaw. "That's not-"

"Which means you're admitting AI is eliminating weaker jobs."

"That's a misinterpretation-"

"Interesting take, Thompson."

The audience murmured.

The judges scribbled notes.

My nails dug into the wood of the podium. He was shifting the conversation, redirecting, forcing me to fight from a defensive stance.

I exhaled. Not happening.

I came back swinging.

I hit him with statistics. Studies from MIT, Harvard, economic experts proving AI-generated employment growth.

He countered. Hard.

Every number I threw, he twisted. Every point I built, he chipped away. His delivery was too smooth, too calculated, his voice an easy rhythm of persuasion and dominance.

It wasn't just logic.

It was war.

The room buzzed with intensity.

The moderator tried to step in. "Let's maintain order-"

We ignored him.

"If AI is such a threat," I shot back, "then why is it saving lives in hospitals? Why is it closing gaps in education? Why is it enhancing security-"

"At what cost?" Zayne interrupted, voice like a blade. "Medical AI is still biased. Machines are only as good as their programmers, and human bias is inevitable. AI doesn't fix inequality-it reinforces it."

The crowd murmured. I saw judges nodding.

Damn it.

I pivoted. "Bias isn't an AI flaw-it's a human flaw. And with regulation and ethical AI development-"

"Which assumes regulation will ever keep up," he cut in, "which history proves it never does."

More murmurs. More notes.

I was drowning.

I forced myself to breathe. To regroup.

I fought harder. More data. More rebuttals. More force in my delivery.

But so did he.

Back and forth. Strike and counterstrike.

It was a battle of dominance, a test of endurance, a fight for control.

And then-

The final arguments.

I laid out my closing statement with every ounce of conviction in me. My voice rang through the room, unwavering. Strong. Certain. Unshakable.

But when Zayne spoke-

He had already won.

His voice? Smooth. Confident. Deadly.

His final words weren't just an argument.

They were a checkmate.

The judges deliberated.

The tension was suffocating.

Then-

"Winner: Zayne McCall."

Applause exploded.

I stood there. Frozen.

Again.

Always.

My hands curled into fists, my breath stuck in my throat.

Zayne's gaze flickered to me.

And for the first time, I didn't glare.

I just stood there, swallowing past the tightness in my chest, my heart pounding, my ego slowly crumbling.

I kept my face blank. Kept my shoulders squared.

But as the weight of second place settled in, I felt it-

The sting behind my eyes. The lump in my throat.

Why?

Why him?

Why always him?

I forced my expression neutral, refused to let my voice crack.

But as I walked off stage, I knew one thing for sure.

This hurt.