Chapter 28 Worried About Her

Chapter 28 Worried About Her
Chapter 28

The hallway was quieter than usual, almost empty except for a few stragglers leaving class. My eyes immediately found her—Priscilla—leaning against the lockers, fingers lazily scrolling through her phone. The late afternoon light caught her hair, giving it a golden sheen, but right now, all I saw was the problem she represented. She had a way of moving through the school like she owned it, like people existed to notice her. And right now… she was looking at Mila.

I didn’t move immediately. I let my boots click slowly on the polished floor as I approached, letting the sound announce my presence. She looked up and smiled, that infuriating, confident little smile that made me want to do nothing but glare and correct her. But I stayed calm, measured, every step controlled. No theatrics, no outburst. Just Cole Hayes, walking straight toward her.

“Cole,” she said, tilting her head, her voice light and teasing, as if she hadn’t a care in the world. “You’ve been avoiding me all day. Did I do something wrong?”

Her tone was casual, but I didn’t return her casualness. I stopped about a foot away, letting my shadow stretch over her, my eyes locked on hers. “You need to be careful,” I said, low, measured, letting every word land with quiet weight. “Don’t scare her away.”

Her brows lifted, a spark of curiosity flickering in her eyes. “Mila? What are you talking about?” She leaned slightly to the side, one hand on her hip, still smiling, still trying to charm her way out. “You’re worried about her?”

I didn’t smile. I didn’t joke. I just leaned slightly closer—not threateningly, but close enough that my presence filled the space. “I’m warning you,” I said. “Be careful. Mila isn’t someone you push around, someone you underestimate. And you—don’t try to intimidate her, don’t try to make her feel like she has to compete with you. She doesn’t need that. And neither do I.”

Her expression didn’t change immediately. She tried to hide it, to mask the slight unease in her eyes. “I’m not trying to intimidate her,” she said, voice almost too sweet. “She’s just a transfer student. She’s—she’s new. I’m sure she’ll figure her place out.”

I took another step closer, careful, deliberate. I let the pause hang between us, long enough for her to feel it, to realize that I wasn’t bluffing. “Exactly. She’s new,” I said, my voice dropping even lower, colder. “But she’s strong. Smarter than you think. And she doesn’t need anyone fighting her battles for her. If you make her feel small, I won’t let it slide. Not for a second.”

For a fraction of a second, I saw the mask falter. Her smirk wavered. She tried to adjust it quickly, brushing a strand of hair from her face, but she couldn’t hide it completely. I noticed. I always noticed. And I didn’t step back. I didn’t need to. I could see her calculating, realizing that this wasn’t one of our usual playful exchanges, that I was serious.

“I don’t scare easily,” she said, still trying to play it off, but the tremor in her voice betrayed her confidence. “She’s… just a girl.”

“Just a girl?” I repeated, letting the words sink in. I leaned in slightly, close enough for her to feel the intensity behind my gaze. “Exactly. Just a girl. But she’s strong, smart… and she doesn’t need anyone doing her wrong. And if you push her, or if you make her feel like she’s less than she is, you’ll regret it.”

There. That was it. I didn’t yell. I didn’t threaten with exaggerated gestures. I didn’t have to. My proximity, my tone, my presence—all of it was enough. And she felt it. I could see it in her eyes—the flicker of awareness that she’d misjudged her target, the realization that I wasn’t a boy she could toy with, not when it came to Mila.

Her eyes widened, and she tilted her head, studying me. She wasn’t laughing. She wasn’t smiling. She was assessing, trying to gauge just how serious I was. And I held her gaze, letting her understand without a single additional word.

“You don’t understand,” she said after a moment, almost defensively. “I’m just being… friendly. Nothing more.”

I didn’t move, didn’t relax. “You might think that,” I said, keeping my tone calm but cold. “But you don’t know her. And right now, the safest thing for you to do is back off. Don’t scare her away. Don’t make her feel like she has to compete. Don’t make yourself a problem she has to solve. Or me.”

There. Pause. Silence. My chest was calm, but my mind raced. I could feel the flicker of something I hadn’t expected—protectiveness, yes, but also a gnawing tension. She didn’t push back anymore, didn’t try to laugh it off, didn’t smirk. She just looked at me, a little smaller, a little cautious, a little aware of the consequences.

I let my gaze linger for a beat longer, enough for her to feel it fully. Then, slowly, I stepped back, keeping my eyes on her. “Mila is important,” I added quietly, deliberately. “Not because of me. Not because of anyone else. But because she’s earned it. And if you value yourself—or your comfort—you’ll respect that. Or you’ll regret it.”

I didn’t wait for a response. I turned, my boots clicking on the floor as I walked away, each step measured, deliberate. I didn’t glance back. I didn’t need to. She got the message. She had to.

And as I rounded the corner, I felt it—a tug of something unfamiliar. A flicker of protectiveness, a gnawing worry. I wanted to be sure she was safe, not just from her, but from anyone who underestimated her. I had to keep my distance from everyone else to make sure of it.