Chapter 7
1154 Words
Morning breaks too sharp, slicing through Rina’s window like it has something to prove. Halecrest feels charged—restless, buzzing with leftover electricity from last night’s game.
She steps out of her dorm and instantly feels the shift.
Eyes find her.
Not by accident, not by curiosity—
on purpose.
Measured. Judging. Tracking her— like she’s stepped into the wrong spotlight.
Heat creeps up her neck. She hugs her tote closer, the memory of Jace’s arms around her echoing on her skin. She shouldn’t still feel it—
and yet, her fingers tighten anyway.
This is the price of being seen next to him.
This is the cost of being protected by someone Halecrest worships.
She forces her breath steady and heads to SunBite Café, convincing herself she can handle one simple drink.
She can’t.
The door swings open, and the café quiets just enough to make her stomach twist. Heads turn. Screens tilt. Eyes drag over her like she’s the morning’s entertainment.
“That’s her.”
“The girl from the video.”
“She really showed up?”
Rina orders her chai latte quietly, hoping the barista won’t pick up on the tremor in her voice.
He does.
“Oh. Right. Uh… name?”
“Rina.”
The girl beside him mutters just loud enough, “Figures.”
Rina’s face heats. She grabs her drink and searches for refuge. Only one table in the far corner sits empty, tucked under dim lighting like a hiding spot.
She escapes into it.
Or tries to.
She barely takes a sip before three shadows block out the light.
Three girls in Halecrest wolf merch.
Three looks dripping with disdain.
The one in the front leans down, palms braced on the table. Rina’s drink wobbles. Chai sloshes across her fingers.
“Oh my gosh—so clumsy,” the girl purrs, pretending it’s an accident.
Laughter follows.
Not chaotic.
Precise.
Designed to sting.
Rina wipes her hand with a napkin, refusing to lift her eyes. She learned long ago that dignity sometimes looks like silence.
But the girl isn’t done.
“He hugged you because he felt bad. Sympathy. That’s it.”
Rina’s throat tightens.
“And that CampusWatch rumor about a girl spending the night in his room?” the girl adds with a mocking tilt of her head. “That wasn’t you. Jace doesn’t go for your type.”
Rina’s heartbeat stops.
Words gather in her chest—but never make it out.
“Move.”
The voice behind them slices the air clean.
Every girl freezes.
Rina looks up.
Dylan Maddox stands there, hands in his pockets, gaze sharp enough to cut through steel. His presence alone shifts the entire café’s pressure.
“You heard me,” he repeats quietly. “Move.”
The girls wilt, stammering excuses.
Dylan doesn’t blink.
They scatter.
Rina exhales shakily. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“You didn’t need to face them alone.” He pulls out the chair across from her. Close. Steady. “Are you alright?”
She nods, though she feels far from it.
Dylan studies her face carefully. “He should’ve known today would be rough for you.”
Rina stiffens. “Jace didn’t leave me—”
“He did.” Dylan’s voice softens, but his eyes stay firm. “You’re the one taking the hits. Not him.”
Her chest aches at how painfully true that sounds.
Before she can answer, the café door slams open.
Hard. Violent. Angry.
Jace stands in the doorway.
Hair damp. Breath uneven. Shoulders tense like he sprinted across campus.
His eyes sweep the room—
past tables, past students, past phones—
until they land on her.
Rina.
Dylan.
Spilled chai.
Shaking fingers.
Something dark flickers across his face.
He walks toward them, each step controlled but edged with a warning.
The café quiets.
People lean forward.
The air sharpens.
Jace reaches the table, jaw locked. His gaze skims over Rina’s hands, then shifts to Dylan.
“What happened?” he asks, voice low.
Rina opens her mouth, but Dylan speaks first.
“Three girls cornered her. I stepped in.”
Jace’s stare flinches. “You stepped in?”
“She was alone,” Dylan replies evenly. “Someone needed to.”
Jace’s fingers curl around the back of Rina’s chair, knuckles whitening. “I’m here now.”
“Little late,” Dylan murmurs.
Jace’s eyes flash with something dangerous. “You want to keep pushing?”
The tension between them thickens, pulling the entire café with it.
Dylan turns to Rina. “You don’t have to stay around him if the fallout keeps hurting you.”
That hits Jace harder than any shove.
He leans closer to her. “Rina. Look at me.”
She does.
Everything else drops out.
“Did someone touch you?” His voice turns softer than she’s ever heard it. “Say something? Hurt you?”
Rina’s throat shakes. “They just… spilled my drink.”
Jace exhales slowly—too slowly.
That sound is never good.
Then he turns to the crowd.
“Who was it?”
Dead stillness.
Silence so deep it vibrates.
“I asked,” Jace says, voice dropping to a cutting whisper, “who touched her?”
A girl in wolf merch shrinks behind her friends, guilt written all over her posture.
Jace locks onto her.
She trembles. “It was— I didn’t mean—”
“Leave,” he says.
Rina grabs his sleeve. “Jace—”
“Out.”
The girl flees. Her friends bolt behind her.
Every phone in the café captures the moment.
Rina’s stomach drops.
He shouldn’t have done that.
He didn’t owe her that.
But the part of him that snapped wasn’t fake.
It was real.
Too real.
Jace kneels beside her chair again, voice steady but warm.
“You good?” he murmurs.
Her eyes sting. She hates that they do.
Jace sees it all.
His fingers brush lingering chai from her skin, slow and gentle, like it’s something sacred.
Dylan rises. “She doesn’t need a guard.”
Jace stands too, stepping in front of her. “She doesn’t need you deciding for her.”
“And you do?”
Jace doesn’t blink. “When it comes to her? Yes.”
Rina’s pulse quickens.
None of this is in the contract.
None of this is pretend.
This is deeper.
Messier.
Impossible to contain.
Jace turns to her again and offers his hand.
“Come with me.”
She takes it.
She shouldn’t—
and yet, she does.
He leads her out of the café, his grip firm, her heartbeat stumbling with every step.
And Rina gradually understands…
this is the moment everything shifts.
This isn’t a rumor.
It isn’t a contract.
And it isn’t a lie.
This is the beginning of something that could ruin them both.
Something dangerously real.
- Writer
