Zion's POV
Zion didn't follow people. Not really. He wasn't the type to lurk in shadows or trail someone from a distance. But today, something pushed him—something raw and restless, coiled tight beneath his ribs.
Stephen had become too comfortable. Too present. Zion saw him everywhere now—leaning against the library railing, cracking jokes in the hallway, nudging Jade with his shoulder like they'd known each other for years. It grated, more than it should have.
He didn't tell Jade he was trailing Stephen. She'd call him paranoid, jealous, insecure—maybe all three. Jade never saw red flags; she saw second chances. Maybe that was part of her charm—the reckless hope she carried like a shield.
So, when he saw Stephen leave the Mass Comm block alone that afternoon, Zion followed. No hoodie, no lurking. Just him, in a plain black tee and jeans, his backpack slung over one shoulder. It felt stupid, childish, but the itch under his skin wouldn't let up.
Stephen walked with his hands tucked into his pockets, shoulders loose, like a guy with nothing to hide. Zion kept a steady distance, his gaze flicking from Stephen to the road ahead. The guy took a turn toward the quieter, off-campus apartments. Zion slowed his steps, careful now.
Stephen's phone rang. He pulled it out and glanced around briefly. Zion paused near a parked car, pretending to adjust his backpack strap.
"Yeah," Stephen said, his voice casual. "No, not yet. She doesn't suspect anything."
Zion's pulse quickened.
"Nah, relax. She likes me. I'll get it sorted—just don't rush me. You know the plan."
A beat of silence. Stephen's mouth curved into a grin, sharp and self-assured. "I said relax. Trust me."
Zion felt a chill slither up his spine. The words weren't damning, not exactly, but something about the ease in Stephen's tone was off. Like someone playing a long game. Zion watched as Stephen tucked his phone away and kept walking, unbothered, unaware of the scrutiny at his back.
Zion stood rooted, his mind a storm of what-ifs and half-formed suspicions. Jade's face floated to his mind—her defiance, her laughter, the moments she let him close enough to see the cracks. The thought of her being played, hurt, used... it burned.
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Jade's POV
Miriam's fingers drummed lightly against the cafeteria table. I knew that rhythm—it meant she was biting back something. Probably another warning about Stephen.
"You like this one too much," she said finally, her tone too casual to be casual.
I smirked, leaning back in my chair. "Like who?"
"Your newest puppy. That boy dey follow you everywhere like housefly. You no dey see am?"
I rolled my eyes, tugging gently at a stray braid near my temple. "Na wa, Miriam. Can't I have one male friend without your conspiracy theories?"
Miriam's brows knitted, her gaze searching my face. "Just be careful, abeg. Not everyone who smiles with you is your guy."
I laughed, but the sound felt hollow. Miriam's warnings had started to feel heavier lately, like they came with weights. She'd always been the careful one—watchful, guarded. I knew it came from a place of love, but it was exhausting.
When she left for her next class, I stayed behind, letting my mind wander. My fingers found the faint scar near my cheek—the one from a rusty gate in Aunt Linda's backyard when I was nine. It was small, barely noticeable, but it always felt huge whenever I looked in the mirror. My dimple pulled slightly near the scar whenever I smiled. I used to hate that. Now, I barely thought about it.
My phone buzzed. A message from Stephen.
Stephen: Heading back to the apartment. Come through if you're free.
I bit my lip, smiling. I liked how easy it was with Stephen—no games, no rules. Just laughter and company. He wasn't Zion, with all his tangled silences and wary glances. Stephen made me feel uncomplicated.
But Miriam's warning lingered.
Before I could second-guess myself, I grabbed my bag and left the cafeteria, my sandals slapping softly against the tiled floor. I'd just see him for a bit—nothing heavy. Just friends.
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Zion's POV
He saw her before she saw him. She walked past the parking lot, her braids brushing against her shoulders, her strides purposeful. Zion's heart kicked against his chest. Jade had a way of walking that made it seem like she owned the ground beneath her feet, like every step was deliberate.
He considered calling out, but then he saw where she was heading—Stephen's apartment.
Zion's mouth tightened. The moment she disappeared inside, he felt the ground shift. It was a stupid, baseless jealousy, the kind he had no right to. But it sat heavy in his chest, a weight that refused to move.
Stephen's voice echoed in his head. She doesn't suspect anything.
Zion leaned against a tree, his fingers drumming impatiently against his leg. He told himself it was nothing—that he had no reason to feel this protective, this paranoid. But as he watched the door close behind Jade, a small, nagging fear began to root itself deeper.
He didn't know what Stephen's game was, but Zion knew one thing for sure: he wouldn't let Jade be the pawn.