Nicholas didn't wait.
He didn't pace. He didn't second-guess himself. And he didn't allow the anger in his chest to explode outward.
He contained it.
That was always the difference between him and everyone else.
By the time Noah confirmed the source—screenshots, timestamps, a careless repost trail—Nicholas was already moving.
Tessa.
Of course it was her.
She liked attention. Liked influence. Liked the quiet power of watching people react to something she'd released into the world and pretending she hadn't meant any harm.
Nicholas hated people like that.
He crossed the student center with long, measured strides, his expression calm enough that no one thought to stop him. The noise of the building—laughter, music, overlapping conversations—faded into nothing as his focus sharpened.
Tessa always sat in the same place.
A corner near the café. Plush red chairs. A small round table where she could angle her phone just right, catch reactions, document her relevance.
She was there.
Laughing softly at something on her screen. Completely unaware.
Nicholas stopped in front of her table.
The shadow fell first.
Then his presence.
Tessa looked up.
Her smile froze.
"Wolfe," she said, blinking once too many times, her voice lifting unnaturally as she scrambled to stay composed. "Wow. Didn't expect to see you here."
"You posted the video," Nicholas said.
Flat. Calm. Final.
The laughter around them continued, but the air between them tightened.
Tessa's fingers curled around her phone. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Nicholas tilted his head slightly, studying her like a problem already solved.
"Don't lie," he said quietly. "You're not good at it."
Her throat bobbed. "It was just… people were already talking. I didn't start anything."
"You amplified it."
His voice didn't rise, but something in it sharpened—precision cutting deeper than volume ever could.
"You took a private moment, stripped it of context, and turned it into entertainment."
Tessa shifted in her seat. "You're acting like I ruined her life."
"You tried to."
The words landed heavier than any threat.
Tessa scoffed weakly. "She'll survive. Girls like her always do."
That was the mistake.
Nicholas leaned forward slightly—not enough to touch her, but close enough that she felt the change instantly.
"She is not 'girls like her,'" he said, his tone still even, still terrifyingly controlled. "And you don't get to decide what she survives."
Silence pressed in.
A few nearby students glanced over, sensing something wrong, but Nicholas didn't care. His attention never left Tessa's face.
"You will delete the video," he continued. "Every repost. Every backup. Every version you thought was clever to keep."
Tessa's fingers trembled. "And if I don't?"
Nicholas straightened slowly.
"That's not a real question."
Her eyes widened just a fraction.
"You'll post an apology," he added. "Public. Clear. No excuses. You'll make it obvious this was your doing and that it ends here."
"You can't force me—"
"I already have."
Nicholas reached into his jacket and placed his phone on the table. He didn't unlock it. Didn't need to.
"Noah documented everything. IP trails. Upload times. Messages you forgot to delete." He met her gaze steadily. "If this escalates, it won't be gossip. It'll be disciplinary hearings, expulsion, and a reputation that follows you long after college."
Tessa's bravado collapsed.
Her shoulders sagged. Her lips parted as if to argue—but nothing came out.
Nicholas lowered his voice.
"And here's the part you should be most grateful for," he said. "Ava will never know how deliberate this was."
Tessa nodded quickly. "I understand. I swear."
"Good."
He picked up his phone.
As he turned to leave, he paused just long enough to deliver the final warning.
"Stay away from her," Nicholas said without looking back. "If I ever hear your name near hers again, I won't bother being civil."
He walked away.
Behind him, Tessa exhaled shakily, hands hovering over her phone as the reality of what she'd nearly lost settled in.
Nicholas didn't look back.
By the time Ava stepped onto campus later that morning, the digital storm had already been dismantled.
The video was gone.
Accounts wiped clean. Screenshots flagged and removed. The apology—forced, stiff, unmistakably guilty—circulated quietly through group chats and timelines.
Ava felt it before she understood it.
The tension had shifted.
Eyes still lingered, but the sharpness was dulled. Whispers lacked confidence now, uncertain, redirected.
She found Nicholas outside the lecture hall.
He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, expression neutral—but his eyes softened the instant they found her.
"Hey," she said hesitantly.
"Hey."
Something steadied inside her just hearing his voice.
"You okay?" he asked.
She nodded. "I think so. It feels… quieter."
"That's because it is."
She frowned slightly. "What do you mean?"
"Everything's handled."
Her breath caught. "Already?"
Nicholas shrugged, casual, as if he hadn't dismantled someone's influence in less than an hour. "Didn't take long."
She studied his face. "You did all that… for me?"
"I didn't do it for you," he said gently.
She blinked.
"I did it because no one gets to hurt you," he finished. "Not like that."
Emotion surged up her chest, sudden and overwhelming.
"Thank you," she whispered.
Nicholas held her gaze for a moment too long. "Remember this, Ava," he said quietly. "I don't step in halfway."
Her pulse quickened.
"Whatever comes next," he added, "you won't face it alone."
They walked toward the lecture hall side by side.
And though nothing physical passed between them—
Everything had changed.