Crowned & Cursed.

Zayne's POV .

Winning felt the same.

The applause. The nods from the judges. The validation that I was always one step ahead.

None of it was new.

But Jasmine?

She was too quiet.

I watched as she stepped off the stage, shoulders squared, posture perfect-but something was off.

No narrowed eyes. No gritted teeth. No sarcastic "Enjoy it while it lasts, McCall" like she usually threw my way after every win.

Just... silence.

And for some reason, it felt wrong.

I exhaled, rolling my shoulders, nodding along as my teammates and a few professors patted my back, praised my performance, congratulated me like I hadn't done this a hundred times before.

But my eyes kept drifting back to her.

She stood with Xan and Ava, who were talking, pushing, trying to pull a reaction out of her-but she wasn't biting.

She was nodding, smiling at the right moments, but it wasn't real.

It was hollow.

And I fucking hated it.

Because this wasn't Jasmine Thompson.

Jasmine was supposed to be angry, fired up, already planning my downfall before I even left the stage. She was supposed to be rolling her eyes, muttering under her breath, sparking with that stubborn fire that made beating her worth it.

But right now?

She just looked... tired.

And I didn't like it.

Didn't like the way her fingers twitched slightly, like she was fighting off some feeling she didn't want to show.

Didn't like the way she barely glanced my way, like I wasn't even worth the energy.

Didn't like that, for the first time... winning felt a little less satisfying.

My jaw clenched.

What the hell was that?

Before I could figure it out, Salomi's arms were around my neck.

"Zayne!" she squealed, pressing against me like she wasn't aware we were in a room full of people. Her nails scraped lightly against my scalp as she pulled me in, pressing a lingering kiss to my cheek.

"You were incredible," she murmured, her breath warm against my skin. "As always."

I barely reacted.

Didn't tighten my arms around her.

Didn't lean into her touch.

Because my mind wasn't on her.

It was still on the girl across the room.

I shifted slightly-and that's when I saw him.

My father.

Seated in the front row.

His piercing gaze met mine, sharp and unreadable. The same icy blue as my mother's. A mirror.

I hadn't even noticed him there.

But he'd seen everything.

And now?

He was watching me.

Not quite smirking, but damn close.

Impressed.

A slow, measured nod. A calculated smile.

Approval.

It should have felt good.

It didn't.

I blinked, breaking eye contact. Pretending like I hadn't seen him at all.

Salomi's fingers trailed down my chest, her lips hovering near my jaw. "So... you're taking me out to celebrate, right?"

I stepped back. Brushed her off with ease.

"Not tonight."

Her brows knitted. "Why not?"

I didn't answer.

Didn't give her a reason.

Because I didn't have one.

At least, not one I wanted to admit.

Jasmine's POV.

The car ride home was silent.

Not the comfortable kind. Not the peaceful kind.

The heavy, suffocating kind.

Xan knew better than to fill it with words. He just drove, hands gripping the wheel, eyes flicking toward me every few seconds. He was waiting for me to break, but I wouldn't. Not yet.

I kept my gaze fixed out the window, watching the streetlights blur past, the cold glass pressing against my temple. My mind was a battlefield-thoughts clashing, looping, replaying the moment that stole the air from my lungs.

Winner: Zayne McCall.

The words sat in my chest like a brick, heavy and immovable.

Again.

Always.

Xan pulled up in front of my house, shifting into park, but he didn't move to unlock the doors. He just turned his head, waiting.

I swallowed, forcing my fingers to unclench from my skirt. My body felt stiff, drained, like I'd spent hours fighting a war I never had a chance of winning.

I grabbed my bag and stepped out. He followed.

Of course he did.

Because he knew.

Knew that if he left me like this, I'd unravel.

The front door was unlocked-Dad was home. I stepped inside, the familiar scent of coffee and leather filling the air. I barely made it past the hallway before his voice stopped me.

"Rough night, huh?"

I looked up. He stood in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, one hand wrapped around his mug. He studied me for a moment, reading everything I wasn't saying. And instead of asking...

He smiled.

"You'll get him next time."

Simple. Confident. Like it was a fact, not a possibility.

My throat tightened. I forced a nod. "Yeah."

Then I walked upstairs and shut my bedroom door.

I made it exactly ten steps before the first tear fell.

Then another.

Then they wouldn't stop.

I collapsed onto my bed, pressing my face into the pillow, fingers curling into the sheets as the sting of second place finally broke me.

I had told myself it didn't matter. That it was just another loss, just another debate, just another battle in a war I refused to surrender.

But it did matter.

Because no matter how hard I fought, how much I prepared, how many times I tried to claw my way to the top... it was always him.

Always Zayne.

My breath hitched, my chest tightening. I clenched my jaw, trying to force it all down, trying to shove the emotions back into the locked box I kept them in.

It didn't work.

The door creaked open.

I stiffened, curling into myself, but the bed dipped behind me, and then-warmth.

Arms wrapped around my shoulders, pulling me against a solid chest.

Xan didn't say anything.

Didn't tell me not to cry. Didn't tell me it was just a debate or that I was still brilliant.

He just held me.

Let me break.

Let me feel it.

And for the first time tonight, I didn't have to pretend I was okay.

The Next Day

The morning after a public loss at Westrange High felt like walking through a crime scene.

Except I wasn't the detective.

I was the dead body.

The hallways were alive with their usual chaos-shouting, laughter, the high-pitched screech of chairs scraping against floors. But underneath it all, there was something else.

Whispers. Stares. The weight of people watching me.

I didn't look at them. Didn't acknowledge it.

Just kept walking.

Kept my head up, shoulders squared, fingers curled tight around my books. If I pretended it didn't bother me, it wouldn't.

At least, that's what I told myself.

"Yo, Thompson!"

I almost groaned.

Ryan Carter. Debate team. Zayne's personal cheerleader.

He leaned against a locker, his signature smirk already in place. "Rough break last night."

I didn't stop.

Didn't react.

Just kept walking.

But he wasn't done. "That was a good try, though. Bet it stings, huh?"

A chair scraped against the floor behind me.

"Ryan," Ava's voice was sharp. "Are you under the impression that anyone here cares what you think?"

I turned just in time to see her eyeing him like he was a bug she was about to step on.

Ryan's smirk faltered. "Relax, Langley. It's just facts."

"Your face is just facts," Ava shot back. "And I have to live with the reality that I have to see it every day."

Xan choked on his coffee.

Ryan muttered something under his breath and disappeared down the hall.

Ava flipped her hair. "Debate that, bitch."

I let out a slow breath. "I hate this school."

Xan nudged my shoulder. "Nah, you just hate losing."

I tensed, but before I could respond, Ava held up a hand. "Do not engage. She's on the edge."

"Obviously." Xan grinned. "That's why I'm poking."

I rolled my eyes, but a small, reluctant smile threatened to break through.

At least they were good distractions.

Unlike-

"Well, well," a familiar voice cut through the air. "If it isn't our second-place winner."

Oh, for fuck's sake.

Salomi.

She stood by the lockers, arms crossed, emerald-green eyes gleaming with something close to amusement.

"Didn't see you this morning," she mused, tilting her head. "Thought maybe you transferred schools out of shame."

Ava sighed dramatically. "Ugh. Why do bad things keep happening to me?"

Xan sipped his coffee, completely unbothered. "Morning, Michealson. Congrats on being irrelevant to this conversation."

Salomi's smirk twitched. "Funny. But I was actually talking to her."

I stared at her. "Trust me, I wish you weren't."

Ava snorted. "Damn."

Salomi's smile didn't waver, but her eyes flickered with something sharper. "You know, Zayne told me he wasn't surprised."

My jaw locked.

Don't react.

She leaned in slightly. "Said it was expected. That he didn't even have to try that hard."

Don't react.

Ava was already stepping forward, but I grabbed her wrist, stopping her.

I exhaled.

Then looked Salomi dead in the eyes.

"Congratulations," I said dryly. "He talks to you again."

Ava gasped. Xan let out a low "oof."

Salomi's expression tightened.

I smiled, stepping past her.

Over it. Done. Moving on.

Or at least, I was about to-until Xan's voice followed me down the hall.

"Where are you going?"

I glanced back. "Archery range."

Ava raised a brow. "Okay, Katniss Everdeen."

I smirked slightly. "Therapy."

And for once, they didn't argue.

Because they knew.

Knew that this loss wasn't just another debate.

And right now?

I needed to put my anger somewhere else.

Archery Range -

The first arrow hit dead center.

The second?

Split the first in half.

I exhaled.

Lined up another shot.

Let the frustration burn through my veins, let the quiet focus drown out the noise of the day.

The whispers. The stares. The fucking pity.

The loss.

The feeling of being second. Again.

I pulled the string back, inhaled, held.

Zayne's voice in my head, smooth and sharp at the same time.

"We both knew that wasn't true, Thompson."

I released.

The arrow slammed into the bullseye, splintering the edge.

But it wasn't enough.

It would never be enough.

ZAYNE'S POV.

Basketball practice had been brutal.

Sweat clung to my skin, my jersey sticking uncomfortably to my back as I dribbled the ball absentmindedly, the echoes of bouncing rubber fading into the empty stretch of the training grounds. Practice had gone late. The rest of the team had already left, but I wasn't in a hurry.

Girls still lingered on the bleachers, whispering, giggling, watching.

I was used to it. Ignored it.

Then I saw her.

Through the chain-link fence that separated the gym from the outdoor archery range.

Jasmine.

The sight of her should've been unremarkable.

It wasn't.

Her blazer was tossed to the side, her long sleeves rolled up, exposing slender arms that flexed with quiet strength as she nocked an arrow, drew it back, and let it fly.

Bullseye.

Again.

And again.

And again.

She was pissed.

It showed in the way her movements were sharp, the way she bit her lip in frustration, the way her breath left her in short, irritated exhales.

But fuck-she looked good like this.

The usually prim and proper Jasmine Thompson was sweaty, disheveled-her long, dark curls thrown into a messy ponytail, a few strands sticking to her temple.

And her neck?

A few beads of sweat trailed along the delicate slope, the kind of sight that made a man think about tracing the path with his tongue.

I rolled the basketball in my hands.

Fought off a smirk.

Then walked toward her.

She heard me before she saw me.

Her shoulders tensed at the sound of footsteps, her grip tightening on the bow-but she didn't stop.

Didn't acknowledge me.

Like I wasn't worth the breath.

Interesting.

"Didn't think you'd be the type to shoot weapons when you're upset, Thompson," I mused, stopping a few feet away.

She lined up another shot. "What do you want, McCall?"

The way she said my name? Flat. Emotionless.

Wrong.

I watched as she exhaled slowly, her posture rigid, controlled, before releasing the arrow.

Another perfect hit.

I leaned against the nearest post, twirling the basketball between my fingers. "You don't have to pretend."

She grabbed another arrow. "Pretend what?"

I tilted my head. "That losing doesn't bother you."

She finally turned to me, those icy blue eyes piercing, sharp enough to cut. "And yet, here you are. Bothered by the fact that I'm not bothered."

She fired the next arrow with more force than necessary.

I laughed under my breath.

She was angry. But she didn't want me to see it.

And for some reason, that irritated me.

I was expecting a fight. A sharp remark. The usual Jasmine fire.

Instead-

"Congratulations," she said flatly, stepping away from the target. "I mean that."

I frowned.

She didn't.

She fucking didn't.

A slow, unfamiliar irritation built in my chest.

But before I could say anything, a voice interrupted us.

"McCall. Thompson."

We both turned to find Mr. Adler, one of the senior faculty members, standing a few feet away, arms crossed.

"The head administrator wants to see you both. Now."

Jasmine exhaled, already annoyed. "What did we do this time?"

Adler didn't elaborate.

Just nodded toward the main building. "Move."

We got the the Administrator's office. It was large, intimidating, filled with old books and antique furniture.

Jasmine and I stood side by side, facing Mr. Halloway, the school's head administrator.

His sharp gaze flicked between us before he sighed. "The two of you are at the top of your class."

Jasmine stiffened. I didn't react.

"That's why," he continued, "we've chosen you both to represent Westrange in the upcoming Elite Schools Collaboration Project."

Jasmine's head snapped up. "I-what?"

"You'll be working together for the next month," he explained, folding his hands. "Developing and presenting a strategic plan for a global impact initiative."

Jasmine let out a dry laugh. "With him?"

I smirked. "Try to contain your excitement, Thompson."

She shot me a murderous glare.

"I'd like to opt out," she said, crossing her arms.

Halloway's brow lifted. "That's not an option."

She clenched her jaw, frustration radiating off her.

I rolled my shoulders. "I have no objections."

Jasmine turned on me instantly. "Are you serious?"

I met her icy stare, unbothered. "I can handle it. Can you?"

Her fingers twitched, like she wanted to throw something.

Halloway sighed. "Figure it out. Dismissed."

The office door barely shut before Jasmine spun on her heel, her icy blue eyes burning into me.

"I hate you," she muttered under her breath.

I chuckled, watching as she stormed off. "See you at the library, Thompson."

She didn't reply.

Just walked away, her skirt swishing sharply around her legs, posture stiff with frustration.

I let out a slow breath, rolling my shoulders.

Fucking hell.

The school could've picked anyone for this project, but no-it had to be her.

I tugged at my sweaty jersey, exhaling sharply. First, a shower. Then, the library.

Library.

By the time I got there, the place was quiet-just the distant rustle of pages turning, the low hum of whispered conversations, the occasional soft clink of a coffee cup against a wooden table.

And then, I saw her.

Seated at a large oak table, drowning in books, flipping through pages like she hadn't just been forced into this project hours ago. Like this wasn't killing her inside.

And, of course, she looked ridiculously good while doing it.

Her skirt was slightly higher than regulation, the soft slope of her thigh exposed as she crossed her legs. Her hair-wild and loose-looked like she'd run her fingers through it in frustration, the waves tumbling over her shoulders.

A slight crease formed between her brows as she bit her bottom lip, her lashes casting faint shadows against her cheekbones. The kind of unintentional, mindless movement that made something sharp twist low in my stomach.

I exhaled slowly.

This was going to be a problem.

Jasmine's POV

I heard the chair scrape against the floor before I even saw him.

Zayne.

Freshly showered, back in uniform, but still looking like he just stepped off a fucking movie set.

His dark, damp hair fell slightly over his forehead, the strands curling in that effortlessly tousled way that looked both reckless and intentional. His sleeves were lazily rolled up, exposing forearms lined with veins-he knew damn well that made girls weak.

Not me, though. Obviously.

I kept my eyes glued to my book. "Took you long enough."

He let out a low, amused breath. "Miss me?"

I didn't look up. "Not even a little."

Liar.

I felt him watching me, like a weight pressing against my skin. I could practically hear the smirk in his voice, the creak of his chair as he leaned back, stretching, unbothered. He was too close without even touching me, and my pulse did something stupid before I forced it back under control.

This project was already giving me a headache.

We lasted thirty minutes before it started.

"You can't just dismiss the entire theory because you don't like it," I snapped, flipping my notes over.

Zayne exhaled slowly, tilting his head at me like I was something amusing. "Sure, I can."

I narrowed my eyes. "You're impossible."

His gaze flickered-down to my lips. "And yet, you keep showing up."

Heat licked up my spine, sharp and immediate.

Before I could react, I stood abruptly, moving toward the bookshelves, desperate for distance. For air.

But Zayne followed.

Because of course he did.

His presence was too close, too much, like heat rolling off in waves, a silent challenge pressing against my back.

I pretended to ignore him.

He didn't like that.

Fingers brushed against my wrist-light, fleeting, but enough to make my breath hitch.

Then, in one fluid motion, he grabbed my hand and pulled me deeper into the rows of bookshelves, away from prying eyes.

I gasped softly, stumbling slightly before my back hit the shelf.

Then he was there.

Towering over me. Caging me in.

His voice dropped, low and controlled. "You're being a pain in the ass, Thompson."

I lifted my chin, forcing my voice to stay steady. "Let me go."

His grip didn't loosen.

Instead, his golden-brown eyes darkened, flickering between my lips and my gaze, like he was searching for something unspoken.

The air between us felt thick, electric.

My pulse hammered against my ribs, betraying me.

"I don't have time for your games," I muttered.

"No?" He leaned in slightly, his breath warm against my cheek. "Then why are you breathing so fast?"

I hated him.

Hated how effortlessly he got under my skin.

Hated that he was too close, too warm, too intoxicating.

Hated that my fingers twitched at my sides, itching to grab him instead of shove him away.

His hand slid from my wrist to my waist, fingers pressing slightly-firm, deliberate. My stomach clenched, heat coiling low and insistent.

I exhaled sharply. "I hate you."

His gaze flickered. "Say it again."

I swallowed hard, but the words came anyway.

"I hate you. I hate that you always win. I hate that no matter what I do, I can't beat you. I hate that you act like it's easy. I hate that you're standing this fucking close, and I can't think straight."

A pause.

A shift in the air.

Then, he exhaled sharply, his voice rough.

"Fuck it."

And then-

He kissed me.

Hard. Fierce. Desperate.

His lips crashed against mine, his hands gripping like he needed to feel every inch of me, like he was losing control just as fast as I was.

The second our mouths met, something snapped inside me-months of tension shattering all at once.

I gasped against his lips, and he took advantage of it, deepening the kiss, fingers tightening around my waist like he didn't want me slipping away.

My body arched toward him instinctively, like it knew something my mind refused to admit.

His hands slid lower, tracing the curve of my hips, fingers brushing the exposed skin between my skirt and thigh-highs.

A fire bloomed under my skin, sharp and all-consuming.

I gripped his shoulders, then-not enough.

My hands slid up-up to the nape of his neck, into his thick, dark hair.

He groaned softly, his grip tightening, his body pressing into mine, pinning me completely.

His scent was intoxicating-expensive cologne and something raw beneath it. Something dangerous. Something that smelled like sin.

I should have stopped this.

I didn't.

I let him take control, let him tilt my chin up, let him steal every unspoken thought I hadn't dared to voice.

My lips parted for him, a soft, helpless sound slipping out before I could stop it.

His fingers pressed deeper into my waist, dragging me closer, and the friction between us sent something electric shooting through my veins.

More. More. More.

This wasn't gentle.

It was frustration, rage, desire.

It was months of tension, of stubborn silence, of pretending we weren't inevitable.

And I wasn't pushing him away.

I was pulling him closer.

Finally, after what felt like forever, he pulled back-just slightly, just enough for our lips to brush with every sharp breath.

His forehead rested against mine.

I felt his chest rising and falling, rapid and uneven.

Felt the way he was still holding on to me, like he didn't want to let go.

And the worst part?

I didn't either.

ZAYNE'S POV.

Her lips were still parted, her breath uneven, her fingers tangled in my hair like she hadn't quite processed what just happened.

She hadn't moved.

Hadn't pushed me away.

I could still feel her-every sharp inhale, every lingering spark where our bodies had been too close, too tight. Her chest rose and fell against mine, and for a moment, neither of us spoke, the silence stretching, charged and fragile.

Finally, after what felt like forever, I pulled back-just slightly. Just enough for my lips to brush hers as I exhaled, savoring the heat still between us.

Then I smirked. "Took you long enough."

Jasmine's entire body tensed.

And then-

She shoved me.

Not enough to make me stumble, but enough to put space between us. Enough to remind herself of what just happened. Of what she just let happen.

Her breathing was still uneven, her lips swollen from my kiss, her fingers twitching at her sides like she wasn't sure what to do with them.

And for the first time, Jasmine Thompson looked flustered.

I should've been smug about it. Should've made some cocky remark about how she didn't seem so competitive when she had her tongue in my mouth.

But I didn't.

Because I was too busy watching her.

Watching the way she swallowed hard, her throat bobbing slightly. Watching the way she wouldn't look at me, her gaze flicking past my shoulder, anywhere but my face. Watching the way she took a slow, deliberate step back, like distance would somehow help her think.

Like distance would help her forget.

It wouldn't.

And she knew it.

But still, she turned.

No words. No glare. No dramatic exit.

Just silence.

I stayed where I was, listening as her footsteps faded. Waited until I heard the soft click of the library doors swinging shut.

Then, slowly, I exhaled.

Ran a hand through my hair.

Licked my lips.

Tasted her all over again.

And grinned.

Because I knew.

No matter how fast she walked away-

She wasn't getting away from this.

From me.

She'd pretend it never happened. That's what Jasmine did. Bury, deny, ignore.

And I'd let her.

Because I wanted to see how long she could hold out.

How long before it ate her alive.

How long before she realized she'd already lost.

And for the first time in a long time, winning didn't feel like enough.

Because now?

Now I wanted more.

Jasmine's POV.

After School.

I barely remembered the drive home.

At some point, I must have walked inside, said something to my dad-maybe nodded at whatever words he threw my way-then gone straight upstairs.

Because now, I was in my room.

Bag hanging off one shoulder, swinging uselessly at my side.

My entire body burning as my brain did the worst possible thing.

It replayed the kiss.

Zayne's hands gripping my waist, pressing me into the shelf.

The way his lips moved-deep, desperate, like he wanted to own me.

The heat between us, the fucking fire.

The way I didn't push him away.

A strangled sound tore from my throat-somewhere between a groan and a scream-as I threw my bag across the room.

What. The. Fuck.

I dragged my hands through my hair, my fingers tangling in the curls as I sank onto my bed. My heart was still hammering, my cheeks flaming, my skin buzzing with the kind of heat I wanted to ignore.

What the hell was I supposed to do now?

How was I supposed to face him?

Zayne McCall-**my rival, my nemesis, the guy who has made my life a personal hell, who beats me at everything-**and I had kissed him back.

No.

I had let him kiss me.

And worse?

I had wanted it.

A fresh wave of frustration crashed over me, and I groaned, falling onto my back, staring at the ceiling like it had answers.

It didn't.

I squeezed my eyes shut. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

I couldn't tell Ava. Not yet. She would never let this go. She'd analyze every second, break it down like a fucking crime scene, make me relive it until I actually lost my mind.

And Xan?

I hesitated.

No.

Xan was different.

I didn't know why, but the thought of saying it out loud to him felt... wrong. Like something I wasn't ready to admit. Like it would make it real.

And that meant I only had one option.

Avoid Zayne.

Completely.

And to do that?

I wasn't going to school tomorrow.

Next Day - Xan's POV.

The first thing I noticed was the empty seat.

Jasmine was never absent. Not once. Not in all the years I'd known her.

Ava noticed too, frowning as she set down her coffee. "Where's your wife?"

I didn't react. Didn't let my face change.

Because I knew exactly who she was talking about.

"She's sick," I said smoothly, pulling out my phone.

Ava snorted. "Jasmine? Sick? Please. The apocalypse could happen, and she'd still show up to argue with a teacher."

She wasn't wrong.

Which meant this was bullshit.

Something was up.

I checked my phone.

Xan: You alive?

Jasmine: Barely.

I stared at her reply for a long second, something uneasy curling in my gut.

Then, without thinking, I grabbed my bag and stood up.

Ava raised a brow. "Where are you going?"

I tossed my keys in the air, catching them smoothly. "To check on our missing soldier."

Her eyes narrowed. "Tell her I demand answers."

I didn't respond.

Because right now, I wasn't sure I wanted them.

Jasmine's House

Her dad let me in without question.

"You here to talk some sense into her?" he asked, amused.

I smirked. "Something like that."

He nodded toward the stairs. "Good luck, kid."

I took them two at a time, stopping in front of her door before knocking.

"Go away," came her muffled voice.

I opened the door anyway.

She was face down on her bed, wrapped in a blanket like she was preparing to hibernate.

I leaned against the doorway. "You missed school."

She groaned. "I know."

"That's a first."

She peeked out, glaring. "Thanks for the support."

I walked in, plopping onto her desk chair. "This is history in the making, Jas. I need to document this moment-'The Day Jasmine Thompson Skipped School.'"

She rolled onto her back, rubbing her face. "I hate everything."

I smirked. "Ava's losing her mind. She thinks you got kidnapped."

She snorted. "Tell her I'm dead."

But something was off.

The way she fidgeted, how she wasn't meeting my eyes. The tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers twisted in the blanket like she was holding herself together.

I studied her for a long moment.

"Jas," I said slowly, "why are you really here?"

Silence.

Then-

She exhaled sharply, sat up, and just... blurted it out.

"Zayne kissed me."

I went completely still.

The air shifted.

Like reality had just glitched, like something in my chest tightened too fast, too hard.

I barely noticed my fingers curl into fists.

Jasmine was looking at me, biting her lip, waiting for a reaction.

And for the first time in my life, I couldn't school my expression fast enough.

Something must have flickered-**annoyance, disappointment, something worse-**because her brows pulled together, her body tensing slightly, like she saw it.

Fuck.

I forced a slow breath. Smiled. Easy. Smooth. Like I hadn't felt it.

"Sorry, what?"

She groaned, grabbing a pillow and smashing it over her face.

I pried it away, forcing her to look at me. "Repeat that."

Her cheeks were burning.

"It just... happened. And I don't know why. And I don't know what to do about it."

I let out a low chuckle, masking the way my stomach felt like it had been punched.

"You? Kissing McCall?" I shook my head, forcing my voice into something light, teasing. "What, was it a dare? Some form of self-punishment?"

She shoved me. "Not helping."

I leaned back, stretching my arms behind my head, but it was just to hide the tension in my shoulders. To hide the way my jaw clenched, the way my hands still itched to curl into fists.

I forced a smirk. "Relax, Thompson. It's just a kiss."

She bit her lip. "Yeah."

A lie.

I saw it in her eyes.

She felt it.

And for the first time in my life, I hated being the one she told everything to.

Zayne's POV

School.

Jasmine wasn't in school today.

I knew why.

I just hadn't expected it.

I leaned back in my seat, rolling my pen between my fingers, eyes flicking toward the door like she was suddenly going to appear.

She wouldn't.

Not today.

Not after last night.

Because of a kiss.

I exhaled sharply, licking my lips at the memory.

Except-it wasn't just a kiss.

It was something else entirely.

The way her body had fit against mine, like she had always been meant to be there.

The way she had melted instead of pushed away, her breath hitching against my lips.

The way I **knew-fucking knew-**that if we hadn't been in the library, if we had been alone, somewhere private, somewhere without limits...

It wouldn't have stopped.

A sharp pulse shot through me, heat coiling low in my stomach. I clenched my jaw, shoving the thought down before it could fully take shape.

Focus.

But how the hell was I supposed to focus when she wasn't here?

She had never missed school. Never. Not once. And now, the first time she did? It was because of me.

Because of us.

Something dark and possessive curled in my chest, sharp and wrong-the need to see her, to make her look me in the eyes and acknowledge what the hell had happened between us.

She was avoiding me. Me.

The thought sent irritation simmering beneath my skin, blending into something deeper. Something closer to frustration.

Or maybe something worse.

I forced my pen down, gripping the edge of my desk instead.

What the fuck was happening to me?

Jasmine Thompson had always been a game. A challenge. Something I wanted to win, wanted to beat.

But this? This felt different.

Like I wasn't just chasing victory anymore.

Like I was chasing her.

My fingers flexed.

She had to come back eventually.

And when she did?

I'd be waiting.

Next Day.

Jasmine was back.

I didn't look. Didn't react. Didn't acknowledge her presence.

Just like she wanted.

Skipping school had been a clear message-one I received loud and clear. But now she was here, moving through the classroom like she hadn't spent the last twenty-four hours hiding.

Fine.

If she wanted to pretend nothing happened, then so could I.

I leaned back in my seat, rolling a pen between my fingers, eyes fixed anywhere but her.

Still, I noticed things.

Like the way she walked in without her usual glare.

The way she sat at the front without a single glance in my direction.

The way she didn't challenge me, didn't bite back, didn't act like the Jasmine I was used to.

It was... strange.

I should've been relieved.

Instead, something about it irritated me.

By now, she should have thrown some sarcastic remark my way, given me something to play with. Normally, I'd be teasing her, rubbing my debate win in her face just to watch her snap.

But none of that happened.

She just sat there. Quiet. Unbothered. Like I didn't exist.

I clenched my jaw, exhaling through my nose, smothering the smirk that tried to form.

Because, honestly?

I liked flustered Jasmine.

I liked the sharp bite in her voice when she tried too hard to sound indifferent.

I liked the way she caught her lip between her teeth when she was annoyed.

I liked knowing she couldn't hide her reactions, no matter how hard she tried.

And now?

Now she was acting like she didn't care.

Which meant she cared way too much.

The thought was almost amusing.

A chuckle slipped out before I could stop it. I shook my head, running a hand through my hair.

Jace nudged me. "Something funny?"

I hummed, casual. "Not at all."

But he wasn't convinced. He followed my gaze-or rather, **the absence of it-**before smirking. "Damn, she's really ignoring you, huh?"

I shrugged. "Maybe she finally realized I'm out of her league."

Eli snorted. "Or maybe she finally realized you're insufferable."

I grinned. "That too."

None of them knew.

None of them had a clue.

And if Jasmine wanted to pretend this was nothing-

I'd let her.

For now.

Jasmine's POV

I could do this.

Walk in. Act normal. Ignore him. Move on.

Simple.

Or so I thought.

Because the moment I stepped into the cafeteria, Zayne McCall was already there.

Sitting at his usual table, looking effortlessly relaxed, completely at ease-like nothing had changed.

Like he hadn't kissed me.

Like he hadn't pressed me against the bookshelf, hadn't stolen the air from my lungs, hadn't left me spending an entire night replaying it against my will.

I swallowed hard, tearing my gaze away and making a beeline for my table.

I slid into the seat across from Ava and Xan.

Ava was mid-conversation, completely unbothered.

"...honestly, the sex was mind-blowing. I mean, the way he-"

"For the love of God, stop." Xan groaned, dragging a hand down his face.

I choked on my drink, laughing-almost forgetting.

And then-

I felt it.

That presence.

The one I had been pointedly avoiding.

I peeked over, pulse stuttering.

Zayne stood, stretching lazily, his golden-brown eyes flicking toward me.

The glance was brief. A second at most. A flicker of acknowledgment before-

Nothing.

No smirk.

No teasing.

No expression at all.

Like I wasn't even there.

And for some stupid, **unexplainable reason-**that annoyed me.

This was what I wanted, right?

So why was my stomach twisting?

Why did it feel like he'd won something?

Xan noticed.

And before I could react, he pulled off his blazer and dropped it over my head.

Ava blinked. "Uh. What the hell?"

I mumbled from under the fabric, voice muffled. "Nothing."

Liar.