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Part 1 Claudia Tan–style, English, YA/College Romance, Bad Boy × Quiet Girl Chapter One — The First Look That Ruined Me People like Jace Rylan don’t notice girls like me. That’s not self-pity. It’s just math. He’s the kind of boy you hear before you see—heavy boots, low laughter, the metallic jingle of keys clipped to a belt he never bothers to thread properly. A walking red flag wrapped in leather and trouble. I, on the other hand, specialize in being unnoticed. Quiet steps. Quiet voice. Quiet life. So when his head turned—slowly, deliberately—across the philosophy lecture hall and his smoke-gray eyes landed on me… I knew something in my world had just shifted off its axis. It wasn’t a curious glance. Or an I-forgot-you-exist glance. It was the kind of look that made me feel like he was reading words I didn’t know were written on me. I dropped my gaze immediately, fingers tightening around my notebook. The professor’s voice blurred. My pulse did the opposite. This is what happens when the most unpredictable boy on campus looks at the least noticeable girl. It feels like getting struck by lightning. Except I was the only one who felt it. Chapter Two — The Girl Who Reads Too Softly My room smelled like Maya’s vanilla perfume and too many motivational sticky notes. “Evie,” she said, popping gum as she sprawled across her bed, “you look like someone told you the library burned down. What happened?” “Nothing.” She squinted. “You blinked weird when I said ‘library.’ That wasn’t nothing.” I sighed. I shouldn’t have told her anything. But the moment the words reached my tongue, they fell out. “Jace Rylan looked at me.” She sat up so fast her bun smacked the wall. “THE Jace Rylan? Black-jacket, chain-necklace, probably-has-a-criminal-record Jace?” “He doesn’t have a criminal record,” I muttered. Maya snorted. “Not officially.” I closed my laptop harder than necessary. “It was just one second. He probably wasn’t even—” My phone buzzed with a campus-wide alert: Incident in Parking Lot C. Avoid area. Maya raised a brow. We both knew what “incident” usually meant when Jace was involved. I swallowed thickly and told myself I wasn’t imagining things. Bad boys don’t look at quiet girls and mean anything by it. Not in real life. Certainly not in mine. Chapter Three — Night Library The universe loves irony. That’s the only explanation for why I was the last person trapped in the library at 11:56 PM on a Thursday. The storm outside had knocked out half the campus power grid, including the keycard system. I rattled the locked glass doors for the tenth time. “No, no, no…not tonight…” Lightning cracked outside, turning my reflection pale and ghostly in the door pane. My phone battery died in my hand with a soft, hopeless little blink. Perfect. Bookshelves stretched into shadow behind me, long and dark. I’d been scared of the dark since I was twelve and locked inside a locker room by girls who laughed as the lights went out. I hugged my arms around myself. Breathe. Don’t panic. Footsteps echoed. I froze. Not subtle footsteps. Heavy. Controlled. The kind of confident sound that never belongs to someone harmless. My breath snagged in my throat. A tall silhouette rounded the corner of the stacks. A leather jacket. A glint of chain. Gray eyes that found me instantly. Jace Rylan. His phone flashlight cast pale blue light up his jaw, making his expression look sharper, colder…until he saw my face. Then something softened. “What are you doing here?” he asked, voice low and rough around the edges, like he hadn’t used it in hours. “I…got locked in,” I whispered. He slid his hands into his jacket pockets, looking almost amused. “Figures.” Lightning cracked again. I flinched. His eyes narrowed. “You scared of thunder?” “No. Just…dark places.” He walked closer, footsteps too loud in the silence. “Relax,” he said, softer now. “If I wanted to scare you, I wouldn’t use thunder.” That was…the opposite of comforting. But something about the way he said it, quiet and steady, made the panic in my chest ease. He stopped right in front of me—close enough to see the tiny scar on his eyebrow. “Come on, Evelyn.” His voice dipped. “Let’s get you out of here.” He knew my name. He shouldn’t know my name. Yet he did. He tilted his flashlight, illuminating the exit panel. “System’s fried. But there’s another door. Staff side.” He reached toward me. Not grabbing—just offering. His hand hovered in the air like he was giving me a choice. My fingers trembled before they touched his palm. Warm. Steady. Too steady for someone who was supposed to be nothing but trouble. He curled his fingers lightly around mine. “Attagirl.” My heart nearly stopped. And then— He led me through the shadows like he’d walked them a thousand times. Like he knew exactly how to guide someone out of a place that scared them. Chapter Four — The Boy Who Doesn’t Look Away The staff exit opened with a heavy clank, and cool night air flooded in. I exhaled shakily. “Thank you.” Jace dropped my hand slowly. Almost reluctantly. “You shouldn’t walk around alone this late,” he said. “I wasn’t planning to.” He nodded toward the storm-soaked campus. “I’m walking you back.” “You don’t have to—” He cut me a sharp look. Not angry. Just…final. “I’m walking you back.” We walked in silence, except the pounding rain and my traitorous heartbeat. Halfway to my dorm, he spoke. “You read too softly.” “What?” “In class.” He flicked his gaze at me. “You answer questions like you’re apologizing for knowing the answer.” Heat crept up my neck. “I don’t like being…noticed.” He huffed a laugh—quiet, almost disbelieving. “Too late for that.” I stared at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He studied me in the rain, jaw tense like he’d said too much already. Then, very simply: “I notice you.” The world spun. Before I could ask anything else, he stepped back. “Goodnight, Evelyn.” He turned and walked into the storm, leaving me standing there with a heart that didn’t feel like mine anymore. CHAPTER THREE — The Line He Crosses I don’t remember the exact moment the group project turned into an unspoken nightmare. Maybe it was when Dylan smirked across the shared table and said, “Evelyn can handle the research. She likes doing things alone anyway.” Maybe it was when the others didn’t bother arguing. Maybe it was when I nodded—like the coward I sometimes hate myself for being. But I remember the moment Jace heard it. The library was loud that afternoon—midterms chaos, printers dying, people arguing over available outlets. I sat with my project group, my laptop open, my pulse climbing every minute Dylan dumped another task on me. “Just put the slides together too,” he said dismissively. “You’re good at that neat freak stuff.” I should’ve said something. I should’ve said no. But the word stuck in my throat like it always does. And then the chair next to me scraped. I looked up—and everything inside me stopped. Jace Rylan was standing at the end of our table. Hands in his pockets. Jaw flexed. Eyes cold enough to silence every conversation within a five-foot radius. Dylan blinked. “Uh… can we help you?” Jace didn’t answer him. He didn’t even look at him. His eyes were fixed on me. “What are they doing, Evie?” His voice was low. Controlled. The kind you only use when you’re seconds away from breaking something. I swallowed. “Wh—what do you mean?” Dylan let out a laugh. “Dude, we’re just working on a project. You can chill.” Jace turned his head slowly—so slowly it was somehow worse than sudden anger. “Did I,” he said, “talk to you?” Dylan shifted back like he’d been slapped by the tone alone. My heart hammered painfully. Everything in me wanted to disappear. The attention. The tension. The way people were turning to watch. “Jace, please,” I whispered. “It’s fine.” He leaned down to my ear—too close, too warm, too Jace—and murmured, “No, it’s not.” He straightened, locked eyes with Dylan, and said calmly: “If you ever dump your responsibilities on her again, I’ll make sure you regret it. Do you understand me?” Dylan scoffed, but his voice cracked. “You can’t talk to me like—” Jace took one step forward. That was all it took. Dylan shut his mouth. I grabbed Jace’s sleeve. “Stop. Please.” For a second, he didn’t move. Then he exhaled sharply and let me pull him away from the table. We stepped out into the hallway. He didn’t speak. Didn’t look at me. Just walked, shoulders tight, fists clenched. “Jace.” No response. “Jace, look at me.” He stopped. He turned. And for the first time, I realized he wasn’t angry at them. He was angry at himself. “You’re letting them treat you like that?” he asked, voice raw. “Why? Why do you let people walk all over you?” My throat burned. “Because saying no isn’t easy for me.” “It should be.” The words shot out, sharp and frustrated. But his eyes softened immediately. “Evie… it should be.” I blinked hard, fighting tears. “I’m sorry I’m not—” He stepped closer. His hand hovered near my face, like he wanted to touch me but wasn’t sure he should. “Don’t,” he said quietly. “Don’t apologize for something they should be ashamed of.” No one had ever said anything like that to me. Not with that intensity. Not like it physically hurt them to see me treated badly. My voice shook. “You can’t do things like that, Jace.” “And they can?” he fired back. “They get to use you? Take advantage of you? Make you do everything while they sit around pretending they’re saints?” His chest heaved once. “That pisses me off.” He wasn’t yelling. He wasn’t even speaking loudly. But I could feel the emotion radiating from him like heat. “Please,” I said softly, “don’t fight my battles for me.” He breathed out, long and slow. Then, almost reluctantly: “…I won’t. Not unless you want me to.” I stared at him. Was he— Was Jace Rylan actually trying to compromise? My heartbeat was everywhere. In my throat. In my ears. In the tips of my fingers. “I don’t want you to get in trouble,” I whispered. His mouth twitched—not a smile, not yet, but something close. “Trouble finds me either way.” There was a painful honesty in his tone. Like he’d gotten used to being the villain in everyone’s story. But what scared me wasn’t that he was dangerous. It was that I didn’t feel scared of him at all. I felt… protected. Seen. Defended. And that was almost worse. Because it made me want things I wasn’t supposed to want. He looked at me for a long moment, then said, softer than before: “I just don’t like it when people treat you like you’re nothing.” I blinked. “Why do you care?” A heartbeat. Two. Three. He swallowed. “Because you’re not nothing.” Then he turned and walked away before I could breathe again. And I stood there— Every bone in my body trembling— Knowing that a line had been crossed. A line I wasn’t sure either of us could walk back from. CHAPTER FOUR — Tutoring the Boy Who Doesn’t Listen The next week, my name was called during Philosophy class. “Ms. Hayes,” Professor Grant announced dryly, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, “you will be partnering with Mr. Rylan for mandatory academic tutoring.” I froze. Jace, who had been leaning back in his chair, boots crossed, arms folded, looked up with a sharp jerk of his head. “No,” he said immediately. “Yes,” Professor Grant replied without looking at him. “I don’t need tutoring.” “And yet,” Grant said, turning a page on his clipboard, “you’re failing.” Jace scoffed, but I could see his jaw tightening. “And you,” Grant added, glancing at me with the faintest hint of pity or maybe amusement—hard to tell with him—“are the only student I trust not to be intimidated by him.” That was definitely incorrect, but my body somehow nodded before my brain could protest. Class ended. People filed out. Jace stayed slumped in his seat, glaring at Grant’s retreating back like he could set him on fire with his mind. I stood there holding my notebook, overheating and underbreathing. Finally, he spoke without looking at me. “You don’t have to do this.” “I, uh… think I do.” He huffed a laugh. “Evie, tutoring me is like tutoring a brick wall.” “You’re not a brick wall.” “Sweetheart, you haven’t met me on a bad day.” The word sweetheart hit me like a physical force. I stiffened, and his eyes flicked to my reaction with this almost smug awareness—as if he hadn’t meant to say it, but also absolutely had. “Jace,” I said, trying to sound composed, “I don’t mind helping.” “Yeah,” he said, leaning in slightly, eyes narrowing playfully, “that’s the problem.” Heat crept up my neck. He sighed then, pushing up from his chair, stretching his arms as if the entire situation exhausted him. “Fine,” he muttered. “Let’s get this over with.” “Right now?” “Unless you’re busy.” I wasn’t. But he didn’t need to know that. He smirked anyway—because of course he did. “You are the worst liar.” We left the building together. People stared. Of course they did. Jace Rylan didn’t walk next to people. He stalked. He prowled. He moved like trouble walked beside him. But next to me, he slowed his steps. He didn’t say it. Didn’t acknowledge it. But I felt it: he matched my pace. We ended up in a small lounge on the second floor of the library—the same place he’d once found me in the dark. I sat across from him, pulling out the Philosophy notes. He didn’t move. Just stared at me. And stared. And stared. “Are you going to take your book out?” I asked gently. He didn’t. He kept looking at me like I was the assignment. “Evie,” he said, voice low and annoyingly sincere. “I’m warning you. I don’t absorb information like normal people.” “That’s fine. Everyone learns differently.” “No,” he said, leaning in, elbows on his knees, “I mean: the second you start talking, I stop hearing anything except your voice.” My breath caught. “That’s not… that’s not how studying works.” “It’s exactly how studying works when the tutor is distracting as hell.” My face burst into flames. “Jace,” I whispered, “you’re not even trying.” He sat back. Shrugged. Tilted his head. “I am trying. You just make it really damn hard.” “I— I don’t make anything hard.” His eyes sparkled like he was trying not to laugh. “Sweetheart… you have no idea.” I covered my face with my notebook. He gently tugged it down. “Okay,” he said, straightening slightly as if forcing himself into student mode. “Hit me. What do I need to know?” “Uh… okay.” I scrambled through my notes. “Today we will start with Plato.” “Cool. Who’s that?” “JACE.” He laughed—an actual, real laugh. Not a scoff. Not a sharp exhale. A laugh. It bounced off the quiet lounge walls and wrapped around me like something warm. “Alright,” he said, holding up his hands. “Alright. Plato. Lay it on me.” So I did. For the next twenty minutes, I explained the basics of the Allegory of the Cave. Every time I thought he wasn’t listening—because he was watching my mouth or my hands or my face with unsettling intensity—he would summarize back perfectly. Like: “So the shadows are lies,” he said once, nodding to himself. “People believe them because they don’t know better. Because it’s easier than seeing the truth.” I blinked. “Yes. Exactly.” His eyes softened. “You get that, don’t you?” “What?” “Being stuck in the shadows. Knowing there’s more, but being afraid that if you step into the light, you’ll blind everyone around you.” My heart dropped. He wasn’t talking about Philosophy anymore. I pushed my notes aside. “Jace…” He looked away, jaw tight. “I’m not saying anything. Don’t give me that look.” “What look?” “The one that makes me feel like you’re seeing right through me.” My breath stilled. Because he was right. And also wrong. He thought he hid everything. But the more time I spent with him, the more I realized Jace wasn’t hard to understand. He was painfully transparent in ways no one bothered noticing. “Jace,” I said softly, “I’m not judging you.” He stared at the table. Silent. Then, barely audible: “I know.” The room felt too small. Or maybe it was the space between us that felt too charged. I cleared my throat. “We should keep studying.” He dragged his fingers through his hair. “Yeah. Before I say something else stupid.” “You didn’t say anything stupid.” He lifted his eyes just enough to meet mine. “Evie,” he murmured, “you should stop being this nice to me.” “Why?” “Because it makes me want things I’m not supposed to want.” My pulse misfired. The edges of the world blurred. I whispered, “What things?” He shook his head, pushing up from his seat so fast the chair scraped. “We’re done for today.” “Jace—” “Evie,” he said, voice tight, like he was holding himself together by threads, “if I stay in this room any longer, I’m going to do something you’re not ready for.” He didn’t wait for my answer. He left. And I sat there, hands trembling around my notebook— Knowing that whatever was happening between us wasn’t harmless anymore. It wasn’t tutoring. It wasn’t friendship. It was a collision course. And I had no idea how to stop it.