TASHA’S POV

I couldn’t stop smiling. My cheeks hurt from grinning so much as I jogged down the hallway, my bag bouncing lightly on my shoulder. Every heartbeat replayed that moment—his lips on mine, the way his hands trembled when he touched me, the way my name had left his mouth like a plea and a promise all at once. Jeremy. My Jeremy.

I stopped at the vending machine, and grabbed a strawberry yogurt. Jeremy’s favorite. I held the cool bottle against my cheek and giggled to myself. It was such a silly thing, really, but I wanted to see his face when I handed it to him. That gentle, shy smile that always seemed like he was trying to hide a thousand emotions behind it.

I made a U-turn toward the classroom, my steps quick, eager. I could already picture him sitting there at the back, pretending not to notice me, probably tapping his pen against the desk with that soft, thoughtful frown.

Immediately, I walked in my gaze trailed to look for him, I knew he had been in class, it took me ten minutes to purchase the yoghurt after all.

Jeremy was there exactly where I’d imagined, sitting quietly at the back row, head slightly tilted. My heart skipped. I smiled wider and started toward him, the yogurt bottle swinging in my hand.

But before I could reach him, Roman’s voice—sharp, dripping with sarcasm—cut through the air.

“I told you not to buy me that yogurt,” he said loudly enough for everyone to hear. “Don’t think it’ll warm your way back into my heart.”

I froze, the smile instantly fading.

What?

Then it hit me.

Right. I used to get him this same yogurt after lunch break—his favorite too. Back when I still thought he was the center of my world. My chest tightened, but this time not from longing. From disgust.

I turned to him slowly, meeting his arrogant smirk with a cold, unbothered stare. “You wish,” I said flatly, and brushed past him.

The laughter and whispers that followed were satisfying.

Jeremy looked up just then, and his eyes softened immediately when he saw me. That was all I needed. I walked straight to him and held out the yogurt, my smile returning, gentler this time.

“For you,” I said softly.

He took it from me with that familiar, disarming grin. “You remembered,” he murmured.

I looked away quickly, heat rushing to my cheeks. “Just drink it.”

He pouted playfully, tilting his head. “Open it for me?”

I gave him a mock glare but twisted the cap off anyway. The faint click of the seal breaking felt almost too intimate for something so simple. Then he leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a teasing murmur.

“Feed me.”

My throat went dry.

Every head in the class turned toward us. Conversations died. The entire room stilled—just a sea of wide eyes, a few dreamy sighs, and of course, the envious scoffs of those who couldn’t stand me breathing the same air as Jeremy.

Elsa’s glare was the sharpest.

Her lips were twisted in a fake smile, but her eyes—oh, those eyes could slice through steel. In my past life, she’d been the quiet backstabber, she had a crush on Jeremy right when we were teen and when she couldn’t have Jeremy, she went crawling to Roman. Together, they’d turned my life into living hell.

Not this time.

I tilted my head, deliberately ignoring her, and lifted the spoon to Jeremy’s lips. He took a slow sip, eyes never leaving mine. The class collectively sighed. Some girls were whispering “They’re so cute,” while others muttered curses under their breath.

Roman, though… Roman was silent.

But I could feel his stare—burning, furious, barely contained. His fists were clenched so tight the veins on his arms popped out. I didn’t need to look to know. I could feel his anger crawling up my spine like heat.

Before I could blink, Jeremy’s hand shot out. He grabbed my wrist, spinning me around in one swift, possessive motion, and the next second I was sitting on the edge of the desk, my breath catching. His hands were around my waist, pulling me close until our faces were inches apart.

“Stop staring at him,” he whispered harshly, his breath hot against my ear. “I can’t take it.”

“Jeremy—”

“You chose me,” he said, his voice low but trembling. “You can’t go back. And you better not regret it.”

My heart squeezed. He was half jealous, half broken—but beneath that anger was fear. Fear of losing me. Again.

I reached up and touched his cheek gently. “I’ll never leave you,” I whispered.

His eyes darkened, and his voice came out rough. “I wouldn’t give you the chance.”

And then his lips crashed into mine.

The class gasped collectively, chairs squeaking, someone even dropped their book. But all I could feel was him—his warmth, his trembling hands, his desperate need. My fingers tangled in his hair as the room disappeared around us.

Until it didn’t.

The next moment, Jeremy was ripped away from me so violently I stumbled off the table, breath knocked out of me. My eyes snapped open just in time to see Roman slamming Jeremy against the wall, his hand fisted in Jeremy’s collar.

“Roman!” I screamed, rushing forward.

The crack of bone, the thud of flesh echoed through the classroom. Gasps filled the air again, students frozen between fascination and fear.

Jeremy’s jaw was clenched, blood dripping from the corner of his lip, but he didn’t swing back. He just stared at Roman, calm, steady, defiant.

“How dare you touch what’s mine?” Roman’s voice was venom.

I scoffed, my heart hammering and my voice barely above a whisper as I said “I’m not yours, Roman.”

Jeremy grinned, wiping the smear of blood from his lips with the back of his hand. His eyes glimmered—half mischief, half menace—as he tilted his head slightly toward Roman.

“You heard her,” he said coolly, brushing invisible dust off his shirt as if Roman’s grip had been nothing more than a passing breeze. “She’s not yours.”

The room went silent.

Roman’s jaw tightened, nostrils flaring. Then, with a guttural sound, he swung another punch—sharp, reckless, born from bruised pride rather than strategy.

But Jeremy was faster.

He caught Roman’s fist midair like it was a child’s toy, his grip iron. The veins in his arm flexed as he twisted Roman’s wrist downward with a smooth, terrifying precision. “You wouldn’t want me to retaliate,” Jeremy said, voice low, steady, deadly.

Roman hissed, the pain twisting his face. For a moment, the classroom forgot how to breathe.

And then, like a coward hiding behind arrogance, Roman yanked his hand free and stepped back. The slight tremor in his fingers betrayed him.

That was when I laughed. I couldn’t help it. The sound bubbled up uncontrollably—half disbelief, half satisfaction.

Of course, Roman would back down. He had adequate knowledge who he was dealing with anymore.

Jeremy wasn’t just some quiet, mysterious student with a bad temper. He was the masked underground boxer—the one every girl in Golden Stars High gushed over online. “Black Mask,” they called him. The undefeated champion with the body of sin and fists of thunder. His fights were the stuff of legend. And Roman? He knew it. He’d seen Jeremy fight before, seen him break a man’s ribs with one hit.

Roman could act brave all he wanted, but his eyes told another story.

I walked to Jeremy, my heart still pounding. “Are you okay?” I asked softly, touching his arm.

Jeremy turned to me with a grin that could melt every piece of my fear. “It’s normal,” he said teasingly. “Roman’s just jealous. I mean, I’m too handsome, and definitely better than him. Who wouldn’t be jealous?”

I rolled my eyes, but the laugh slipped out anyway. The arrogance in his voice was adorable, and it only made the tension in the room dissolve into whispers and muffled giggles.

But the moment didn’t last long.

Elsa stepped forward, her expression sharp, her voice cutting through the laughter. “Don’t talk to Roman that way,” she snapped, crossing her arms like some self-appointed queen.

Jeremy’s smile faded, his gaze turning cold. When he spoke, his tone was sharp enough to slice through her confidence. “You should know your place,” he said slowly, each word deliberate. “When two men are speaking, a puppet shouldn’t interrupt.”

The class erupted.

Laughter spilled across the room like wildfire, bouncing off the walls, louder with every second. Elsa’s face drained of color, her lips twitching as she tried to hold back tears. Even I couldn’t hold it in; I giggled behind my hand.

Roman’s glare shifted from Jeremy to me, dark and venomous. But before he could speak, Jeremy leaned lazily against a desk, smirking. “What’s the matter, Roman? Lost your voice too?”

Roman’s eyes blazed. “I’m better than you,” he spat. “And you know it.”

Jeremy chuckled under his breath. “Keep dreaming.”

“I dare you,” Roman snapped suddenly, his voice rising. “A soccer match. One-on-one. If I win, you give Tasha back to me.”

The words hung in the air like smoke.

The class gasped. Someone whispered, “No way,” and another muttered, “Is Roman insane?”

I blinked, stunned, turning sharply toward Roman. “You can’t just…”

Jeremy cut me off, a mocking grin curling at the corner of his lips. “You wish.”

Roman eyes darkened with anger as he stepped closer to Jeremy, so close that his breath ghosted against Jeremy’s ear. His voice dropped into a low, poisonous whisper. I couldn’t hear what he said, but the change in Jeremy’s expression was immediate. His jaw tightened. His hands slowly curled into fists.

Whatever Roman said—it wasn’t something small. It hit deep.

Jeremy’s eyes lifted, cold, furious, and he muttered through clenched teeth, “Fine.”

Roman leaned back, triumphant. “Good,” he said smugly, brushing off his uniform as though he’d already won. “If you lose, she’s mine again.”

Jeremy’s glare could have frozen the sun. “And if I win,” he said, his voice dark and dangerously calm, “you stay the fuck away from her.”

Roman’s smirk widened. “Deal.”

And just like that, it was sealed.

The crowd around us buzzed with excitement—students whispering about the coming “match of the year,” some already placing mental bets on who’d win.

But I wasn’t excited. My heart was in my throat.

Jeremy was strong, yes—but soccer wasn’t his field. Roman was the school’s undefeated soccer lord, the golden boy of the team, the one who played like the field itself bent to his will. He didn’t lose. Not once.

So why did Jeremy agree so easily?

I looked at him, but he wasn’t looking at me. His expression was unreadable—anger mixed with something heavier, something haunted.

I swallowed hard. What did Roman whisper to him?