ISABELLA'S POV
Kai's words wouldn't leave my head.
Not even after the lecture ended.
Not after I packed my books.
Not even as I walked out of school, hugging my bag like it could physically hold my anxiety in place.
"Who doesn't know Grayson Zucker?"
That line kept replaying over and over, like a taunt.
Each step I took toward the school gate only worsened the knot in my stomach. I kept glancing around too — hallways, cafeteria, parking lot — realizing how impossibly strange it was that I'd lived in this same pack, attended this same school, breathed the same air as him for months yet somehow never ran into him once.
Not once.
No accidental bump in the hallway.
No friend mentioning him.
No sighting from afar.
Nothing.
It was like the universe intentionally kept us apart until now.
And now that it had tossed us together like some cruel joke, it was becoming painfully obvious that running from him would be a full-time job. One I was already failing at.
By the time I got home, my head was pounding so badly I could feel it in my teeth.
Beckett wasn't around, but that didn't matter. What mattered was avoiding him. Avoiding the memory of how close he stood. Avoiding the image of his stupid smirk when I lied about a boyfriend I didn't even have.
Avoiding the way hearing his voice made something in me jolt and scramble.
So, I shut myself in my room. And stayed there. All evening.
My stomach growled so loudly at some point I had to bury my head under my pillow just to mute the noise. But I didn't dare go downstairs. I wasn't going to risk walking into the dining and seeing him there in that stupid black hoodie again, staring like he knew everything I was trying so hard to hide.
Hours passed.
Enough that I was sure he'd be in his room. Or asleep. Or out at one of those parties Kai claimed he practically lived for.
So finally, quietly and slowly, I slipped out of my room.
Bare feet on cold floor tiles, holding my breath with each step as I made my way down the stairs.
I reached the bottom.
Turned toward the dining.
And-
"Oh goodness!" I jumped back violently, my hand flying to my chest. "Oh, shit."
He was right there at the entrance to the dining. Standing. Waiting. Like he'd been expecting me.
Like he'd counted the seconds until I'd show up.
And that smirk.
That damn smirk appeared the moment he saw how startled I was.
"Took you long enough," his voice was low, smooth, unfairly calm. "I was starting to think you were never going to leave that room."
I blinked aggressively, trying to gather the scattered pieces of my dignity.
"What- what are you even doing here?" My voice was embarrassingly small. "Why are you just standing there like some- some creep?"
He arched a brow, unfazed. "I live here."
"That's not what I-"
"Are you hungry?" he cut in, taking a second to look away from me only to return his gaze almost immediately. "I made-"
"No, I'm not hungry."
It was a lie.
A big, stupid, easily detectable lie. Because right on cue, my stomach betrayed me, a loud undeniable growl immediately growling between us.
"Shit," I muttered, my whole body freezing. "Shit."
His smirk widened, slow and self-satisfied, before he took one deliberate step toward me.
Then another.
And another.
Until there was barely space left between us, enough to feel his warmth, enough to smell the faint hint of mint on his breath.
"What," he murmured. "Was that sound?"
Before I could even react, his hand lifted and then he placed it gently on my stomach.
My breath caught. His palm was warm. A bit too warm it rendered me speechless immediately.
I should've pushed him away. I should've slapped his hand off. I should have done anything I could think of to get his hands off me.
But I didn't move.
Not an inch.
Not even when his thumb brushed lightly over my shirt. Just a ghost of a touch- barely there, yet somehow enough to send a violent shiver up my spine.
"You said you're not hungry." His eyes lowered to my stomach beneath his hand. "But this says otherwise."
I swallowed, hard. "Stop touching me."
"Do you want me to stop?" he asked quietly.
He knew damn well I wasn't going to answer that.
He let his fingers linger another second-one second too long- before finally withdrawing them, the loss of his touch leaving my skin feeling cold and exposed.
"You know," he murmured, leaning slightly closer. "If you keep avoiding me, you'll just keep running into me like this."
I wanted to tell him to stop talking.
I didn't and he didn't, instead his smirk returned. "Unexpectedly. Conveniently."
"I'm not avoiding you."
"You are," his voice dropped lower. "And it's cute. But pointless."
Heat crawled up my neck.
He stepped in even closer, his presence swallowing the space around me, the air thick enough to suffocate.
"Tell me," he whispered. "Are you going to run every time you see me?"
"I don't run," I snapped.
"Oh?" He cocked his head. "Then why did it take you this long to come downstairs. Weren't you counting the hours till you thought I'd finally be gone?"
My mouth opened but no sound came out. I looked away from him, the laughter he let out under his breath low and intoxicating.
"Seriously, Isabella?"
Against my will, I returned my gaze to him, the tension between us immediately tightening. It was sharp, hot and heavy enough to crush my lungs. I watched his gaze drop to my lips briefly- too briefly for me to call it intentional, too intentional for me to believe it was accidental.
He inched closer anyway.
My heart stuttered.
His hand lifted, like he was about to touch me again. And then, just as his fingers grazed the hem of my shirt-
"Uh- what the hell is going on here?"
We both snapped our heads toward the voice. My soul could have left my body as I turned to meet Beckett standing at the bottom of the stairs, one brow raised, suspicion practically dripping off him.
Grayson, however, didn't flinch. Not even a little. Instead, he simply walked away from me, walked over to the dining table and grabbed a plate of food I didn't even notice was keeping us company all along, smoothly and smoothly placing it in my hands like that had been the reason I was there the entire time.
"She came for her dinner," he said easily, like nothing about the situation was strange. "Here."
Beckett looked at us. Then at the plate. Then back at us.
"I thought you said you weren't hungry," he arched a brow at me.
"I wasn't-"
"She was probably just shy," Grayson laughed, clearly amusing himself. "But there are some things you just can't deny no matter how hard you try."
"Right," Beckett muttered slowly, the suspicion still not leaving his eyes. "Well, okay. Good night then."
"Great," I took several steps backwards the moment Beckett left. I could feel my face burning and before it melted off from embarrassment, it was best I vanished. "Yeah, I should just return to my room."
"Isabella."
His voice made my heart stutter again. With a painful sigh, I turned around to face him again. "What is it, Grayson?"
He didn't answer immediately. He just walked toward me, slow, deliberate, each step measured. My stomach fluttered for no reason I could name. Every inch he closed the distance felt like a jolt, like a current running from his presence straight into me.
He bent down in front of me, and I felt my breath catch, my chest tightening in ways that made no sense. My mind screamed at me to look away, but I couldn't. There was something about the way he moved, how his body leaned just slightly forward, the faint brushing of air as he adjusted his stance- it felt deliberate, yet I knew it probably wasn't. And yet, it made my pulse spike.
A shiver ran down my spine, my thoughts muddled. I told myself I was imagining it. I told myself it was just the way he was bending. But it wasn't just that. My stomach tightened, a warmth spreading I couldn't explain, my fingers curling slightly at my sides.
Then he straightened- slowly, deliberately and then held something out to me. My eyes widened.
My chapstick.
I hadn't even noticed it had fallen.
"You keep dropping this around me," he said quietly. "Thought you might want it back."
My throat tightened.
He held it out to me. I reached for it, but as I did, his fingers brushed mine — warm, firm, lingering half a second longer than necessary.
A spark shot straight up my arm.
"And Isabella?" His voice dipped even lower. "Good night."
I couldn't say it back. Couldn't breathe, even.
I just stood there holding the warm plate and chapstick as I watched him walk away and leave.
Because heck, the only thing warm at that moment wasn't just the food in my hands.