The internet was still on fire, and Maya Rivers had become its reluctant flame.
Everywhere she went—cafeteria, library, the quad—eyes followed her. Some with envy. Others with judgment. Most with unfiltered curiosity.
What did he whisper before the kiss?
Did she really date both brothers?
Who would she choose?
By the time lunch rolled around, Maya wanted to crawl into a locker and stay there until graduation.
Instead, she did what any self-respecting girl would do when her ex was throwing shade and his brother was sending mixed signals: she avoided them both.
Or at least tried to.
"Sit with me," Damien said the moment he found her by the vending machines, arms crossed, hoodie pulled over his head like he didn't just turn her world upside down the day before.
She blinked. "Why?"
"Because I asked nicely."
"That's your version of nicely?"
He shrugged. "You should see me when I'm mean."
Maya narrowed her eyes. "I'm not playing this game with you."
"Who said it was a game?"
"I don't know what you want from me, Damien, but whatever this is—it needs to stop. People are already assuming things."
"Let them."
She shook her head. "Not everyone can afford to not care."
He leaned in slightly. "Then teach me how."
She wasn't sure what annoyed her more: the fact that he said things like that or the way her chest tightened every time he did.
"Just… leave me alone," she said softly.
But he didn't. Not really. Because an hour later, in the art wing, she caught him watching her again. Leaning by the lockers like a ghost with perfect posture.
That afternoon, her phone buzzed with a message from a number she hadn't saved:
Damien:You said people assume things. Let them assume the right ones.
She didn't reply.
Later that evening, after dinner, Maya stopped by the student resource board to check on tutoring hours. She barely glanced at the papers until one caught her eye.
Her blood ran cold.
It was a printout. High-res. In color. Blown up to nearly A4 size, like someone wanted to make sure no one could miss it. Not just a screenshot—someone had paused the video at the perfect moment, downloaded the best frame, and printed it clean and clear, like a tabloid headline come to life.
It was her.
Mid-kiss.
Damien's hand wrapped around her waist. Her fingers curled into the front of his shirt. Her eyes half-closed.
Someone had scribbled across the bottom in black Sharpie:
"Campus Queen or Campus Pawn?"
Her heart pounded. She looked around. A group of students by the vending machines whispered and laughed.
She tore the flyer down and crumpled it into her fist.
When she got back to her dorm, she didn't speak. Tessa looked up from her laptop but said nothing. Maybe she'd seen it too. Maybe everyone had.
Maya locked herself in the bathroom and stared at her reflection. Her face looked the same. But something behind her eyes was different.
She splashed cold water on her cheeks and sat on the closed toilet lid for a long time, just breathing.
This wasn't her. Or maybe it was, and she just hadn't noticed the change.
Later that night, she reached for the book Logan once gave her—an old poetry collection, battered spine, his handwriting still scribbled in the margins.
She used to read it when she couldn't sleep.
Back when his voice made her feel safe.
Back when he waited outside her classes with a drink and a joke and told her she deserved the world.
She remembered how he'd stayed up late quizzing her for finals, whispering dumb jokes between questions just to keep her calm. He'd brought her hot chocolate once, even though he hated the cafeteria kind, just because she mentioned needing warmth. She remembered him walking her across campus in the rain without an umbrella, giving her his hoodie while he soaked. He wasn't always cruel. He wasn't always careless. Back then, she thought that kind of love would last forever.
Her chest ached. Not for him. Not anymore. But for the version of herself that believed him.
She sat quietly with the book on her lap until the sun crept up outside.
The next morning, she was quieter than usual. She didn't check her phone. She didn't respond to the whispers.
She just moved.
In class, she kept her head down. She caught glimpses of Logan staring, but she didn't meet his eyes.
And Damien? He didn't approach her that day.
He just watched from a distance.
But something in his gaze made her wonder.
Was she still being used?
Or was she becoming the one in control?
That evening, as she passed through the common hall heading back toward her dorm, a crowd lingered near the school bulletin board. Students murmured and pointed. Her name floated up in the conversation, sharp and unmistakable.
"…she's doing it with Damien Cross."
Maya's stomach dipped.
She slowed her steps, brows furrowing, and moved closer to the board.
On a freshly printed sheet labeled TALENT NIGHT PARTICIPANTS – FINAL LINEUP, her eyes landed on the names:
Live Art Feature: Damien Cross & Maya Rivers
Her throat tightened.
She hadn't signed up. She hadn't even heard sign-ups were still open.
From behind, a familiar voice murmured, "Guess you're officially his muse now."
Maya turned. Tessa stood a few steps away, arms folded, her gaze searching.
"I didn't volunteer," Maya said quickly.
Tessa blinked. "Well… he did. For both of you, apparently."
Before Maya could respond, the crowd parted slightly.
Damien stood on the opposite side of the hall.
He didn't smile. Didn't speak. Just watched her.
His sketchbook was tucked under one arm.
Their eyes met. And in the silence between them, everything sharpened.
It was written all over his face — not in words, but in the way he stood there so unapologetically, like he wanted the whole world to see.
That's what he had said.
But this time, it wasn't just about the kiss. This was something bigger.
And for the first time…
Maya wasn't sure who was really watching who.