CHAPTER SEVEN
ZADE
The heavy oak doors of the lecture hall slam shut behind me, the sound echoing like a gunshot. I don't apologize for being late. I don't even look at the Professor. I just stand there for a second, letting the weight of my presence settle over the room. I can feel the eyes on me—the usual mix of awe, fear, and desperate curiosity. It's boring. It's always the same.
Until I look toward the front.
My eyes lock onto a shock of red hair near the front right. My blood, which usually feels like ice water, suddenly starts to simmer. It's her. The redhead maniac from this morning.
She's sitting in my seat.
It's not marked with my name, but everyone in Oakhaven knows that the third-row end seat on the right is mine. It has been since my first day. It's the perfect spot—close enough to see the board, far enough to ignore the lecture. And there she is, hunched over a cheap notebook, scribbling away like her life depends on it.
I start walking.
The silence in the room gets even heavier. I can hear the soft scuff of my loafers against the carpet. I see the tension building in her shoulders as I get closer. She knows I'm coming. She knows she's in my space. I stop right in front of her desk, towering over her. Up close, in the artificial light of the hall, her hair looks even more like a fire that refuses to be put out.
I can hear her hissing something under her breath. A curse, probably. She doesn't look up at first, but I can see her fingers tightening around her pen until her knuckles are white. She thinks she can ignore me.
"Why don't you make yourself comfortable on another seat?" I say.
My voice isn't loud, but in the dead-quiet room, it sounds like a command. I don't move. I just stand there, casting a shadow over her on the desk. The entire hall has turned into a theater. Fifty people are holding their breath, waiting for her to scramble away and apologize. Even the Professor has stopped talking. He looks at me, then at her, and then quickly looks back at his notes. He's smart. He knows better than to open his mouth when a Hamilton is claiming what's his.
I expect her to pack up her things. I expect her to look at me with that wide-eyed fear I see every day.
Instead, she slowly lifts her head.
She adjusts those dark-rimmed glasses, and for the first time, I see her eyes clearly. They aren't afraid. They are cold. Sharp. Ready for a fight.
"Why don't you make yourself comfortable somewhere else?" she asks.
The silence that follows is deafening. I hear actual gasps from the rows behind us. Someone drops a pen, and it sounds like a falling tree. Nobody—literally nobody—tells me what to do. Not the students, not the faculty, not even the President of this university. They all move out of my way like I'm a force of nature.
But this girl? She's looking at me like I'm an annoying fly she wants to swat.
A surge of pure, unfiltered anger. She thinks she can play this game? She has no idea what the stakes are.
I don't back away. I lean down, slamming both of my hands onto her desk, trapping her between my arms. I'm so close I can smell the faint, rain-damp scent of her hoodie and something else—something like citrus and stubbornness. I'm looming over her, my face inches from hers, forcing her to look up at me.
"You're going about this the wrong way," I hiss. I keep my voice low, for her ears only, but every word is laced with venom. "And it's going to make you pay more than you'd like."
I wait for her to flinch. I wait for her to realize that I could have her four years revoked with a single phone call. I could make sure she's back in the street by sunset.
But she doesn't move an inch. She leans forward instead, narrowing the gap between us until our noses are almost touching.
"I've already paid enough today" she says back, her voice like a knife. "I'm not moving. Get used to the view from the back."
My jaw tightens. I can feel the eyes of the entire class on us, watching the King of Oakhaven get challenged by a girl in a moth eaten like clothes. The air between us is thick, charged with a kind of energy that makes the hair on my arms stand up. It's not just hate. It's a challenge.
I want to pull her out of that chair. I want to see her break. But I also want to see how far she's willing to go.
"Fine," I say, my voice a dangerous growl as I slowly straighten up. I don't leave. I pull out the chair directly behind her and sit down. I lean forward, kicking the back of her seat just enough to make her pen slip on the page.
"I'll be right here" I hissed to the back of her head. "Make sure you take good notes. You're going to need them when I take everything else."
She doesn't turn around. She just starts writing again, her shoulders stiff and proud.
The Professor clears his throat, his voice shaky as he tries to restart the lecture. But no one is listening to him anymore. The lecture just became a secondary concern. There's a war starting in the third row, and for the first time in my life, I'm actually looking forward to the next hour.
I lean back, crossing my arms, my eyes fixed on the back of her neck. She thinks she won this round. She has no idea that she just invited the devil to sit right behind her. And I'm not going to let her forget it for a single second.