Read THE HUNTER :: 01.2 |Rumour has it (I'm screwed)

I don't have a fucking clue how long I've been out cold when-

Thud!

Something smacks the side of my head like the universe just got impatient.

I jolt awake, blinking like I'm trying to reboot my brain, which is still running on low battery. Silence. Too much silence. Like, creepy-level silent.

I lift my head slowly, eyes half-lidded, then freeze.

Shadin.

Motherfucking Shadin is sitting right there, right in front of me, arms crossed like he owns the goddamn place, staring me down like I'm some puzzle he's been dying to solve.

My heart does this stupid-ass Olympic triple jump in my chest.

Why the hell is he here? I think, blinking harder because, fuck, I'm still half dead from that nap and also what the actual fuck.

Shadin's not just anyone. He's that guy-the kind who walks into a room and somehow sucks the air out of it. Handsome as hell, with that infuriating grin that's equal parts "I could wreck you" and "but I'd rather charm your pants off." Popular doesn't even begin to cover it. Everyone's caught in his damn gravity.

And now, he's just sitting there, like he planned this whole shitshow.

I try to focus but my brain's still lagging behind, juggling the question: Where the hell is everyone?

The classroom's empty except for us. No teacher yelling about grammar rules or dangling participles, no classmates staring at their phones or doodling dead-eyed in notebooks.

Just this quiet, heavy silence pressing down like a goddamn concrete slab.

My pulse kicks up a notch. The air between us is thick, the kind that makes your skin crawl and your gut flip at the same time.

I clear my throat, trying to sound less like a squirrel on crack.

"Why the hell are you in my class? Where's everyone else?" I ask, voice wobbling more than I like.

Shadin leans back, smug as hell, still not breaking eye contact.

"Didn't you remember?" He says, that teasing smile curling his lips. "The annual show's in the auditorium today. Everyone's already bolted."

Fuck. Right. The show I totally forgot about because my brain's been running on autopilot like a goddamn zombie.

My cheeks flame red-hot and I shove the back of my neck with a shaky hand, feeling like the dumbest idiot alive.

"Yeah... right. Totally forgot." I mumble, trying to act like I meant to do that.

Shadin's grin widens, those damn eyes sparkling with mischief and something else I can't quite put my finger on. He stands up smoothly, the kind of movement that says, I know exactly what I'm doing, and then throws out,

"Well, then. Let's bounce."

I swear my legs turn to jelly, like I've just been hit by some secret energy zap.

I push myself up, fumbling to keep my shit together as we step out, our footsteps loud in the empty hallway, echoing like some cheesy horror movie.

The closer I get to him, the more this weird-ass tension hangs between us. Like static electricity ready to jump.

What the hell is this? I think, trying to shove the feeling away, but it's like trying to ignore the fact that someone just lit a goddamn firecracker in my chest.

Shadin? My best friend? This can't be some secret rom-com scene, right?

I clear my throat again, hoping to break the spell.

"So, uh... you coming to the show because you wanna impress someone or what?" I ask, smirking, but my voice sounds shakier than I want.

He shrugs, but there's that sly glint in his eye.

"Nah, I'm just here to make sure you don't bail on me. Wouldn't want you getting bored out of your mind alone."

My chest tightens, but I laugh it off, pushing down whatever the fuck that was.

"Yeah, right. Like I'm ever boring."

His laugh is low and genuine. That's Shadin-he can make you feel like you're the only person in the universe, then fuck with your head five minutes later.

We step into the hallway, and the echo of our footsteps is the only sound for a second-until we hit the corridor that leads to the auditorium.

That's when it fucking changes.

I hear it before I see it-the buzz. That stupid, gossipy kind of buzz, like bees who all just got their wings up someone's ass. Then I see their eyes.

Everyone is looking.

Like. Everyone.

Deadass full-body-turning, neck-snapping, lip-biting stares. Some pause mid-convo. Some elbow their friends. Some full-on gape. A few whisper to each other behind cupped palms like we just made out on a fucking classroom desk.

The moment we step into the dimly lit auditorium, it's like the whole damn place decides to watch us breathe.

"Shit," I mutter under my breath. "What the hell is this, the red carpet?"

Shadin doesn't even flinch. That smug bastard. He's smiling. Not even pretending to hide it. That slow, cocky pull at the corner of his mouth like he just won something.

"Guess the rumour mill's on fire today," he says coolly.

Right. The rumour.

Apparently, we're dating now. According to the entire fucking campus.

Which is bullshit. Absolute, colossal, cosmic-level bullshit.

I don't date guys like him. I headlock guys like him.

But looking at him now-tall, relaxed, stupidly good-looking like he just rolled out of a Calvin Klein ad and decided to fuck with my life-I start to wonder how the hell this rumour even started.

And why it kinda looks real to them.

I spot my friends in the third row near the back-Ifrah, Ruby, and Shaiza-all three of them doing the slowest synchronized wave I've ever seen, eyes wide as saucers like they've just seen me walk in with a fucking dragon.

I start to move towards them-like, literally lift my foot-when his hand wraps around my wrist.

I freeze.

Not harsh. Not tugging. Just... there.

"Sit with me," he says. Voice low, not asking.

My whole system glitches.

"What-why?"

"Because it's more fun when you're next to me," he grins, head tilting just slightly like he's daring me to call bullshit. "And also because you'll probably throw your shoe at someone if I'm not there to stop you."

I blink.

What the actual hell.

I look over at my friends like save me, dumbasses, but Ifrah's mouthing something that looks suspiciously like sit with him you dumb bitch, and Ruby just gives me a thumbs up like she's watching a telenovela.

I sigh so loud I might as well scream fuck it and let him lead me to one of the side rows near the front.

I sit beside him. He doesn't say a word. He just slouches back in his seat like he owns the damn place. His knee bumps mine. Doesn't move it.

The lights dim.

The program starts-some dramatic shit about cultural identity or whatever-but I can't focus because something feels... off.

Wrong.

Watched.

I feel it on the side of my face-burning, slicing, venomous.

I turn.

And there she is.

Cassandra Monroe.

Senior. Blonde. Pretty. Rich enough to buy this fucking campus and still have cash left for therapy.

And obsessed with Shadin.

She's seated two rows across, angled like a damn hawk, arms crossed, lips pursed, eyes locked straight on me like I stole her puppy and kicked it for sport.

Fucking hell.

Every girl in this damn school likes Shadin. They just don't admit it because he doesn't give a single, solitary fuck about any of them.

But Cassandra? Cassandra's the queen of that silent obsession game. She's made it a sport. She's threatened girls for standing too close to him. And right now, I can feel her mentally skinning me alive.

I sit up straighter, eyes locked forward, pretending I don't know him. Like he's just some guy I accidentally sat next to.

Then his arm brushes mine.

I jolt.

"Sorry," I mutter, moving-only to elbow the poor guy on my other side hard enough he actually gasps.

Fuck.

Shadin leans in immediately, hand catching my arm, eyes narrowing.

"Let me see," he says, and it's not a request. It's a gentle command.

His fingers wrap around my wrist, thumb brushing over the spot I bumped. He's inspecting like it's made of glass. His brow furrows. He actually looks concerned.

I feel Cassandra's stare like a damn torch pressed to my back.

My whole skin heats.

The fuck is this.

I yank my arm from his grip like it's on fire.

"I'm not made of porcelain, dickhead," I snap. "Fucking watch the event."

He leans back, hands up like he's been caught red-handed, a smirk blooming on his face.

"Whatever you say, princess."

I glare at him.

He winks.

Cassandra's glare from two rows away sharpens like she's about to throw her diamond heels at my skull.

I swear to God, I can feel that girl calculating how to murder me with her Porsche and make it look like an accident.

Not a messy one either. No tire tracks or broken glass. Just a perfect little crunch under her custom tires and a sad little press release about how some girl from nowhere tragically tripped into death.

No one would question her. Not when her dad funds half the bloody science department. Not when she's got professors sucking up to her for "donations." Not when she can wear a diamond tennis bracelet to an 11AM lecture and nobody bats a damn eye.

And me? I'm not even rich enough to buy a new fucking charger cable without budgeting for it.

I can feel the pressure of her stare drilling into my skull like she's trying to melt me through the side of my face. I shift again, tug my sleeve down, plant both feet on the floor and stare straight ahead like a good, unbothered citizen of this capitalist hell.

I do not look at her.

I am not looking at her.

But I am definitely thinking about whether that bitch has hired a hitman yet.

Shadin leans in again.

"You're acting weird," he mutters, too low for anyone else to hear. "Did I break your brain or something?"

I glance sideways at him. His mouth is barely moving. He looks calm. Relaxed.

I, on the other hand, feel like I've just snorted a line of social anxiety.

"Fuck your brain," I hiss under my breath. "Your psycho blonde is eye-killing me from two rows over."

His brows pull together slightly. "My what?"

I jerk my head in the tiniest possible motion toward Cassandra, still not looking directly. "Your crazy fan , current stalker, secret wife-I don't fucking know what she is to you, but she's about one bad mascara day away from stabbing me with her Jimmy Choos."

He finally shifts in his seat, real slow, like he's stretching or checking the lighting or whatever smooth bullshit guys like him use as an excuse. His eyes flicker across the rows.

He finds her.

And that's when everything in his face changes.

It's not rage. It's not disgust. It's worse.

It's that cold, empty, too-bored-to-care look that only the truly powerful can pull off. Like he sees her, registers her... and instantly decides she's not worth a thought. Like she's not even a fly on his wall.

His eyes flicker back to me.

He leans close again, voice deep, words lazy.

"Scared? Or jealous?"

I nearly punch him.

I throw my head back against the seat, stare at the ceiling like maybe God will just eject me from this building.

"Neither, you self-absorbed, hereditary menace."

A beat.

Then I turn to him, dead in the eyes.

"I just want to live long enough to get a fucking boyfriend who doesn't come with a side dish of social suicide and psychotic heiresses. Maybe get my first kiss. Maybe get laid one day. You know, dreams. So please-please-consider moving your dangerously beautiful, face-of-a-magazine, Porsche-attracting ass two inches away from mine before she reconsiders vehicular homicide."

He's just staring at me.

Not blinking.

Not breathing.

His mouth parts like he's going to say something-

Then he laughs.

Low. Deep. That goddamn laugh that sounds like something expensive and illegal. Like he's pouring whiskey on a fire just to watch it burn.

"Dangerously beautiful?" he echoes.

"Shut up," I mutter.

"Porsche-attracting?"

"Shut. Up."

He leans in, his nose practically brushing my temple, and my breath stumbles like a drunk on a staircase.

"You think I'm beautiful?"

"I think I'm gonna be a fucking ghost if she owns a shovel."

He leans back finally, slow like he's savoring it. That smug smirk curls on his lips again, and he spreads his arms over the backrest, owning his space like the cocky bastard he is.

"I'll protect you," he says casually. "From rich girls. And luxury vehicles. And dangerous kisses, apparently."

I blink at him.

And that's when I see it-Cassandra is still staring.

Only this time... now her eyes are on him.

And he knows it.

Because he turns his head, just barely. And looks her dead in the face.

No smile.

No charm.

Just that same cold, zero-interest, fuck-off expression that could cut glass.

She falters. Just a bit.

Then she looks away.

Quick.

Shadin turns back to me, completely unbothered, that smirk still lingering.

"You're fine," he says. "She won't touch you."

"You don't know that."

"I do."

"How?"

"Because she knows I'm watching."

I pause.

Blink.

Something in my chest trips over itself.

"You're not," I say, but it doesn't come out as strong as I want it to.

"Mm," he hums, noncommittal. "Whatever helps you sleep, princess."

I glare at him, shove his knee off mine, and cross my arms like I've just declared emotional war.

But secretly?

Somewhere in my messed-up, confused, Shadin-suffocated brain?

I don't feel like the hunted one anymore.

Not when he's looking at me like that.

Not when he makes people back the fuck off.

And that?

That might be the scariest part of all.

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⚠️ AUTHOR'S NOTE - READ THIS OR ELSE ⚠️

Hey, you.

Yeah, you, scrolling and judging if this is worth your time?

Let me tell you something-this is not your typical love story.

There's rage, rivalry, banter that bites, villain crushes, chaos, friendship, betrayal, and a marriage that should've never happened.

And it's just getting started.

This is my first story (yes, I'm nervous as hell), so if you catch a few typos or mistakes, please don't come at me with pitchforks 😭

I'm learning. I'm improving. But most of all-I'm writing my ass off to make this a ride you won't forget.

So if you smiled, laughed, cursed with the characters, or even whispered wtf while reading-