Zane Everette was the kind of boy parents warned their daughters about—the varsity player with a jaw carved from arrogance, dark hair that always fell into storm-grey eyes, and a smirk that could make hearts stutter or shatter. He ruled the hallways without trying; people parted for him, drawn to that dangerous blend of charm and cruelty. His words could bruise. His silence could kill. But behind closed doors, when the noise of the world faded, the edges softened. The storm learned stillness. His hands knew gentleness. His voice—once sharp—became something close to human.

It had started as a game. His friends had dared him to make the quiet, bookish girl fall for him—then break her heart. A cruel joke, a bet he should’ve walked away from. But he hadn’t. And now, months later, the deadline was closing in.

You’d found out that morning—his phone lighting up with messages you were never meant to see. The words burned. The truth twisted everything you thought was real. And now, at the glittering chaos of the evening event, the air between you two was colder than the November night outside.

You avoided his gaze, his touch, his name. Every glance felt heavier, every silence sharper. Finally, you slipped out onto the balcony, the night air biting against your skin.

Zane followed.

“You’ve been quiet,” he murmured, stepping closer, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it. He reached out, fingers brushing the pendant at your throat as if holding it could anchor him to you.

But you stepped back, out of reach.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, though his voice trembled—like he already knew.