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Everybody Watched Them

last update publish date: 2026-05-21 05:45:40

The hallway had gone completely silent, not normal silent, but Westbridge kind of silent. The kind that happened right before fights, before scandals, before Dante Cole ruined somebody publicly. Ariana hated that silence, mostly because she was usually standing in the middle of it.

Dante kept walking toward her slowly, his hands shoved into the pockets of his black hoodie while students practically split apart to make room for him. Nobody touched Dante accidentally. Nobody even breathed too loudly near him. He looked even worse this morning, the bruise beneath his eye had darkened overnight, his jaw looked tense and unstable.

Ariana refused to step back, even when fear crept unpleasantly into her stomach.

Beside her, Zoe whispered, "If I die today, clear my search history."

Ariana snorted.

Dante stopped directly in front of her, too close as always. The familiar scent of rain, mint, and expensive cologne wrapped around her instantly. His eyes dropped briefly toward the coffee in her hand, then back to her face.

"You're avoiding me."

Ariana blinked once. "You noticed? That must be embarrassing for you."

A few students nearby actually gasped. Dante's expression didn't change, but his tongue pressed slowly against the inside of his cheek.

"I texted you."

"You also body slam people for entertainment. We all have hobbies."

Another ripple moved through the hallway, and Ariana could already feel people recording this. Dante stepped even closer. "Answer your phone."

"No."

"Why?"

"Because I enjoy inner peace."

His jaw tightened harder, and for one brief second Ariana saw it, that crack beneath his control, that unstable edge everyone whispered about.

"Ariana."

Mason's voice came from behind her. Dante went still instantly, like a predator waiting to strike. Ariana turned slightly as Mason approached with a gym bag over one shoulder, looking completely unbothered by Dante's presence, which honestly felt medically concerning.

"You left your memory card in the media room," Mason said casually, holding it out toward her.

Ariana reached for it automatically, which was a mistake, because Mason's fingers brushed hers, and Dante lost whatever patience he had left.

The shift in him was sudden. His eyes darkened sharply as he grabbed Mason by the front of his shirt and slammed him against the lockers hard enough to shake the metal. Gasps exploded around the hallway.

"You touch her again," Dante said quietly, "and I break your hand."

The hallway froze. Ariana's pulse spiked violently, and not from fear alone, that was the problem. Dante looked terrifying when he got jealous.

"Mental illness," Mason choked out sarcastically despite being pinned against the lockers. Dante shoved him harder.

Something inside Ariana finally snapped. "Dante!"

Her voice cut through the hallway sharply, and for the first time since grabbing Mason, Dante looked at her. Ariana stepped forward before fear could stop her. "What is wrong with you?"

Dante's chest rose slowly beneath the hoodie. "He touched you."

"It's called existing in public!"

The muscles in his jaw flexed dangerously. "You think this is funny?"

"No," Ariana fired back. "I think you need professional help."

Several students nearby looked horrified. Nobody talked to Dante like this, nobody, but Ariana was genuinely angry now. Because underneath all his obsession and possessiveness, Dante still thought he could control everything around him, including her. And she refused to let anyone control her again.

"Let him go," she said firmly.

For a second Dante didn't move. Then slowly, he released Mason's shirt. The hallway exhaled collectively. Mason adjusted his collar while glaring at Dante. "You're completely insane."

Dante ignored him. His eyes stayed locked on Ariana's face, burning, possessive, and hurt. Somehow that last one affected her most.

"You embarrassed me," he said quietly.

Ariana stared at him in disbelief. "YOU threatened somebody in the middle of a hallway!"

"He touched you."

"Oh my God," she snapped. "You don't own me."

Silence fell over the hallway again, and something shifted in Dante's expression, something tiny and dangerous, like she'd accidentally hit something deeper than she intended. Then he laughed softly, not amused but cold.

"You still don't get it."

Ariana crossed her arms. "Get what?"

Dante stepped closer one final time, close enough that only she could hear what he said. "When I want something, Ariana…" His eyes dropped briefly to her mouth. "…it becomes mine eventually."

Then he walked away, and somehow that terrified her far more than the grabbing had.

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    The dinner did something neither of them expected.It wasn't the food, though the small place Zoe found was good. It was just being four normal people at a table on a Tuesday night. Nobody mentioned Richard. Nobody mentioned the lawyer's call. Zoe knew about it, Ariana had told her before they left, but she kept the evening light, steering conversation toward safe ground. By the time they left, Ariana had laughed more than she had in two weeks, and Dante's shoulders had finally relaxed.That was three days ago.Walking across campus toward the media center, Ariana realized something had changed. The dinner had reminded them that their life wasn't only the difficult parts.Dante found her at her desk that evening.He sat down, pulled his chair beside hers, and set two coffees down, hers first, then his."You're quiet," she said."I'm just thinking.""About what?"He turned his cup slowly. "The lawyer called me back today. About the NDA challenge."She turned to face him properly. "And

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    Three weeks after their Saturday in the city, Ariana knew the layout of Dante's room better than her own dorm. She knew the room by heart. She could walk through it in the pitch dark without tripping over a single thing. She knew the exact spot where the floorboards groaned under a heavy step near the closet. She knew the way the winter cold leaked through the window glass, making the air smell like frost. She knew the tiny desk lamp gave off a soft, golden light that was much better than the ugly overhead bulbs. She knew the third shelf of his bookcase had a small gap right next to a row of thick football playbook binders. That gap was his personal landing pad. It was the exact place where he dropped his phone charger, his heavy car keys, and his loose pocket change at the end of every grueling day. She knew he brewed his coffee way too strong, using double the normal grounds. He did it every single morning, he saw absolutely no problem with it, and he was never going to change his

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