Chapter 1 :The Seat Beside Her
There was something romantic about New York in the fall. The way the leaves scattered over the concrete like forgotten thoughts. The way people brushed past you, fast, focused, like they had somewhere better to be—but the city still somehow made you feel like you mattered.
Isabella Blake wasn’t one of those people rushing.
She liked walking slowly. Liked noticing things. Like the crack in the sidewalk outside her dorm that looked like a crooked heart. Or the smell of fresh bagels from the cart on 8th Street that made her stomach growl even if she wasn’t hungry.
She pulled her hoodie over her head, hair tucked inside, coffee clutched tight in her hands like it was armor. Her first Behavioral Psych class was today—and yeah, maybe she was nervous.Izzy had always been the “quiet one.” The kind one. The friend people could count on, but never the one anyone waited for. No boys. No drama. Just books, dreams, and her best friend Steph, who was probably still asleep, drooling into a pillow and skipping breakfast like usual.And then there was him.
She spotted him from across the quad, walking like he owned the pavement. Black jacket, headphones around his neck, dark hair messy in that he-didn’t-try-but-still-hot way. Jace Carter.
Senior. Psychology major. Girls whispered about him like he was a storm—intense, unpredictable, unforgettable.
Izzy had never spoken to him. Barely even looked at him. He was just... one of those people. The kind you didn’t get close to unless you wanted to get burned.
So when he walked into her lecture hall and slid into the seat right beside her, she felt her stomach flip.
He didn’t even glance her way at first. Just dropped his bag to the floor, leaned back in his chair, and sighed like he was already tired of everything.
She pretended not to notice. Opened her notebook. Doodled a little leaf in the corner.
“You always sit this straight up?”
His voice was low, rough. Like a secret.
She looked over, surprised. “Sorry?”
“You look like you’re waiting to be interviewed by God,” he smirked, his eyes scanning her posture, her notebook, her untouched coffee. “Relax, it’s just psych.”
She blinked. “Do I know you?”
“You don’t,” he said, casually. “But I know you. Isabella Blake, right?”
Her cheeks went warm. “Izzy. Most people call me Izzy.
“Right.” His lips curved. “Izzy.”
He said it like it meant something.
“What’s your name again?” she asked, even though she definitely already knew.
“Jace,” he said. “But most people just call me trouble.”
She snorted before she could stop herself. He raised a brow like he hadn’t expected that.
“Well, trouble,” she said softly, “maybe I should sit somewhere else.”
He leaned closer, the space between them charged, electric. “If I were really trouble, Izzy, I’d already be in your head.”
Her heart thudded..
Maybe he was.
The professor started talking, breaking the moment. Jace leaned back like nothing happened, but his leg stayed close to hers. Not touching—just... there. Like a dare..
Izzy stared at the front of the room, trying to listen, but all she could feel was the gravity of the boy beside her.
And somehow, she already knew: her life wasn’t going to stay quiet for long.
