Lahat ng Kabanata ng The Top Boy Is My Mate: Kabanata 101 - Kabanata 110

Jace’s POV The sound of metal echoed across the gym, sharp and hollow, like the sound of a bell that wouldn’t stop ringing in my skull. My palms were slick with sweat, the bar pressing against them as I forced it upward one more time. My muscles burned. My chest trembled. But I welcomed the ache. The pain in my body was easier to carry than the storm inside my head. For days now, I had been…seeing things. Not visions exactly—at least I didn’t think so. Flickers. Shadows at the edge of my sight. A tree, footprints. And Zara—her very existence—it was like she held a truth no one else could see even herself. I told myself I was imagining it. That maybe lack of sleep or too much digging into her bloodline was frying my mind. But my instincts, the ones I could never ignore, whispered otherwise. They told me I wasn’t wrong. That the puzzle was real. That the pieces I’d been collecting weren’t hallucinations. Only… I didn’t want the picture to be true. Not yet. Not when I still didn’t k

Zara I pressed my forehead against the door, my chest heaving. For a moment, the emptiness of the room pressed down on me, like it wanted to swallow me whole. My breaths echoed too loudly. I hated the way fear curled its cold fingers around my spine. No. Don’t give them this power. I stepped back, glaring at the heavy wood. “Fine,” I muttered. “If you won’t open, I’ll make you.” I threw my weight against it. The door rattled but held. Again. Harder. My shoulder throbbed, but I didn’t care. I wasn’t the type to wait around for a savior. And yet… as I crashed against the door again, something cracked open inside me. Not the wood—my memory. I wasn’t Zara anymore. I was Mira. The office walls blurred, replaced by a hazy fragment from a previous semester. The memory came sharp, incomplete, like a broken mirror reflecting too many angles at once. Atlas stood before me. His eyes desperate, voice low, hands reaching as though I was slipping away from him. “Mira,” he said. “Why are yo

Zara Morning came like an insult. The sun’s pale rays filtered through the academy windows as though nothing in the world had shifted, as though last night I hadn’t been tricked, locked away, and forced to dig through fragments of a past I could barely hold on to. My hands still ached from pounding that damned door. My throat was still rough from screaming at Seraphine. And my chest—well, my chest was worse. Because every time I closed my eyes, I saw Atlas’s face in those fragments, and heard the way he begged me to explain why I was breaking him apart. I hadn’t slept. Not properly. My wolf inside me paced endlessly, snapping at nothing. And I carried every shred of that anger straight into class. The hallway leading into the classroom buzzed with the usual chatter, but it dimmed as soon as I pushed through the doors. Heads turned. Whispers rose. Maybe it was the storm in my eyes, maybe it was the way my steps didn’t falter, didn’t hesitate. Because I knew exactly where I was goi

Zarek I never liked waiting around for answers. If something didn’t add up, I’d poke, prod, and claw at it until I got the truth—or at least the flavor of it. And lately? Something about Talia had been itching at me like a burr caught in my fur. Kai’s name lingered around her like smoke, and every time it came up, she got twitchy. Too twitchy. I might not be the most serious guy around—hell, everyone thinks I’m a joke half the time—but I’m not blind. So I decided to pay her a little visit. Not because I cared. Please. Don’t flatter her. It was pure curiosity. The same kind that makes a cat paw at a closed box until it tips over. I found her exactly where I expected: the courtyard garden, with its little benches and vines curling up stone walls. She was sitting alone, pretending to read a book, though her eyes kept flicking to her phone like it was whispering secrets only she could hear. I leaned against the ivy wall, watching her for a beat. Then, I grinned, pushed off, and sau

Zarek POV If anyone asked me what my hobby was, I’d say “sampling.” Not wine, not food—though I do appreciate a good plate of medium-rare steak—but people. I like tasting their flavors, poking around their edges, seeing what drips out when you press them just right. And lately, my “sampling” had one specific theme: Zara’s ghosts. Ex-mates. Ex-best friends. All the people she used to orbit around before she became… well, the Zara I know now. The Zara who hides behind that sharp tongue and fire, but who I’ve caught crying when she thought no one was watching. The Zara everyone loves to hate, but somehow, I can’t stop circling back to. So, today’s special on the tasting menu? Alexandra. Alex. The former best friend, turned loudest hater. I spotted her at the stone steps in front of the east wing, backpack dumped beside her like she’d thrown it there in disgust. Her legs were crossed, one foot bouncing rapidly, and she had this deep scowl etched into her face, like someone had stole