Chapter 3 The top boy

Zara's POV

From the second I step into the dining hall, I know I don't belong.

The room falls quiet, just for a moment, but long enough for me to feel every pair of eyes on me. Whispers ripple through the space like a cold breeze, and I catch fragments as I pass.

"She's back?"

"I thought they said it's a new girl?"

"Why is she here?"

She's back?

Their stares weigh heavier than any burden I've carried. I keep my head high, my heart pounding so loud it drowns out their voices. I won't let them see how much it stings.

I take a seat at the edge of the room, alone. I don't even try to join anyone. They've made it clear, I'm not wanted.

I barely touch my food. My appetite is gone. Instead, I study the room, and that's when I see him.

Atlas king, the top boy.

He's everything they say he is, breathtaking and infuriating all at once. Dark hair that looks effortlessly messy, as if he rolled out of bed like that and still somehow perfect. Storm-gray eyes that flick lazily across the room, cold and sharp. His posture screams arrogance; he leans back in his chair, arms draped across the seat beside him like he owns the whole damn world.

And maybe here, he does.

Girls cling to him, laugh too loudly at things he doesn't even say. They practically fall over themselves for a glance. And when he gives them that lazy smirk of his, they melt.

But not me. He stared deep into my eyes and I tear my gaze away, heart beating faster for reasons I don't want to admit.

....

Classes happened fast, the whispers following me everywhere. No one speaks to me directly, but I can feel it, the tension, the curiosity, the judgment. Like they're waiting for me to mess up. Like they're sure I don't belong.

By the time combat training comes around, I'm exhausted. I just want to get through the day.

The training ground is vast and open, the dirt underfoot packed hard from years of practice. The instructor's voice booms across the field.

"Pair up!"

Students move fast, already forming pairs. I hesitate. I don't know anyone. I stand there, awkward, exposed.

The instructor frowns. His gaze lands on me, then on the one boy who hasn't picked a partner, Atlas.

"No," Atlas says flatly, before the instructor can even speak. His voice booms through the air, low and firm. "I'm not pairing with her."

A fresh wave of whispers.

"Did you hear that?"

"He doesn't even want to go near her."

"Why would he?"

I feel my cheeks burn. The instructor's jaw tightens. "Atlas. You'll pair with whoever I assign. She's your partner."

Atlas sighs, raking a hand through his hair, looking every bit the boy who's used to getting his way, and pissed when he doesn't. He stalks toward me, his expression unreadable but his eyes hard.

When he's close, he leans in just enough so I can hear, his voice low and cold.

"Stay out of my way. Don't touch me unless you have to."

I blink at him, my frustration flaring. "How am I supposed to not touch you when we're paired for combat?"

His lips curl into that infuriating smirk. "Figure it out."

I glare at him, my pride stinging. And just like that, he steps back, stance loose but ready. Waiting for me to make the first move like this is a game he's already won.

The fight is humiliating.

Not because I'm weak, but because he barely tries. He dodges my strikes like they're nothing, moving with effortless grace. And every time I get close, he shifts just out of reach, as if my touch would burn him.

His friends I assumed watched us, some laughing, others whispering. A group of girls on the sidelines, gorgeous, polished, confident, glares at me like I've committed a crime just by breathing the same air as him.

When it's over, I'm out of breath, angry, and more determined than ever. Atlas? He looks bored.

"Boring," he says, turning his back on me without a second thought.

And I swear to myself, next time, I won't make it so easy for him.