The cafeteria hummed with chatter, clattering trays, and the smell of cheap tomato pasta and coffee. Clara sat with Lily and two classmates from her dorm, pushing lettuce around her plate without interest.

Lily nudged her. “If you poke that salad any harder, it’s going to file a harassment complaint.”

Clara shot her a look. “I’m not in the mood.”

“You’re never in the mood.” Lily rolled her eyes playfully. “Come on. Live a little.”

She reached over and dropped a fry onto Clara’s plate.

Clara blinked. “What is that?”

“Joy.”

Clara snorted despite herself. “You’re annoying.”

“And yet, your life would crumble without me.”

Before Clara could respond, the cafeteria noise… shifted.

Like oxygen thinning in the air.

Like gravity changing.

Girls giggled. Guys straightened. Heads turned.

Clara didn’t have to look to know why.

Cole Matthews.

The campus sun itself. The unavoidable gravitational pull. The hurricane with a smile.

Lily followed everyone’s gaze and muttered, “Oh, hell no. Not here. Not like this.”

Cole walked in wearing his hockey jacket, stick in hand, hair still damp from practice. His presence rolled across the cafeteria like a ripple—in slow motion, deliberate.

He didn’t scan the room.

He already knew where she was.

Clara’s pulse spiked.

“No. No, no, nope—”

He headed directly toward their table.

“Walk away,” Clara whispered to her salad. “Walk to the vending machines. Walk to literally anywhere.”

He didn’t.

Cole slid into the seat beside her, his shoulder brushing hers like it was the most natural thing in the world. His arm dropped on the back of her chair.

“Hey.”

Clara didn’t look at him. “You’re sitting too close.”

“Feels just right to me.”

Lily choked on air.

The table went dead silent.

Clara abruptly stood, grabbing her tray. “I’m leaving.”

“Clara—”

“I said I’m leaving!” Her voice cracked—not angry this time, but scared.

She turned and rushed away, fast, head down—too fast.

Because she collided into someone holding an iced mocha and cream pasta.

The food splashed onto the girl’s white sweater and hair.

A gasp exploded across the cafeteria.

The girl stared down at her ruined clothes—slowly—then lifted her head.

Clara’s stomach dropped.

Of course.

Phoebe Mercer.

Pretty. Expensive. Poisonous.

And the girl Clara’s ex cheated with.

The one who laughed when Clara cried.

Pheobe burst into laughter. Loud. Cruel. “Oh my God. You didn’t.”

Clara froze, breath gone.

Phoebe flicked sauce off her wrist. “What’s wrong, Clara? Still can’t handle being second choice? Or is this your new hobby—throwing food because you have nothing else going for you?”

Clara’s throat tightened. “I didn’t mean—”

“Oh please.” Pheobe stepped closer, voice sugary venom. “Everyone knows you’re still obsessed with him. It’s humiliating. Honestly, move on.”

Clara’s fingers trembled around her tray.

Pheobe smirked wider. “Then again, maybe you can’t move on. Maybe it hurts that he chose me.”

Whispers spread. Heads leaned in. Phones tilted.

“And now,” Pheobe continued, loud enough for the entire cafeteria, “you’re chasing after another guy who will never want you. You’re just a jealous—”

A hand landed on Pheobe’s wrist.

Firm.

Warm.

Silencing.

Cole.

He had crossed the cafeteria without Clara even noticing.

His voice was low. Dangerous. “Finish that sentence.”

Pheobe blinked, surprise flickering. “Cole—hey. I was just—”

“No. You were degrading her.” He stepped in, taller, unblinking. “You’re not going to do that again.”

Pheobe’s confidence faltered. “Why are you defending her? She doesn’t matter. She’s nobody. You’re—”

She gestured to him. “You’re you. You could have anyone.”

Cole’s jaw flexed.

And then—

He spoke softly.

Softly.

And somehow that was the scariest thing in the room.

“That doesn't mean you can speak to her like that.”

He looked at Clara.

Not at Pheobe

Not at the crowd.

At Clara.

The cafeteria fell into dead, stunned silence.

Vanessa’s mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. “You’re kidding.”

Cole turned his gaze back to her—slow and cold. “Walk away.”

Pheobe’s face twisted—anger, disbelief, humiliation knotting together—and she stormed off, sauce dripping behind her like a crimson trail.

Clara stared at the floor, breath unsteady.

Slowly, Cole turned toward her.

“Clara,” he said quietly.

Her voice shook. “Why would you say that? I never asked for your help ”

“Because it’s the truth.”

She looked up at him.

His eyes held no smirk.

No joke.

No game.

Just sincerity that terrified her more than any insult ever had.

Her heart slammed painfully against her ribs.

“Cole… don’t do this to me.”

He didn’t step closer.

He didn’t touch her.

He just said—

“I’m already in it, Clara. Whatever this is? I’m not walking away.”

Her breath shattered. She turned away and took to her heels.