The second the lights go up, I feel her eyes again.

Still there.

Still fucking burning through my face like laser beams powered by generational wealth and misplaced rage.

I glance her way one last time before standing—just a casual tilt of my head, a little lift of the chin. Nothing big. Just enough for her to know I see her.

And that if she so much as breathes in my direction again, I will end her.

Quietly. Efficiently. In a way that makes it look like an accident.

Nobody questions accidents when you don't have enough zeroes in your bank account. Girls like me disappear. Girls like her get interviews.

I sit back down.

Let her leave first.

I'm not walking in front of a loaded gun.

She takes her sweet time, walking like she owns every damn tile on the floor, hips swaying like a threat, glancing over her shoulder once—as if to confirm that I'm still beneath her.

I stay seated. Cross my arms. Bite my nail.

Hard.

Until something warm wraps around my hand.

His hand.

"What the fuck," I start, but then—

"Don't bite your nails," Shadin says, voice low, casual, careless. But there's something in it. That lazy-ass tone he uses when he's not even trying to be seductive but somehow is.

Like it's embedded in his goddamn DNA.

I snatch my hand away. "Do you want me to get killed?"

He shrugs, still leaned back like a bored devil. "If it's under me, maybe yeah."

My head jerks toward him.

And without hesitation, I grab him in a headlock so fast he barely has time to curse.

"Fuck—woman—let go—" he chokes, trying to peel my arm off his neck, but I only tighten the grip.

"You want to die?" I hiss near his ear. "Keep talking like that."

"If you wanna choke me," he rasps, coughing out a laugh, "you can just ask nicely next time, damn."

I release him with a shove, and he stumbles back into the chair, hair slightly messed up, lips twisted into a grin like I just made his day.

Disgust curls in my chest. "You're disgusting."

"You started it."

I storm toward the exit, shoving past a couple of stunned students like a pissed-off hurricane. Of course, I hear him follow. The soft tread of his shoes behind me. Always behind me.

I whirl around the second we're in the hallway.

"Why don't you go date that bitch?" I demand, arms flung wide. "You clearly enjoy her fucking stalker energy. Go live your rich, toxic, golden-haired nightmare. Let me be free from your two-fucker tension."

He blinks, then smiles like I just complimented his hair. "Nah."

"Nah?" I repeat, stunned. "She's literally your type. Pretty. Rich. Perfect little princess. Blonde. What else do you need? A crown?"

He takes a step closer.

I don't move, but my pulse does something stupid.

"I'm rich," he says, voice dropping, eyes flicking to my mouth for a second too long, "and pretty. And I've got black hair. Not a fan?"

"Bro," I mutter, deadpan. "Stop."

He's close now. Too close. His scent hits me—dark spice, cold mint, something ruinously expensive that clings to him like sin.

His eyes don't leave mine. "Do you really think I want her?"

I scoff, try to act unaffected, but my breath stutters. I push his shoulder—not hard, but enough to make distance. "You think that line works on everyone or just the ones you trap with your budget porn voice?"

He chuckles, steps back just a little, like he's letting me win. "Budget? Ouch."

Just then, I hear a familiar shriek.

"THERE SHE IS!"

Ifrah.

I turn as my three chaos goblins barrel toward me like a pack of malfunctioning GPS systems. Before they reach, Shadin throws a last glance over his shoulder at me.

"Be hot, babe," he mutters with a wink, then walks off without sparing a single look at them.

---

⚠️ Author’s Note – Don’t Skip This ⚠️

Is it weird that I lowkey want to punch Shadin and kiss him at the same time? Because… same.

Part 2 is juicier (literally), so don’t forget to:

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💥 Comment your favorite line (or who you wanna slap)

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Also: Ifrah, Shaiza, and Ruby are about to cook in the next chapter, so stay unhinged 💅

—bamby 🪐