CHAPTER 4 — THE MADWOMAN OF NORTHBRIDGE

Chloe’s POV ♡

I stand frozen, my heart trying to escape through my ribs as I stare at the wall of chest and irritation that is Sebastian Ryder.

The entire auditorium has fallen silent. Hundreds of eyes are fixed on us, and I wouldn't be surprised if half the people here already have their phones out, recording what might become the most embarrassing moment of my university life.

I desperately want to turn around and run. Unfortunately, turning around means giving every single person in this room a clear view of my face.

I’ve already spent enough years being the awkward, nerdy girl people laugh at. I don’t need a sequel titled “Girl Who Crashed Into Hockey God and Then Fled Like a Coward.”

More importantly, I have no idea what this particular hockey god will do when he recognizes me.

Sebastian looks down at me with pure irritation, like I’ve personally ruined his morning by existing in the same three feet of space.

“Look at me,” he orders.

My eyes dart around. Students are whispering. His three friends stand a few feet away, watching with varying degrees of curiosity and amusement. One of them looks like he’s already deciding this is the most entertaining thing that’s happened all morning.

Sebastian repeats himself, firmer this time. “I said, look at me.”

I can’t run. I can’t fight him. I definitely can’t let him see my face.

Then an idea hits me. It's terrible, it's beautiful, it's potentially life-saving and completely unhinged idea but at this point, I have nothing to lose.

Without warning, I throw both hands into my hair and deliberately scatter it across my face. I shake my head like I’m trying to dislodge a swarm of invisible bees until my hair covers almost everything.

Then I let my shoulders slump and start behaving like someone who has completely lost touch with reality.

Sebastian stares at me, narrowing his brows. “What are you doing?”

“The shadows are restless today,” I mutter, staggering toward the empty space beside me. “They don’t like the noise.”

Sebastian turns his head slightly toward his friends, as if silently asking whether they’re seeing the same thing.

Meanwhile the students begins whispering. Some looks confused, some looks uneasy. Someone near the front stage-whispers, “I don’t remember having a student like this in our department.”

I nearly lose my composure at that, but I quickly bite the inside of my cheek and remind myself that my survival depends on this performance.

Sebastian’s voice drops as he turns back to me. "Stop acting strangely and look at me.”

I tilt my head toward him without actually revealing my face. In my most solemn, faraway voice, I murmur, “The moon is watching you.”

Sebastian goes still.

One of his friends—tall, red-hair, with an expression caught between amusement and disbelief—asks, “Is she serious?”

Another one, broader in the shoulders and already looking like he’d rather be anywhere else, mutters, “We should probably leave her alone.”

The third, who seems to find the entire situation quietly hilarious, is clearly fighting a smile.

One of them steps a little closer to Sebastian and says quietly, “Dude, she might genuinely be unwell. There’s no point arguing with her.”

"No," Sebastian disagrees, a small, annoying frown sitting on his brows. "I think she's putting on a show."

Oh my God. Why is this dude so insufferable?

Can't he just take the bait, hook, line, and sinker, and leave me the f*ck alone?

He steps closer. “Move your hair.”

I shake my head hard enough that more hair falls into my face.

“I want to see your face,” he says.

I start making strange little noises and swaying slightly, as if I’m communicating with invisible spirits. His friends exchange another look. One of them actually takes a small step backward.

“Sebastian. Leave her.”

Sebastian ignores him. He reaches toward my face, intending to push the hair away.

WHAM!

I immediately slap his hand.

Everyone gasps. He freezes, staring at the spot I just hit like it personally offended him.

I point a finger at him and declare, with all the gravity I can muster, “Do not touch the sacred hair.”

He looks genuinely aghast. “Did you just slap my hand?”

I respond with another ridiculous statement. “Touching the hair without permission has offended the ancestors. They are displeased. Deeply.”

Sebastian’s patience finally snaps. He reaches for my arm, determined to push my hair off my face but before he can grab me properly, I swing my palm and—

SLAM!

I slap him across the face. The sound cracks through the auditorium like a gunshot and everyone clutch onto their chest gasping.

Sebastian’s head turns slightly from the impact. His friends freeze mid-expression. The students stare at me as though I have just committed a crime against the university itself. Possibly against the entire sport of hockey.

Sebastian slowly turns his face back toward me.

His expression is pure, absolute disbelief. He looks like someone has just informed him that his entire career is over because of one slap from a girl who looks like she escaped from a mental institution.

Realizing I have already gone too far to back down, I commit fully. I turn toward him as though I can see something beyond his shoulder, lift one hand dramatically, and begin speaking in a deep, mysterious voice. "I can see your future.”

He doesn’t move.

I continue, keeping it as absurd as possible. “A dark cloud hangs over you. Your pride will be your downfall. Your face will continue attracting trouble. And one day—” I pause for effect, “—you will meet someone who will make you regret being born with such an enormous ego.”

That last part lands a little too close to personal, but I’m already in too deep.

One of his friends immediately takes a full step backward. Another mutters, “Bro, just leave her. I’m not getting cursed before lunch.”

The third one nods quickly. “Yeah. Let her go. Whatever this is, I want no part of it.”

For a moment, Sebastian just stares at me, blinking. Then he straightens, runs a hand down the front of his shirt, and clears his throat as though trying to recover some dignity after being publicly slapped by a supposed madwoman.

"I'm not afraid of you," he announces, looking around at his friends. "I'm only letting you go because I'm not wasting my morning entertaining this nonsense."

Oh, sure. Definitely not because his friends are beginning to look like they're considering calling an exorcist.

"The spirits have decided to spare you," I say, slowly lowering my hand. "Do well to tame that big ego of yours."

He nods solemnly, like I have just delivered a prophecy that could determine the future of mankind, which is suspicious, but I don't spare much time to think about it as I turn and start walking away.

Internally, I am celebrating. I can’t believe the ridiculous performance actually worked. Perhaps I should consider a career in acting. Or fortune-telling. Either would be more profitable than my current academic situation, and significantly less likely to involve angry hockey players.

But just as I think I’m finally free, a hand clamps around my arm.

My smile disappears.

Sebastian grabs me and spins me around so fast my body twists.

"Let me g—" I try to protest, but my injured ankle from yesterday takes the weight badly and twists painfully.

I lose my balance and crash onto the floor, landing hard on my back. A sharp wince escapes me as I scramble to catch myself, and the movement sends my hair flying away from my face.

SH*T!

My hair! It's no longer covering my face.

I quickly scramble to get to my feet, but at the same time, Sebastian and his friends step closer.

One of them bends slightly, checking whether I’m hurt while Sebastian—SEBASTIAN—looks down at my face.

The moment he gets a proper look at me, his expression changes. First confusion, then recognition.

His eyes widen as he straightens abruptly and points at me. “You! Chloe Caldwell! I thought I told you never to cross paths with me again!"

And it is then that I realize, with absolute clarity, that my little performance has not only failed but has also made me the centre of attention in the worst possible way.

Of course.

Because why would anything ever go according to plan?