The tale of love

ANGEL'S POV

I couldn't stop thinking about him.

Not Ryan. Not Jace.

But him — the guy in black who took a bottle to the back just to save me.

The way he appeared out of nowhere. The way his voice sent chills down my arms. The way he looked at me like I mattered for those few seconds before he disappeared like Batman into the night.

Who was he?

I'd replayed the moment a hundred times in my head. The intensity. The quiet power. The way he walked out of that bar like he didn't need thanks or applause.

Just gone.

But life wasn't done playing games with me yet.

---

SULPHUR CLASS – NEXT DAY

I walked into the lab still half-asleep and slightly annoyed. Ryan had already sent me four text reminders about his afternoon lecture. Four. Who even wakes up that petty?

As I settled into my seat, I heard a voice behind me.

"Is this the Sulphur Art and Sketching class?"

I turned.

Time slowed.

It was him.

Black hoodie. Sharp jawline. Deep eyes. A faint scar above his right eyebrow. My hero from the bar.

He was holding a sketchpad, looking a little lost but still maddeningly attractive.

"You!" I blurted out.

He blinked. "Huh?"

"You're the guy from the bar!" I stood up too fast and almost knocked my stool over.

He smiled faintly. "I guess I didn't make enough of an impression if it took you that long."

I stared. "You saved my life."

He shrugged like it was nothing. "You looked like you needed help."

Before I could bombard him with questions, our professor walked in.

"Class! This semester, we're switching things up. Everyone's getting a new sketch partner. I'll call out names."

I sat back down, my eyes still glued to the guy.

Please. Please let the universe do something right for once.

"Angel Carter and… Zayne Cole."

BOOM.

Did the universe just wink at me?

He gave me a half-smile and took the seat next to mine.

"Looks like we're partners."

Zayne. His name was Zayne.

Zayne freaking Cole.

---

TWENTY MINUTES LATER

We worked in silence. Sort of. I kept sneaking glances at him while trying not to look like a total creep.

"Why didn't you let the police take your statement?" I finally asked.

"I don't do attention," he said. "Too many questions."

"Still. That was… brave."

He looked up, eyes catching mine. "You looked scared. I've seen that look before."

That sentence hit differently. I opened my mouth to ask what he meant, but he was already back to sketching.

I looked at his drawing—clean lines, bold strokes, an abstract flame blooming from a dark silhouette.

"You're really good," I murmured.

He glanced at mine. "So are you."

My cheeks warmed. I wasn't used to compliments that felt so real.

---

AFTER CLASS

Zayne helped me pack up my things. As we stepped out of the building, the wind blew softly and the late morning sun hit just right.

"Do you always show up out of nowhere and save girls from flying bottles?" I asked teasingly.

He chuckled. "Only on Thursdays."

"You're mysterious, Zayne Cole."

He glanced sideways. "You'll get used to it."

I smiled. "What year are you in?"

"First. You?"

"Second."

He smirked. "So technically, you're my senior. Should I start calling you ma'am?"

"Don't you dare."

We both laughed.

And for the first time in a while, I forgot about Jace. About Ryan. About my crazy debt.

There was just me and this guy who seemed too cool for words and too kind for this world.

---

LATER THAT EVENING

I got another message from Ryan.

Ryan: Class. 4 PM. Don't be late.

But this time, instead of groaning…

…I smiled.

Because now, I had a reason to smile.

And his name was Zayne Cole.

ANGEL'S POV

My life suddenly felt like the opening of a dramatic teen series.

On one side: Ryan Jacobs — the cold, calculating perfectionist who had me chained to his class notes like some academic Cinderella. Annoying. Demanding. And infuriatingly gorgeous.

On the other side: Zayne Cole — the quiet, mysterious new guy who threw himself into a bar fight just to protect me and drew flames like he had a wildfire inside him.

And me?

I was the girl caught in the middle, juggling notes, feelings, and one very confused heart.

---

4:02 PM – Computer Science Lecture Hall

I rushed into Ryan's class, just two minutes late. Two. But you'd think I came dragging in after a three-day vacation from the way he looked at me.

"Seriously?" he said the moment I sat down. "Do you have a watch? A phone? Or a sense of time at all?"

I dropped my bag with a thud. "You should try saying hi first."

He handed me his notebook without a word, his jaw tight. I could feel his mood hanging over me like a storm cloud. Still, I started writing.

Halfway through the lecture, Ryan leaned in. "You smell like paint."

"I came from art class," I whispered back. "My sketch partner nearly dipped my braid in yellow."

He stared at me for a second too long. "Sketch partner?"

"Zayne," I replied without thinking.

His pen froze.

"You mean the guy from the bar?" he asked under his breath, eyes narrowing.

I blinked. "How do you know—?"

"Everyone on campus is talking about what happened. 'Tall guy in black took a bottle like a boss,'" he mocked. "You didn't mention he was your junior."

I raised an eyebrow. "Why does it matter?"

He looked away. "It doesn't."

But the way he snapped his pen in half seconds later? Yeah, it definitely mattered.

---

AFTER CLASS

"Thanks for the notes," Ryan said curtly, grabbing the notebook from me. "Don't forget tomorrow's seminar."

"Yup," I replied, rolling my eyes. "Bright and early, my favorite time to serve the Ice King."

Ryan paused. "What did you just call me?"

I turned. "Nothing. Gotta go. I have a date with fire."

He blinked. "What?"

I grinned. "Paint. I meant paint."

---

EVENING – CAMPUS STUDIO

Zayne and I were in the art room again. This time, we were painting murals for our sulphur project: "Emotions in Color."

Zayne chose deep reds, oranges, and bold streaks of black.

I watched him from the corner of my eye. He painted like he was bleeding onto the canvas.

"Where did you learn to draw like that?" I asked softly.

He hesitated. "I used to draw to escape."

"Escape what?"

He didn't answer right away. "Just… stuff."

I didn't push. But something about the way he said it made my heart twist.

Then he surprised me.

"You and Ryan. You're… close?"

I blinked. "No. God, no. He's blackmailing me with a shattered tablet."

Zayne gave a small laugh. "He seems protective."

"Protective?" I snorted. "Ryan Jacobs doesn't protect people. He protects deadlines."

Zayne leaned back on his stool, studying me. "Still… be careful around him."

I paused, brush in hand. "Why?"

He looked at me — really looked at me. "Just… trust me."

That answer made my stomach flip in a weird way. Not from fear. But from something… deeper.

---

NIGHT – ANGEL'S BEDROOM

I stared at my phone screen.

One message from Ryan:

Ryan: Don't forget to type today's notes and email them.

One message from Zayne:

Zayne: Still thinking about the way you painted that sky.

My fingers hovered.

This wasn't a love triangle.

This was a ticking time bomb.

Because I didn't just owe Ryan a broken tablet.

I was starting to owe both of them pieces of my heart.