The Top Boy Is My Mate

Zara’s POV I ran after Jace, clutching the small velvet box in my hand. Alex had told me it was his nineteenth birthday today, and I’d spent hours saving up for the silver cuff bracelet he’d once said he liked. Today was also our one-year anniversary. I was nervous but excited – thinking of the way his eyes would light up when he saw it, the way he might kiss me and call me his girl in front of everyone. But what I saw instead made me stop dead in my tracks. Jace had his hands wrapped tightly around Alex’s waist, dragging her flush against his chest as his lips crashed onto hers. They were hidden beneath the shadow of the tree behind his house, but I saw everything. The way his fingers tangled her hair, how her hands slid up his neck as though she’d done it a thousand times. My legs buckled. A sharp, searing pain shot through my chest, so intense I pressed a trembling hand to my mouth to stop myself from sobbing out loud. Tears blurred my vision, hot and angry and broken all at onc

Zara’s POV From the second I step into the dining hall, I know I don’t belong. The room falls quiet, just for a moment, but long enough for me to feel every pair of eyes on me. Whispers ripple through the space like a cold breeze, and I catch fragments as I pass. “She’s back?” “I thought they said it’s a new girl?” “Why is she here?” She’s back? Their stares weigh heavier than any burden I’ve carried. I keep my head high, my heart pounding so loud it drowns out their voices. I won’t let them see how much it stings. I take a seat at the edge of the room, alone. I don’t even try to join anyone. They’ve made it clear, I’m not wanted. I barely touch my food, because my appetite is gone. Instead, I study the room, and that’s when I see him. Atlas king, the top boy. He’s everything they say he is, breathtaking and infuriating all at once. Dark hair that looks effortlessly messy, as if he rolled out of bed like that and still somehow perfect. Storm-gray eyes that flick

Atlas’s POV The door slammed shut behind me, rattling the frame, but it didn’t drown out the chaos already filling my room. My dorm wasn’t just mine, not really. Not when I had the entire pack of them lounging around like they owned the place. My so-called friends sat across the couches, chairs, even the floor, half-empty soda cans and snack wrappers scattered everywhere like they’d been waiting for me to return and tell them everything. And I knew the second they saw me, the smirks, the raised brows, the knowing glances, that they weren’t going to make this easy. “There he is!” Liam, my beta and the loudest of the lot, shot up and grabbed me in a headlock, ruffling my hair like I was a kid. I shoved him off, but not before he laughed in my ear. “So, did you see her? Mira’s back, huh? What’s it like seeing your ex-mate walk through the door?” I scowled and shoved him harder, but it only earned me more chuckles from the others. “Ex-mate? More like a curse,” I muttered, crossing

Zara’s POV If there was one thing I learned fast about Blackwood Academy, it was that no class ever felt… normal. Sure, we sat at desks and pretended to take notes. Sure, there were textbooks — though half of mine were already battered, their pages filled with diagrams of spells and creatures I barely understood. But the energy in the room? It’s like sitting on a live wire. This morning was no different. I walked into Enchanted Histories, already bracing myself. The classroom was massive, high ceilings with beams so ancient they looked like they might crumble at any second. Tall windows let in slants of weak morning light, casting long shadows across the stone floor. And, of course, he was there. Atlas King. Slouched in his chair at the back of the room like he owned the place. His friends clustered around him, he was handsome i get it, the kind of looks that made you want to look away and stare at the same time. And then there were the girls. The ones who’d tried to warn me t

Zara’s POV I woke to the sound of rain drumming against the windows, the kind that would make the whole day slow. But my heart raced with anticipation. Today was combat class. And I was more than excited to show Atlas that I’m not as weak as he thought, although I had no idea what to expect. By the time I reached the training yard, the rain had stopped, leaving the ground damp and the air cold. The students were already gathering, voices low, eyes bright with excitement or dread. And standing at the center of it all was our instructor for the day. He looked like he’d been carved from old wood. His hair was silver, cropped close to his skull, his face weathered, one eye milky white with blindness. The other? Sharp as a dagger. He surveyed us, his arms crossed over his chest, and the yard went silent. “Name’s Corbin,” he growled, voice like gravel. “I don’t care who your family is. I don’t care what you think you know. Out here? Blood, sweat, and instinct decide who lives.” A l