Let him burn

My feet froze as Jace stepped fully into the doorway, sunlight catching on the sharp lines of his lean body. It hit his hazel eyes just right, turning them almost gold—but there was nothing warm in them. His jaw clenched. His eyes burned. And his stare was locked on Ryder’s retreating back.

I could feel the shift in the room, like the moment right before a downpour. Thick air. A hush before the thunder.

“Since when,” Jace said tightly, “do you talk to him?”

I gathered my books slowly, not looking at him. “Since it became a school assignment. Don’t make it a thing.”

“It already is a thing, Nova,” he snapped. “You don’t even know him. That guy’s bad news.”

I met his glare. “So was being dumped because I gained fifteen pounds. Funny how I survived that.”

His face twisted like I’d slapped him. “That’s not what it was about—”

“Oh, so it wasn’t about me not being good enough to stand beside the school’s favorite golden boy? Or was it the stretch marks? The soft stomach? Remind me, Jace.”

He took a breath. “Don’t do this. You’re different now—”

“I was always me,” I cut in. “The only difference is now I don’t need to beg for someone to choose me.”

For a moment, the tension snapped tight between us.

Jace’s expression changed. Not defensive. Not smug. Just… unsettled.

He stepped closer. “Nova, I made a mistake.”

A laugh burst out of me. “No. You made a choice. And now I’m making mine.”

I turned before he could say more, my steps loud in the hallway. I could feel his eyes boring into the back of my head, but I didn’t turn around.

Not this time.

Not ever again.

****

By the time I reached the library, my adrenaline was fading, replaced with the cold burn of anxiety. My hands still shook as I slid into the corner booth tucked between two tall bookshelves. The windows beside me framed the gray sky, heavy with clouds. The world outside looked quiet. But inside? I was buzzing.

Ryder was already there.

He sat sideways in the booth, one boot propped up, a pencil twirling between his fingers. When he saw me, his brows lifted. “Thought you bailed.”

“Thought about it,” I said honestly.

He smirked. “Didn’t figure you for a runner.”

I dropped my bag. “I’m not. But I am someone who’s been through enough drama to last a lifetime.”

He nodded like he understood. “That ex of yours looked ready to strangle me.”

“He’s territorial. Especially when he thinks something’s not his anymore.”

Ryder’s eyes sparkled with something unreadable. “Are you?”

I blinked. “Am I what?”

“His.”

“No,” I said flatly. “Not anymore.”

He tilted his head. “Good. I don’t share.”

I swallowed, heart stuttering. “This isn’t a thing, Ryder.”

“Yet,” he said, a slow grin forming.

I ignored that. “Let’s just work on the project. Romeo and Juliet, right?”

He groaned. “God, not that one. Can we pick anything else? Wuthering Heights, maybe? Something where they destroy each other with passion and rage instead of poison and teenage melodrama.”

I smiled despite myself. “You’re oddly poetic for a guy who looks like he doesn’t believe in love.”

He leaned closer, the grin gone. “I don’t. But I believe in obsession.”

Something in my stomach twisted. Dangerous. That’s what he was. All warning signs, and I was already ignoring them.

We spent the next hour picking apart Heathcliff and Catherine, arguing over symbolism, highlighting the cycle of revenge and obsession. For someone who radiated rebellion, Ryder knew his literature. He spoke in clipped, confident bursts. His voice low and smooth, always laced with sarcasm. But beneath that… there was something raw. Honest. Sharp as broken glass.

“So,” I said, finally letting the silence settle. “Why were you really on that road that night?”

He didn’t look at me. “Was walking. Needed air.”

“Yeah? And just happened to end up next to a crying girl in a party dress?”

He gave me a side glance. “Didn’t say I wasn’t looking for something.”

That hung in the air a beat too long.

My mouth went dry. “And did you find it?”

He looked at me, and this time there was no smirk.

“Maybe.”

A knock on the table snapped our gaze apart.

Talia stood beside us, wide-eyed. “Sorry,” she said quickly. “Didn’t mean to interrupt… whatever this is. Nova, can I talk to you? Like—now?”

Ryder waved his pencil lazily. “Don’t let me stop the gossip.”

I grabbed my things, shooting him a glare. “Don’t say anything. Just… don’t.”

As we walked out into the empty hallway, Talia grabbed my arm. “Okay, girl, what was that?”

“Homework,” I said quickly.

“No, no. That was homework with eye contact and secret smiles. That boy looked like he was mapping your soul.”

I sighed. “Can we not do this?”

She sobered instantly. “Fine. But there’s something you need to see.”

She pulled out her phone and tapped twice.

My stomach dropped.

It was a photo.

Me. Ryder. In the library. Sitting close-too close. The angle was grainy, like someone had zoomed in from behind a shelf.

I tapped the screen, pulse thudding in my ears.

But it wasn't us.

The image shifted and loaded fully.

And my stomach dropped like dead weight.

It was me. Alone.

Eyes swollen. Makeup smudged. That night—that night—when I sat on the curb, bottle in hand, after Jace broke me.

Whoever posted it had slapped a filter on it, making the shadows around my body starker.

And right across the top, in bold white letters:

"Guess she really leveled up. Who knew chubby charity cases came with attitude too?"

The world tilted. My throat closed.

I scrolled up, hands trembling.

Jace.Miller.Official.

Talia touched my arm. “Nova… I’m so sorry.”

I stared at the screen.

He’d posted it to shame me. To claim ownership. To punish me for moving on.

But instead, something else sparked in my chest.

Not shame.

Not fear.

Fire.

I looked up from the phone, voice calm, eyes blazing.

“He wants a war?”

I handed the phone back to Talia.

“Fine. Let’s give him one.”