ZIKORA'S POV
I regret how I screamed at him. The second the words left my mouth, I wanted to pull him close, to hug him, to undo it all. Fred—hard, stubborn Fred—looked vulnerable for the first time, and it broke me.
I sighed, stepping into the classroom. Every eye turned toward me like I was some corpse raised from the grave.
"How could he do this to you?" Ann gasped, her tone sharp with righteous concern. "You shouldn't go near him again. He disgusts me. The fact that he raised his hands on you shows how toxic and ruined he is. Look what he caused!"
"I'm okay. Really." I tugged her hands off my bandaged wrist.
"It must have been deep," Zainab whispered, eyes wide. "I swear, Fred was jealous of Bernard."
"My deepest apologies, bae," Calvin slid in with a wink, "but you know you could've come to my place. I give the best first aid treatment—"
"Calvin." Ann cut him off, her voice acid. "Do you ever stop? Your whole blood type is Flirt Positive. Get out before you embarrass yourself further."
The class erupted in laughter. Calvin stormed out. I shot Ann a grateful smile and hugged her.
"I'll be heading to Bernard's car," I said softly.
"So… nothing to do with Fred now?" she asked, testing me.
I hesitated. "I don't know. I still… like him. And he probably hates me now."
"I know you know he's toxic," she pushed.
"Ann, he—"
"Okay, okay," she cut me off, raising her palms. "Say no more." She left me there, drowning in thoughts.
I sighed, dragging myself to the car park. Bernard was there, grinning like a king, opening the car door for me. Fred leaned against his own car nearby, looking defeated, crumpled. My heart clenched. I hated myself for breaking a soul so beautiful. But a celebrity doesn't bow down. A celebrity makes people chase.
And according to that stupid magazine article: Ignore him. Give attitude. Flirt with his rival. He'll get jealous. He'll fall harder.
So I slid into Bernard's car like a queen accepting her throne. He shut the door gently, sprinted to the driver's seat, and started the engine. I glanced back—one last look at Fred before next week.
What I saw stopped my breath.
Do I cry?
Do I laugh?
Do I fight?
Do I collapse?
Because there he was—Fred. And in his arms? Ann. My best friend. And she was kissing him like she owned him. Worse? He kissed her back, gripping her waist like he'd been waiting for that moment.
Betrayal.
The car roared forward. Bernard dropped me at my house, half-carrying me upstairs like I was made of glass. I hated to admit it, but I needed that physical support. My body ached, but my heart ached worse.
He kissed my forehead gently. "Rest, Zizi. You'll be okay." Then he left.
I collapsed into bed and sobbed until my throat burned. I thought being a celebrity meant goodie bags of happiness. Free things. Endless attention. But no—fame can't buy love.
I was pretty. Cute. Sweet. Wealthy. Famous. But why couldn't I have him?
And Ann… my Ann. My best friend. The one preaching about Fred's "toxicity." The one warning me to stay away. And now? She was kissing him like I never mattered.
I grabbed my pillow and screamed into it.
My phone buzzed. Against my better judgment, I checked it. The class group chat was on fire.
'Bernard has an announcement to make.'
I frowned. What now?
Then Ann's message flashed on the screen:
'Fred baby, you wouldn't mind me coming over, huh?'
'Aight, I wouldn't.'
My chest clenched. Ann. Snake. Pretending to protect me while sliding into the boy I loved.
Then Bernard's announcement dropped:
'Sorry I'm late for the announcement… y'all, I'm hosting an all-white party. Girls: sexy, boys: do your thing. Tomorrow, 5pm–2am, my place. Elites only 🥳😌. Zizi, you're invited.'
I snorted, rolling my eyes. As if I cared. What's the point of a party without my best friend by my side?
I scrolled further. Ann and Fred's chat—flirtatious, reckless, raw—made my stomach twist. Fred didn't even know he was being used. And yet, he was letting her in.
Ann had him. I'd lost him.
I shut off my phone and curled up, whispering to the dark:
"To hell with y'all."