Chapter 11 The Confrontation

Chapter 11 The Confrontation


There’s something about the end of the school day that feels like escape. The hum of chatter, lockers slamming shut, sneakers squeaking on the tile—it’s chaos, but it means freedom. Usually, I welcome it. Today, it feels like a trap.

Because I can feel him watching me.

All through last period, Jace sat two rows behind me, his stare burning a hole between my shoulder blades. I didn’t dare turn around, but I didn’t have to. I could sense it, the way you sense thunder in the air before it breaks.

Now, as I pack my bag slower than I should, waiting for the crowd to thin, my skin prickles. Something tells me that if I walk out into the hallway right now, he’ll be there.

And I’m right.

The room empties out until it’s just me and the scrape of chairs against the floor. I sling my bag over my shoulder and take a deep breath, bracing myself. But before I can even move, the door clicks shut.

I freeze.

“Going somewhere?”

His voice slides through the silence, low and sharp.

Jace steps away from the door and into the light, leaning casually against a desk like he owns the room. His uniform jacket hangs loose, tie shoved in his pocket, shirt collar open. On the surface, he looks relaxed. But his eyes—stormy, cutting—say otherwise.

“Move,” I say, keeping my tone flat.

He shakes his head slowly, almost like he’s disappointed. “Not until you tell me who the hell you really are.”

My pulse stutters. “What are you talking about?”

He smirks, but it’s humorless. “Don’t play dumb, Eva. That name doesn’t fit you, and we both know it.”

I grip the strap of my bag tighter. “You’re delusional.”

“Am I?” He pushes off the desk, closing the distance between us in a few easy strides. I try not to flinch as he stops just close enough that I can see the flecks of gold in his storm-colored eyes. “First you show up here out of nowhere. Then you act like you’ve been studying us for years. And now, suddenly, you’re the one stirring the pot about my father? It doesn’t add up.”

I force my shoulders to stay square. “Maybe I’m just observant.”

His laugh is sharp, humorless. “Observant? No. Calculated. Every move you make is too careful, too… rehearsed. You’re hiding something, Sinclair. Or Carter. Or whatever your real name is.”

The name Carter slams into me like a punch, even though he doesn’t say it out loud. I force my face blank, even as my stomach lurches.

“You’re paranoid,” I say, injecting just enough boredom into my voice to make it sting. “Not everyone is obsessed with you, Jace.”

His jaw tightens. “Don’t lie to me.”

Something flickers in his eyes—anger, yes, but something else too. Something closer to desperation.

He steps closer, so close the air between us feels charged, like static before a lightning strike. His voice drops to a whisper. “You think you can walk into my life and play me? I see through you.”

The room tilts for a second, the walls closing in. He’s too close, too perceptive. For a terrifying moment, I think he can hear the way my heart’s slamming against my ribs.

So I do the only thing I can. I meet his gaze and lie through my teeth.

“You don’t see anything. You’re just a boy who thinks the world revolves around him. Newsflash: it doesn’t. And not everything that happens here has to do with you.”

For a moment, neither of us moves. His jaw ticks, his eyes narrow, and the tension between us coils so tightly I can barely breathe.

Then something shifts. His smirk returns, sharp and cold, but there’s a crack in it now. Like he doesn’t fully believe himself anymore.

“Maybe,” he says slowly. “But if you’re not lying, then why are you shaking?”

My blood runs cold.

It’s a gamble, the way he says it, but it lands anyway. Because he’s right—my hands are trembling, clutching the strap of my bag so hard my knuckles ache. I will them to stop, to stay still, but it’s too late. He’s already seen.

He leans in, close enough that his breath brushes my ear. “Rule number one, Eva. Don’t flinch.”

The words send a shiver down my spine because they echo my own mantra, the one I whispered to myself just nights ago. He doesn’t know that, but it feels like he’s inside my head, peeling back the layers I’ve fought to keep sealed.

Before I can respond, footsteps echo in the hallway outside. Jace pulls back, his mask sliding neatly into place again. By the time the door creaks open and another student pokes their head in, he’s lounging against the desk like nothing happened.

I stand frozen, trying to gather myself, my pulse still hammering.

The other student mumbles something about forgetting a book, grabs it, and leaves. The door clicks shut again.

Jace doesn’t move right away. He just watches me, unreadable, like he’s trying to decide if I’m worth destroying or protecting.

Finally, he pushes off the desk and heads for the door. Just before he leaves, he glances back over his shoulder.

“You can deny it all you want,” he says softly. “But I’ll find out who you are. And when I do…”

He lets the threat hang there, unfinished but heavy. Then he’s gone, the door slamming shut behind him.

I collapse into the nearest chair, my hands still trembling, my mind racing.

He’s close. Too close.

And if I’m not careful, the truth won’t just destroy him.

It’ll destroy me.