Chapter 4

Aria's POV 

Going back to school after that night felt like walking into an unwanted spotlight. 

The gossip mill here ran faster than Wi-Fi.

By now, I was sure half the school had heard about “the girl who almost got kidnapped,” and I didn’t want to be that girl.

I didn’t want pity and I didn’t want whispers in the hallway or curious eyes watching my every move.

I just wanted to survive this place, graduate, and get the hell out.

But lately… lately my brain has been acting like it was on vacation from my better judgment.

Every time I tried to think about anything else, I found myself replaying flashes of the gray-eyed, irritatingly handsome devil who had shown up like some knight in shining armor.

I hated it. I hated him and I hated that I couldn’t stop thinking about him.

____________

I was halfway across the school field when I heard it.

“Hey! Aria, wait up!”

I knew that voice oh so well. 

I turned, already bracing myself, and there he was. Damon, jogging toward me. He had that same infuriating bounce in his step, his hair a little messy from whatever he’d been doing — probably flirting with half the female population or scoring goals on the hockey field.

“Hey, Damon.”

I forced my voice to sound flat, like he was the last person on earth I wanted to talk to.

He didn’t seem fazed. “Just wanted to check up on you. How are you feeling?”

The thing was… he sounded genuinely concerned. Not fake-nice. Not mocking. And for one ridiculous second, I actually wanted to tell him.

Tell him my head still hurt sometimes.

Tell him how I hadn’t been sleeping right.

Tell him that when I closed my eyes, I still saw that man’s hand reaching for me.

But then I reminded myself that Damon might have saved me, but he was still Damon. And Damon was an arsehole.

“I’m good, Damon. Thanks.” I paused, grudgingly. “And… thanks again. For saving my life. I wish I could repay you.”

His mouth curved into that cockish grin I've come to hate-love. “It’s all good.”

Then his eyes lit up like he’d just thought of something.

“In fact… I think I know a way you can repay me.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Oh? And what’s that supposed to be?”

“You can accompany me to the Hockey Tournament Pre-Game Bonfire.”

He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“It’s just for seniors and the team. There'll be a big fire, music, food, drinks, everyone hanging out before the championship game. It’ll be fun, trust me and P.S, I'm not drinking until after the game so I'll be your sober getaway driver”

I wrinkled my nose. “I don’t know about that…”

I wasn’t exactly in the mood to stand around pretending I belonged in a group that had never so much as glanced my way.

“Come on.” He bumped my shoulder lightly with his. “It’ll be good for you. You can loosen up, meet people, maybe even enjoy yourself for once.”

Then, with a smirk, “And you do owe me one. Remember?”

I groaned. He wasn’t going to let this go.

“Ugh, fine. I’ll go. But don’t expect me to be friends with anyone or even you.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that, Goldilocks.” He winked, like he knew a joke I wasn’t in on.

Before I could ask what the hell that meant, he was jogging back toward the field, hands shoved in his pockets, like this whole conversation had gone exactly the way he’d planned.

---

By my next class, I’d almost convinced myself I wouldn’t think about him again.

“Now, class,” Mr. Freeman said, adjusting his glasses in that overly precise teacher-way he always did, “next week we’ll begin discussing a novel. I expect you all to read it in advance. I’ve printed the details here, and I want an essay from each of you by Monday.”

I took the paper from his hand and almost smiled. I’d read this book at least five times before. The perks of secretly being an English nerd. Easy A.

I didn’t see Damon for the rest of the school day. Probably off training for the tournament. Which was fine by me. 

Except… apparently my brain didn’t get the memo, because I caught myself scanning the halls for him more than once.

So pathetic. 

---

Classes passed without drama, which was a miracle in itself. But my two-day absence had left me choked on assignments and essays. I figured I’d hit the library for a few hours before heading home.

I was halfway to the library when my phone buzzed.

Unknown Number: We’re coming for you.

I froze.

The hallway was almost empty. A few students walked past, heads down, too busy with their own lives to notice me standing there like someone had hit pause on mine.

I read the message again. My pulse thundered in my ears.

We’re coming for you.

No emoji. No punctuation. Just those five words.

My skin went cold. My mind snapped back to the night of the attack…. raw panic clawing at my throat.

This couldn’t be random.

I glanced around, scanning every face, every corner of the hallway. No one was looking at me. No one even seemed to notice I was there.

Could it be a prank? Could someone be messing with me because they’d heard what happened?

The thought did nothing to slow the panic building in my chest.

The library was instantly off the table. I needed to get home. Now.

I shoved my phone into my bag and pushed through the doors, crossing the open field as quickly as I could without breaking into a run. The air felt heavier somehow, like the sky was pressing down on me.

And that’s when I saw a man standing across the sidewalk, he seemed almost like a shadow, just watching me.

He didn’t move. Didn’t look away.

Every instinct screamed at me to turn around, but I kept walking, forcing myself not to break eye contact until I reached the bus. My hands shook as I climbed the

steps.

By the time I dropped into a seat and looked back out the window, he was gone.

And somehow, that felt worse.