Chapter 1: The One Who Ignored Me
Zabini's POV
They say I've got a heartbreaker's smile.
That girls trip over themselves just to be the one I destroy next.
They're not wrong.
I don't chase. I never had to.
Girls chased me. Laughed louder when I walked by.
Slid notes under my door.
Tattooed my name on their thighs.
And I never complained.
Until her.
---
It was just another Monday.
Same old halls, same old perfume clouds, same old whispers of—
> "Zabini's here. Fix your hair."
I was walking through campus like I owned it.
Because I did. In every way that mattered.
"Hey, sunshine," I called out to a blonde I'd kissed last week. She giggled and nearly tripped over her designer heels.
I smirked. Easy.
I was king of this concrete jungle—until the hallway parted... and she walked through.
Black hoodie. Loose jeans. No makeup. No smiles. No time for anyone.
Especially not me.
---
I turned, because of course I did. I was Zabini Makorill.
And she didn't look.
She didn't glance.
She didn't even pause.
I cleared my throat, just loud enough.
She walked past.
What the—
"Who the hell is that?" I asked, frowning.
"New transfer," someone said. "Dephani Kim. Korean. Apparently some kind of martial arts prodigy or whatever."
That caught my attention. I watched her disappear down the hallway, head down, earbuds in, hoodie pulled tight like she didn't want to be noticed.
Which was laughable.
Because I noticed.
And now I couldn't stop.
---
Over the next week, I tried again.
And again.
I sat near her in the library.
She moved.
I bumped into her—casually, of course—and flashed my signature grin.
She barely blinked.
I even dropped one of my best one-liners near her locker.
She looked me dead in the eye and said,
> "That line belongs in a trash can. Right next to your ego."
And walked away.
---
I told myself she was just bitter.
Maybe she got dumped.
Maybe she liked girls.
Maybe she didn't speak English.
But no.
She just didn't like me.
Me.
Zabini Makorill.
---
"She must be broken," I joked to my friends later that night.
But the truth hit me like a sucker punch.
She wasn't broken.
She just saw through me.
Through the charm.
Through the smirks.
Through the smoke and mirrors I'd built around myself like armor.
And it drove me insane.
---
I wasn't used to being ignored.
I wasn't used to silence.
Girls screamed for me.
And she?
She walked past like I was nothing.
---
And that's when I decided.
She could ignore me.
She could pretend I didn't exist.
But I'd make sure of one thing.
By the end of this—
She'd never forget me.
Not for the rest of her cold, silent, rebellious little life.
[1]
Chapter 2: Campus Queen Meets Campus Devil
Dephani's POV
Everyone looked up when I walked in.
Not because I was loud.
Not because I was beautiful.
Just because I was new.
And people here fed off newness like leeches.
---
It was my first official day at Makorill Academy.
A private, elite campus packed with overgrown children pretending to be royalty just because they wore overpriced cologne and had egos the size of their bank accounts.
I walked into the main building wearing a black hoodie, hair tied back, earbuds in.
I wasn't here to make friends.
I wasn't here to impress anyone.
I was here for one thing: to leave my past behind.
Quietly. Permanently.
---
"Hey, new girl."
I looked up.
A tall brunette with a glossy ponytail and too much lip gloss smiled at me like she was doing me a favor.
"You might wanna stay away from him."
I blinked.
"Who?"
She nodded across the courtyard.
A guy in a half-buttoned uniform shirt leaned lazily against a bench, surrounded by girls laughing like he was the second coming of a boy band.
He flicked his lighter open, spun it once, caught it with a smirk.
The brunette lowered her voice.
"Zabini Makorill. School devil. Looks like a Greek god, acts like a plague."
I shrugged. "Not interested."
She blinked, almost offended. "You will be. Everyone is. Just… don't fall for it. He'll flirt with you, kiss you, maybe even write you a poem—and then forget your name the next day."
I pulled out my water bottle and took a sip.
"He can flirt with a brick wall. I'm not listening."
---
That was the thing about me.
I didn't do the 'bad boy' thing.
I didn't blush when boys smirked.
Didn't lose my brain over six-pack abs and tragic backstories.
I'd grown up learning how to break noses, not hearts.
And I'd already survived someone who pretended to love me once.
I wasn't going back there again.
---
But still…
Later that afternoon, I caught him looking.
I was sitting on the campus steps, flipping through class schedules. My earbuds were in, but no music played. I'd learned to fake listening—it gave people fewer reasons to talk.
He was across the fountain.
Lounging like sin personified.
Black rings on his fingers, silver chain around his neck, motorcycle keys twirling between his fingers.
His eyes were on me.
Sharp. Studying.
I met his gaze, bored.
Then looked away.
I swear I heard someone gasp.
---
Let him look. Let him wonder. Let him try.
I wasn't afraid of the devil.
Because devils only scare you if you don't already know hell.
[2]