Reborn to Claim My Boss

"Just give in." His eyes were bloodshot, his voice rough. "Just give in and I'll forgive you, okay?" I held his furious gaze without a flinch.

Closing the distance between us, I reached up and lightly grasped the lapels of his tense leather jacket. "I'm sorry.

I was wrong." His muscles locked, his chest heaving with ragged breaths. "You don't even know what you did. What the fuck are you even apologizing for?" I shook my head.

He was furious. That was reason enough for me to take the blame. Chapter 1 I was reborn, thrown right back into the fall semester of my senior year of high school.

This year, I was Isla—a straightA student with my eyes deadset on snagging a fullride scholarship and getting the hell out of here.

Because of that, at this point in time, I still had no idea our school harbored a notoriously violent, shorttempered alpha everyone was terrified of. His name was Kingston.

And in the future, he was going to be my boss. No matter how much time passed, even now, I couldn't figure out why Kingston had saved my life. He should have hated me.

Why else would he have made my life a living hell after I became his executive assistant? He picked apart everything I did, constantly finding ways to make my job impossible.

But he saved me. That was a fact. Beneath mountains of concrete rubble, I survived wrapped in his arms. I owed him my life.

A guy like him was supposed to stand at the absolute top, untouchable and thriving, but his life was abruptly cut short at twentyseven. I had to pay him back.

So when my dad stood over my bed with his usual stern expression to wake me up, I just stared at him in a daze. I had actually come back.

This had to be a second chance, a way for me to repay that massive debt. Staring at my dad’s deliberately hardened face, my eyes burned.

His voice was exactly how I remembered—stiff, gruff, completely devoid of softness. But I knew how much he loved me.

In my past life, when I was trapped under that debris and the rescue teams hadn't arrived, my dad ignored everyone trying to hold him back.

He stayed right in the danger zone through the aftershocks, digging through the wreckage with his bare hands.

The man who was always so impossibly strict had cried with bloodshot eyes, tearing his fingers to shreds until they bled, refusing to stop. Seeing him again was everything.

I had been utterly alone for far too long. Standing at the school gates with my umbrella, I let out a long breath. What would seventeenyearold Kingston even look like?

He had to be a total badass. After all, he was the guy destined to take over as the CEO of a multibilliondollar empire.

Thinking of Kingston’s permanent scowl, a small laugh escaped my lips. I didn't care how impossible he was to deal with. Seventeenyearold Kingston, I’m coming for you.

The rain hadn't stopped since morning, though the heavy downpour had faded into a persistent drizzle.

When the lunch bell rang, I popped open my pastel pink umbrella and turned to my best friend. "Cleo, I'm going to find Kingston.

Go grab lunch without me." Her jaw practically hit the floor, clearly thinking my rebellious phase was hitting a little out of nowhere.

Too worried to let me go alone, she popped open her massive black umbrella and shadowed my steps.

I gripped my umbrella handle tight, stepping through muddy puddles, and walked without a single ounce of hesitation toward the damp, stenchfilled alleyway behind the school.

Chapter 2 The alley was claustrophobic, the rainslicked pavement riddled with muddy potholes. A dark mass of bodies crowded the narrow space.

Even from the entrance, the raw, guttural groans of someone being beaten echoed off the wet brick walls. Calling it a gang fight would be a joke; this was a onesided massacre.

Several guys in our school blazers lounged against the walls, completely unbothered, while seven or eight bodies groaned on the cold asphalt.

But the towering boy in the center commanded all the oxygen in the space.

His obscenely expensive, limitededition sneakers pressed mercilessly into the chest of the guy beneath him.

He exhaled a ring of smoke with chilling indifference, his free hand brutally gripping the guy's collar, forcing his bleeding victim to look up at him. "It's raining today," he said, his voice a low, lethal hum. "I'm in a profoundly shitty mood, and you still had the fucking nerve to cross my path.

Your mother gave you that life. It's supposed to be worth something, you get that?" The sneaker ground down harder, eliciting a choked gasp from the pavement.

A violent shiver ripped down my spine. Through the gloom, his sharp profile was unmistakable. It was Kingston. Cleo's fingernails dug into my arm, her breathing shallow.

By the time her trembling fingers reached out to drag me away, I was already moving forward, my pastel pink umbrella a glaring anomaly in the shadows.

Cleo stared at my back as if I had a total death wish. Kingston delivered kick after vicious kick to the body on the ground.

He ignored the pathetic, sobbing pleas for mercy, driving his boot in with a ruthless, primal fury, like he was trying to exorcise some inner demon.

Suddenly, the rain hitting his hair stopped. He snapped his head up, his dark eyes colliding with the canopy of a pink umbrella.

I stared at him, dead serious. "You know, getting soaked while beating people up is a great way to catch a cold." The circle of guys lounging around Kingston went still, staring at me like I had just dropped out of the sky with a live grenade.

Kingston’s temper was notoriously volatile on rainy days, though no one knew why.

And today's rain felt endless—a torrential downpour giving way to this persistent, maddening drizzle that clung to the skin.

He had been radiating pure, unadulterated hostility all morning. I went up on my tiptoes, stretching my arm to keep the umbrella shielding his tall frame.

One of his lackeys twitched, looking like he wanted to yank me away before I became collateral damage. They all knew a pissedoff Kingston was a walking natural disaster.

While the entire alley held its collective breath, Kingston—who had looked like a ruthless tyrant just a second ago—locked onto my face.

His fingers gave a violent twitch, and he crushed the burning cigarette cherry directly against his bare palm.

Panic flashed in his dark eyes as he hastily zipped up his open jacket, his massive frame instinctively shifting a step forward, desperately trying to use his broad back to block the blood and carnage on the pavement behind him.

The collective unspoken reaction in the alley was deafening: What the actual fuck? Cleo just stared, her brain shortcircuiting. My eyes locked with Kingston's.

But a second later, he broke the connection, tearing his gaze away. "Can I help you?" he demanded, his voice thick with defensive irritation.

Looking at that painfully familiar glare, the corners of my mouth curled up. In my past life, this was the exact same look Kingston gave me the first time we met.

That day, I had been in a crisp pencil skirt and blazer, fresh on my first day of corporate orientation.

Clutching a stack of files, I was practically shoved into the lion's den of his executive office.

Rumor had it he was in an explosive mood because his acquisition team had botched a deal he wanted.

He had just finished tearing the entire floor a new one, and everyone outside the glass walls was holding their breath, waiting for the new girl to get chewed up and spit out.

So, forcing my spine straight, I flashed a perfect, unbothered smile. "Good morning, Mr. Kingston.

I'm your new Executive Assistant." I saw it as clear as day—he was a breath away from ripping my head off, but the moment his eyes landed on me, shock swept through his dark pupils.

Then, he froze, his hands dropping to subconsciously straighten his expensive silk tie.

Back then, I just thought he was a vain billionaire who cared a little too much about his immaculate image.

The man behind the desk sneered, his tone dripping with condescension. "You?

You're supposed to be my assistant?" And now, in this life—a different place, a different decade—seventeenyearold Kingston was looking at me with the exact same thinly veiled panic disguised as arrogance.

Chapter 3 I tilted my head up, meeting his eyes. "I saw you fighting." Kingston arched an eyebrow, a mocking sneer pulling at his lips. "What, the good girl is trying to play hall monitor now?" A soft laugh escaped my lips.

He was exactly the same as in my past life. The same inexplicable, razorsharp hostility. I didn't say a word.

I just stared back at him, my eyes locked onto his, completely ignoring the rest of the chaos in the alley. Kingston glared down at me.

Suddenly, he cursed under his breath and shoved a frustrated hand through his damp hair.

His large hand shot out, long fingers gripping the back of my neck, forcing my head up as he leaned down.

His face stopped mere inches from mine, his breath hot against my skin. "Either stay in your little bubble and play the good girl, or stop fucking provoking me.

What is this, playing hard to get? Because I don't give a shit about you anymore." What the hell? Did we have some kind of history I didn't know about?

In this timeline, we literally hadn't even met! I kept my mouth shut, biting down hard on my lower lip as my gaze drifted down to his sharp collarbone peeking out from his shirt.

My mind raced, trying to decipher his warning. A dark chuckle rumbled in his chest. "What, cat got your tongue?" "I have literally no idea what you're talking about," I muttered.

The amusement vanished from his face, leaving behind a layer of frost. "Then you better start fucking thinking about it." He released his grip, brushing past my shoulder as he stalked toward the exit of the alley.

Just like that, the brutal beatdown was over. The violence had started purely on his whim, and it ended just as abruptly. I stood there frozen for a beat.

By the time I snapped out of it, Kingston and his crew were already at the street corner. I jogged after them and shoved my pink umbrella toward his chest.

Kingston shot me a sideways glance. He didn't take it. "We have two," I insisted, dead serious.

A huff of disbelief escaped his lips, twisting into a smirk. "You expect me to walk around holding a pink umbrella?" Fair point. That was a serious oversight on my part.

I tapped my chin, thinking fast. "My friend has a black one.

It's massive." Cleo, who had been desperately trying to blend into the brick wall, choked on air. "I don't use umbrellas," Kingston snapped.

Who the hell refuses to use an umbrella in the pouring rain?

Was he insane? "Are you just trying to act cool?" I challenged. "Because if you catch pneumonia standing out here, those abs of yours aren't going to save you." I blinked up at him, refusing to back down an inch.

One of his lackeys burst out laughing, breaking the tension. "Holy shit, that's hilarious. Relax, straightA. Kingston isn't trying to be an edgy bad boy.

It's just a weird habit of his." A habit? Since when? In my past life, his absolute favorite thing was having me hold the umbrella for him.

The guy opened his mouth to say something else, but Kingston violently kicked the back of his knee. "Are we fucking leaving or what?" he snapped, his patience evaporating.

The guy clamped his mouth shut instantly, scrambling to keep up as Kingston stormed off into the rain. I stood there in silence. I had no idea what triggered his temper this time.

He was so impossibly hostile. The sheer amount of hostility radiating from him made me rethink my whole repayment strategy. I decided to give him a wide berth for a few days.

Clearly, my presence annoyed the hell out of him. During the first allschool mock SAT exam since my rebirth, I handed in a completely blank test booklet.

The material was practically a foreign language to me now. It wasn't that I couldn't guess a single answer, but I used to be the untouchable valedictorian.

If my scores dropped to average, it would raise too many red flags. Dropping a total zero was a safer bet—a statement rather than a sign of struggle.

Within an hour of the bell ringing, the rumor spread like wildfire. The straightA queen had just nuked her own SATs.

Chapter 4 My homeroom teacher called me into her office, demanding to know why I had turned in a blank SAT booklet. I stammered out, "I thought the test was too easy.

I didn't feel like doing it." Surprisingly, she actually looked like she bought it, though she warned me not to let it happen again. One month.

That was all the time I needed to catch up on the coursework I had forgotten. So, for the second mock exam, I walked into the very last testing room for the first time.

This place was the dumping ground for the school's dropouts and delinquents. The second I stepped through the door, the chaotic room went dead silent. Dozens of eyes locked onto me.

I found my assigned seat and sat down. Instantly, the guy next to me kicked the leg of my chair. "Hey.

Make sure you leave your test wide open so I can see it." I shot him a sidelong glance and ignored him.

Taking the rejection as a blow to his ego, he stood up and violently kicked my desk away.

My pens and pencils scattered across the floor with a loud clatter. "I'm talking to you, you fucking—" Before he could finish his sentence, a brutal kick sent him crashing to the floor.

The guy sprawled awkwardly on the ground, spitting mad. "Who the fuck dares—" "Shut your mouth. You're blocking her light." Kingston’s voice was as cold as shattered ice.

His expensive custom leather boot stepped mercilessly onto the guy's shoulder, grinding him right back into the filthy floorboards. It really took a villain to crush a villain.

Young Kingston looked unbelievably good doing it. I stared at him, absolutely mesmerized. The guy on the floor paled the second he recognized Kingston.

His jaw dropped, probably wondering why a guy who never showed up for exams was suddenly in the testing room. "KKingston…" Kingston's dark gaze flicked to me for a fraction of a second before raking over the guy on the floor like he was a piece of rotting trash. "Get lost.

Stop polluting my air." Terrified, the guy scrambled to his feet and bolted out the door. I stayed in my seat, a smile creeping onto my face. Kingston didn't say a word.

Ignoring the stunned stares of the entire room, he walked straight over and shoved my desk back into its proper place.

As he bent down to gather my scattered pens, dropping them onto my desk, I found myself staring at his long, aristocratic fingers. "You've got plenty of attitude when it comes to me," he sneered. "But against anyone else, you just go mute?" The sarcasm was practically dripping off him.

I didn't argue. I just tilted my head up, holding his gaze. He broke eye contact first, awkwardly turning his face away and shoving his hands deep into his pockets.

When he spoke, it sounded like a threat. "Take this test seriously.

If I ever see you in this loser classroom again, there's going to be a problem." "Why?" I reached out and gently tugged on the hem of his jacket, dead serious.

A flash of discomfort crossed his eyes.

Before I could read it, he muttered in a low, gravelly voice, "Because looking at you pisses me off." Then he spun around, dropped into the empty desk right behind mine, and buried his face in his arms to sleep.

What a hopelessly stubborn guy. A soft laugh slipped out, and I called over my shoulder, "Hey, Kingston." He didn't lift his head.

But he answered, his voice muffled but patient. "What." "Thank you." The air after the rain was crisp, carrying the scent of wet asphalt and new beginnings.

It grounded me, making everything feel so intensely real. I gripped the straps of my backpack, walking down the street slowly, making sure I felt every single step.

The neighborhood around the high school was still rundown and underdeveloped. But I knew the truth.

In a few short years, this entire district would explode into a massive commercial hub, all thanks to Kingston's corporate empire.

This cracked, muddy sidewalk I was walking on right now would eventually turn into a sprawling, billiondollar avenue.

Chapter 5 In my past life, I actually hated walking this street on rainy days because my white sneakers would get covered in mud.

I had looked down at this exact street's night view from Kingston's office—the top floor of the Kingston Corporation.

Back then, I thought a sea of city lights was just that, a sea of lights. Kingston had told me that if I walked that road now, my shoes wouldn't get muddy anymore.

Standing here now, reborn, I stared blankly at the mud caked onto my white sneakers. To show my gratitude, I decided to bring him breakfast.

When I got to his desk, Kingston wasn't there yet. His desk was shockingly bare. The only textbook in sight was shoved under a desk leg to keep it from wobbling.

Inside the drawer, there was a gaming console and a few packs of cigarettes. I didn't recognize the brand, but the sleek packaging screamed expensive. I had no idea Kingston smoked.

In my past life, he never lit up in front of me. As his executive assistant, I really didn't know him at all.

I searched for a pen, wanting to leave a sticky note so he'd know I dropped by. But after digging around, I couldn't find a single one.

Giving up, I unzipped my pastel pink backpack, pulled a neutrallooking pen from my pencil case, and started writing. Suddenly, a dark shadow swallowed me whole.

Kingston stood right behind me.

He rapped his knuckles against the desk, then braced his hands on either side of my chair, trapping me in. "What do you want?" His massive frame completely engulfed me.

A heavy rush of mint tobacco mixed with raw, masculine heat wrapped around me.

His arms brushed right up against my shoulders in a stance dripping with absolute territorial dominance and aggression. "Look at me and answer." His hot breath ghosted through my hair, scrambling my thoughts. "I brought you breakfast." Kingston's gaze dropped to the eggs in my hands.

His eyes were a bottomless black, completely unreadable. He didn't say a word. He just stared dead at my pink thermos container.

The silence stretched so long my nerves frayed. "You don't like them?" I finally blurted out. "My bad, I'll take them back.

You don't have to eat them." "Leave them." Kingston’s voice was a low, gravelly rasp. He took the container from my hands, dropped into his seat, and silently started eating.

I had kept the food in my insulated pink container the whole walk over, so it was still warm. He ate methodically, focusing entirely on the meal. I walked away beaming.

It wasn't until later that the rumors hit my ears. Before Kingston even finished the second egg, a violent red rash had crawled up his neck. He was severely allergic to eggs.

His crew had practically begged him to stop eating, but he ignored them, forcing down every last bite before spending the entire afternoon passed out in the nurse's clinic—with my sticky note shoved deep inside his pocket.

I had absolutely no idea he was allergic. But as his executive assistant in my past life, I had brought him eggs for breakfast plenty of times. He ate them every single time.

My chest tightened. What exactly was going through his head every time he choked down my breakfast in that past life? I couldn't even begin to guess.

He never said a word about it to me this time either. So, oblivious, I brought him the exact same thing the next day.

When I showed up at his desk the following morning, Kingston was already in his seat.

I had no idea how long he had been waiting. "Morning, Kingston," I chirped, genuinely surprised to see him early.

He lifted his head, a storm of dark, turbulent emotions swirling in his black eyes.

Smiling, I walked right up to him, clutching a mintgreen bento box and a pastel pink thermos against my chest. "Didn't expect you to be here so early.

I brought you breakfast again." Kingston stared at me, his face an impenetrable mask. "StraightA," he said, his voice dangerously low. "Do you even know what you're doing right now?" "I know exactly what I'm doing.

I'm bringing you breakfast." Chapter 6 Kingston stared me down, his gaze heavy and unblinking. "You're getting yourself tangled up with a guy like me." "What kind of guy is that?" "The kind who gets into brawls, smokes, drinks, and fails every class," he listed off, his voice laced with venom. "The absolute scum of the earth." I tilted my head, pretending to think it over.

Kingston's jaw ticked, the muscles jumping violently beneath his skin.

His knuckles turned stark white where they gripped the edge of his desk. "Yeah, that sounds pretty bad," I admitted. "But even the scum of the earth has to eat breakfast.

You're still growing, you know." "What gives you the right to boss me around?" Kingston's voice was a low, dangerous drawl.

I blinked, holding his intense stare without backing down an inch. Inside the pockets of his jacket, his hands gave a visible twitch against the fabric.

Suddenly, entirely out of nowhere, he muttered, "I hate eggs." His tone carried a stubborn, almost defensive edge. I froze, a wave of awkwardness washing over me. Shit.

I had brought eggs again. I stood paralyzed in front of his desk, my grip tightening around the bento box clutched to my chest.

Kingston took one look at me and scoffed. "Eggs again." Heat rushed to my cheeks as I nodded. "I'm so sorry. I had no idea you hated them. I swear I'll never bring them again.

Just skip breakfast today—I'll run and buy you something else." I spun on my heel, ready to sprint back to the cafeteria.

But before I could even take a single step, Kingston reached out and aggressively snagged the strap of my backpack. The force yanked me backward. I turned to look at him.

Kingston forcefully broke eye contact, staring hard at the blank chalkboard. "I'll make do today. Don't waste it." A huge smile broke across my face.

I set the mintgreen bento box and the pastel pink thermos on his desk, eagerly popping the lids off for him.

Kingston stared dead at the pink thermos. "Is this yours?" My face flushed again, assuming he was grossed out by sharing. "I'm sorry!

I couldn't find a spare one at home, so I had to use mine. But I swear, I scrubbed it like ten times.

It's completely clean." A dark, heavy emotion flickered in Kingston’s eyes as he stared at the rim of the thermos. "Yeah," he rasped.

He reached into his desk drawer, pulled out yesterday's pink bento box, and shoved it toward me. "Are you coming back tomorrow?" "I am." I took the container from him and my eyes widened. "Whoa, it's spotless." The corner of Kingston’s mouth twitched, fighting a smirk.

He masked it instantly, his voice indifferent. "I just rinsed it out." I was more than satisfied. The plastic was practically sparkling.

Checking the clock on the wall, I adjusted my backpack straps. "I gotta go." I walked to the classroom door, hesitated, and spun back around. "And Kingston?

Stop calling me 'StraightA'. I have a name. It's Isla. Use it next time." Without waiting for his reaction, I turned and walked out.

As I turned the corner, I cast a brief glance through the hallway window. Kingston was staring at the empty doorway, his dark eyes burning with an intense, unyielding fixation.

He was methodically peeling the eggshell, his fingers occasionally reaching up to scratch his neck, where angry red blotches were already starting to form.

He didn't seem to care at all. He just took slow, deliberate sips from my pink thermos, the harsh fluorescent lights casting sharp angles across his face.

He held that thermos with an absurd amount of care. The look in his eyes was almost… reverent. Was it reverence?

I absolutely did not expect Kingston to personally deliver the thermos back to me.

When his towering frame appeared in the doorway of the advanced AP class, clutching a pastel pink thermos, someone audibly gasped. The entire classroom went dead silent.

Every single honor student in the room was silently panicking over the exact same question: Who the hell was he here for?

Without sparing a single glance at the terrified crowd, Kingston stepped away from the door frame and stalked directly toward the window facing the hallway.

Chapter 7 He finally stopped right outside the window next to my desk. The AP students sucked in another collective breath.

Cleo and I were still huddled together, whispering back and forth, completely oblivious to the sudden, suffocating tension paralyzing the room.

A sharp rap against the glass snapped my head up. Through the window, I saw Kingston leaning there, radiating his usual arrogant, careless energy.

My eyes curved into a smile, and I mouthed a silent question. He read my lips perfectly: What are you doing here?

Kingston reached up and shoved the sliding window open from the outside. He never wore the school uniform the way it was intended.

The top buttons of his shirt were completely undone, exposing sharp, aristocratic collarbones and radiating a raw, untouchable energy.

Beneath the thin fabric, the rigid lines of his muscles were taut and defined.

I instantly averted my eyes, dropping my gaze back to my textbook and silently reciting the periodic table to cleanse my mind. Jesus, get a grip, Isla.

In this timeline, he was literally just a teenager. Seeing my face practically buried in my desk, a low, wicked chuckle vibrated in his chest.

He reached through the open window and rapped his knuckles against my desk. "StraightA.

Are you seriously pretending I'm not right here?" I snapped my head up, locking eyes with him. "It's Isla." Kingston braced his forearms lazily against the windowsill, leaning his weight into the frame. "I like calling you that," he drawled.

I tilted my head up at him, completely helpless against his stubborn, overbearing attitude. "Such a kid," I muttered under my breath.

Kingston didn't catch the words, but his dark eyes locked onto my lips for a split second. "What did you just say?" "I said, call me whatever you want.

If it makes you happy." I instantly caved. My gaze snagged on the angry red blotches crawling up the side of his neck.

I pointed a finger at my own neck, raising an eyebrow in a silent question. Kingston casually brushed a hand over the rash, utterly unbothered. "Ate something I shouldn't have.

Mild allergic reaction. It's nothing, it'll fade in a bit." I pressed him on it, staring him down until his jaw clenched defensively. Finally, he muttered the truth. Eggs.

The eggs I had literally handdelivered to him had triggered it.

A cold spike of panic hit my chest. "Why didn't you say anything?" His dark gaze shifted away for a fraction of a second. "Didn't know until I ate them." He delivered the lie smoothly, and back then, I bought it completely, silently swearing to never let an egg near him again. "Kingston, did you actually come up here for a reason?" I asked, idly tapping my pen against my notebook.

His gaze dropped to the pen in my hand—a pink Stitch gel pen.

When he finally spoke, a faint, almost imperceptible warmth had thawed the ice in his eyes. "Had some business on this floor.

Figured I'd fill this up with hot water for you while I was at it." He reached through the window and set the pastel pink thermos squarely on the center of my desk.

My eyes tracked the movement of his long, aristocratic fingers before dropping to stare blankly at the metal bottle. He… actually filled up my water bottle for me.

Kingston watched me freeze up. Seeing that I wasn't making a move to open it, his gaze dropped sharply to my dry lips. A muscle jumped in his jaw.

He shoved a frustrated hand through his dark hair, his voice dropping into a harsh, defensive rasp. "I washed the damn thing. It's not dirty." The words hit me right in the chest.

Did he actually think I was disgusted by the idea of sharing a bottle with him? A sudden, sharp ache squeezed my throat.

Seventeenyearold Kingston was so painfully guarded, so quick to assume rejection.

It was almost impossible to reconcile this defensive teenager with the untouchable, ruthless billionaire he was destined to become—the apex predator of the corporate world that everyone bowed to and called Mr.

Kingston. My nails dug faintly into my palms.

My fierce, commanding boss… as a teenager, his first instinct was to assume he was toxic, that anything he touched would be viewed as tainted.

What the hell had he been through to wire his brain that way? I looked up at him through the glass.

In that split second, the terrifying, violent facade of the school tyrant completely fractured, exposing the raw, bruised vulnerability hiding just beneath the surface.

I didn't say a single word in response. Holding his gaze, I reached out, slowly unscrewed the cap, and wrapped both hands around the pink metal.

I lifted it to my lips and took a long sip. The warm water slid smoothly down my throat, spreading a deep, radiant heat straight through to my chest.

Chapter 8 I smiled up at Kingston, my eyes shining with absolute sincerity. "I was actually dying of thirst.

Thank you, Kingston." Steam curled lazily from the mouth of the pink metal thermos. Kingston's breath hitched faintly.

The muscles in his jaw tightened, and a profound, raw shift fractured the ice in his dark eyes.

A low, gravelly vibration hummed in his chest as the corner of his mouth curved into a slow, crooked smirk. "Bring me soy milk tomorrow. Use this exact same thermos.

Got it?" "Got it." "I'm out. Pay attention in class." "I will." I watched his tall figure retreat down the sixthfloor hallway.

Before he disappeared around the corner, I saw him abruptly slow down.

He lifted a large hand, pressing it hard against his own chest like his heart was beating completely out of control. A low, raspy curse drifted down the empty corridor. "Fuck.

She's going to kill me." Even from a distance, the rigid, violent tension in his shoulders had completely dissolved. Just like that, the invisible war between us seemed to end.

The razorsharp hostility he initially aimed at me completely vanished. I thought I could finally focus on repaying my debt in peace.

But one afternoon right after the final bell, an unexpected girl blocked my path in the hallway. She wore her hair in two rigid, perfectly even braids.

Beneath her school blazer, she had on a faded, washedout floral buttondown. There was absolutely nothing remarkable about her face—she was the textbook definition of plain.

Her name was Gemma. We shared the same homeroom, but in my past life, we had barely exchanged two words.

It took my brain a solid second to even put a name to her face. "Can I help you, Gemma?" I asked politely, causing a brief flash of discomfort to cross her eyes. "Have you heard the rumors going around school lately?

The ones about you and Kingston?" I genuinely had no idea. "What rumors?" "That you and Kingston are dating?" Dating? I was notoriously terrible at defending myself.

The blood instantly rushed to my cheeks, leaving me standing there completely speechless. Gemma pressed a step closer. "Do you like him?" Like Kingston?

How could I possibly have a crush on him? I'm just here to repay a debt, I repeated mentally, anchoring myself to the thought.

But my heart gave a violent, uncontrollable kick against my ribs.

I panicked, rushing to shut it down. "I don't like Kingston." Gemma raised an eyebrow, shooting me a loaded, skeptical look. "You really don't like him?" "No." A sudden, nasty gleam of triumph flared in Gemma's eyes.

Her gaze flicked past my shoulder, locking onto something directly behind me. I spun around.

Kingston stood dead center in the classroom doorway, his dark eyes radiating pure, absolute frost. My breath caught hard in my throat. "Kingston," I blurted out instinctively.

Kingston didn't say a single word. He closed the distance in three massive strides, his large hand snapping out to clamp down brutally on my wrist. He dragged me toward the hallway.

Gemma took a hesitant step forward, opening her mouth to stop him. Kingston shot her a single, murderous glare over his shoulder.

The lethal, freezing violence in his eyes nailed her straight to the floorboards. She froze, forgetting how to breathe. He hauled me down the corridor.

His pace was relentless, his iron grip biting into my skin. I couldn't break free, stumbling awkwardly trying to keep up with his massive strides.

From the corner of his eye, he caught me tripping over my own feet. Even consumed by absolute rage, his boots subconsciously decelerated, forcefully slowing his frantic pace.

At the blind corner of the stairwell, he slammed his hands against the wall on either side of my head, completely caging me in.

His long fingers gripped my chin, tilting my head up, forcing me to meet his furious gaze.

Staring into his bloodshot, chaotic eyes, a totally involuntary stab of pain twisted my chest. "Kingston, you're hurting me." I didn't shrink back.

Instead, I lifted my chin, staring unflinchingly into the raging storm in his eyes. A dark, broken sneer twisted his lips.

He invaded my space, his massive frame closing the last inch between us. "If you don't fucking like me, then stop provoking me.

Does stepping all over my pride make you feel like you've accomplished something?

Does it give you a rush?" My brows pulled together. "I wasn't messing with your head." "Not messing with me?" he rasped, his voice dropping into a dangerous, gravelly whisper. "Isla, you're the one who came for me this time.

You're the one who crossed the line." He lowered his head. He was so incredibly close, his burning, mintlaced breath brushing directly against my lips. My lungs seized.

I didn't dare exhale. I stared straight into his dilated black pupils, seeing my own terrified reflection trapped inside them. An electric tremor ripped down my spine.

Chapter 9 I broke the silence, my voice barely a whisper. "Kingston, do you like me?" Kingston froze, the words dying in his throat. He just stared at me.

Then, his gaze dropped to my wrist—still trapped in his iron grip, the skin flushed an angry red. He dropped my arm like it burned him.

Watching the chaotic storm raging in his dark eyes, a sudden, blinding certainty hit me. "Kingston, you like me." It wasn't a question. "So what if I fucking do?" he rasped, his voice rough. "Is your memory that shot?

Isla, I told you my freshman year. Did you just pretend it never happened? Because this time, you're the one who crossed the line.

You provoked me." I just stared at him, my limbs turning to lead. I had absolutely no idea what he was talking about. We didn't even know each other back then.

My throat tightened dangerously.

I always cried easily, and a hot, stinging pressure instantly built behind my eyes, but I bit the inside of my cheek, refusing to let the tears spill.

He watched my lower lip tremble. A ragged sigh tore out of his chest.

His eyes were bloodshot. "Just give in," he pleaded, the hostility draining out of him. "Just give in and I'll forgive you, okay?" I stared at the absolute ruin in his dark eyes.

A sharp ache pierced my chest.

Stepping completely into his space, I reached out and wrapped my arms tightly around his rigid waist, pressing my face flush against his pounding chest. "I'm sorry I hurt you.

It's my fault." Kingston's entire frame went violently rigid. "Do you even know what you did?" I shook my head against his leather jacket. "No." "Then what the fuck are you apologizing for?" "Because you're angry.

Because of me. So I was wrong." I spoke with absolute sincerity. I wasn't playing a game. A violently dark storm fractured his pupils.

The last thread of his legendary selfcontrol completely snapped. His large hands clamped down on my jaw, tilting my face up just as his mouth crashed down on mine.

The kiss was a chaotic collision of desperate, raw heat and punishing restraint. White noise flooded my brain.

I shoved him hard in the chest, stumbling backward and clapping a hand over my bruised lips. My vision blurred with hot, unshed tears. Kingston flinched.

He took a halfstep forward, reaching out, but the sheer terror in my wet eyes struck him like a physical blow.

His hand dropped, his long fingers curling into a tight, trembling fist. He lowered his head, his voice dropping into a destroyed, gravelly rasp. "I'm sorry.

Stay the hell away from me from now on. I'm not a good guy." He spun on his heel, stalking toward the stairwell.

He made it three steps before my trembling voice stopped him. "Kingston, you are good. I know you are." His heavy combat boots slammed to a halt. His chest heaved.

Even from a distance, I could see the violent tension locking up his broad shoulders.

His hands clenched tight at his sides, knuckles turning white as he fought a losing battle against his own instincts.

After a long, suffocating silence, a selfdeprecating laugh scraped out of his throat. "Isla, you have absolutely no idea." The sky finally broke, releasing a cold, persistent drizzle over the campus.

I didn't have an umbrella, so I was stranded under the main entrance awning, rubbing my raw eyes and waiting out the storm.

As the minutes dragged on, my mind played his words on an endless, torturous loop. What didn't I know? I had missed something massive. A huge, glaring blind spot in this timeline.

The rain was relentless. By the time the sky bruised into a dark, stormy violet, it was still pouring.

Just as I dug my phone out to call my dad for a ride, a tall shadow cut through the rain.Kingston. He marched back up the concrete steps.

Staring down at my red, frozen nose, his voice lashed out like a whip. "I fucking lose, okay? You really just stood here freezing in the rain?

Are you an idiot?" I sniffled, pulling my jacket tighter around my shivering shoulders. "I didn't have an umbrella." Kingston didn't waste breath arguing.

He violently shoved something into my chest. I scrambled to catch it—a pastel pink umbrella. The plastic wrapper was still on the handle. Brand new.

Before I could even force the word 'thanks' past my chattering teeth, he leaned in, his dark eyes lethal. "If you don't actually want me, then stop fucking messing with my head.

Next time, I won't let you walk away." He slung his damp jacket over his broad shoulder and turned his back on me again. He made it exactly five steps before halting.

He threw a dark glare over his shoulder, catching me still standing there, staring blankly at him.

A harsh, frustrated curse slipped past his lips. "Fuck." He completely caved, staring at me with utter defeat. "StraightA, what exactly is it about me you don't like? Just tell me.

I'll fucking change it, okay