ANGEL'S POV
If alarms were human, mine would be a whole family of traitors.
My eyes snapped open and I sat up in bed, heart thumping like a drumline.
7:54 AM.
"NO. NO. NOOO!"
I flew out of bed, hopping on one leg while pulling on my jeans, brushing my teeth with one hand, and texting with the other.
Angel: Running late! Be there soon!!
No reply.
Of course. Ice King Ryan doesn't do late. Or mercy. Or emojis that aren't terrifying.
I skipped breakfast, dragged my bag over my shoulder, and sprinted through campus like a track star dodging finals.
8:16 AM.
I burst into the computer science building, breathless, hair a mess, probably looking like I wrestled a thunderstorm.
And there he was.
Ryan.
Sitting at the front of the lecture hall, arms crossed, face unreadable, a laptop on his desk and two empty chairs beside him.
One was his.
The other, mine.
I walked over slowly, feeling the weight of everyone's eyes. He didn't even look at me.
"I'm sorry," I whispered, sliding into the seat next to him.
Still silent.
Then he passed me a notebook.
"Write everything. Professor talks fast."
I blinked. "Not even a good morning?"
He turned to me then, and I swear the temperature in the room dropped five degrees. "You're late. Good morning doesn't apply anymore."
I rolled my eyes and snatched the notebook, whispering under my breath, "Drama queen."
His eyebrow twitched.
The professor entered, and the class began, but I couldn't stop glancing sideways at him. His jaw was tight, his hands flying across his keyboard while I scrambled to keep up with the lecture and his side notes. He was intense. Focused. And frustratingly attractive.
I hated how my heart skipped every time he leaned over and pointed to a bullet point I missed.
"Your handwriting's sloppy," he muttered once.
"Your attitude's worse," I muttered back.
He smirked. He actually smirked.
Was that a crack in the ice?
---
After Class
I tossed the notebook on his desk. "There. Notes. You can frame them or burn them. Your choice."
I turned to leave, but he grabbed the notebook and flipped through the pages like he was inspecting art.
"Huh," he said, like I surprised him.
"What?"
"You actually took good notes."
I blinked. "So… I'm not totally useless?"
"You're still late."
"Seriously?"
He handed me another paper. "Here. My next class is in the tech lab at noon. Meet me before then. I want notes ready."
"Wait—there's more?!"
"You said you'd be my hands." His lips twitched. "So be useful."
As he walked off, I almost threw my shoe at him.
Almost.
---
LATER THAT DAY – IN THE ART STUDIO
Lucy and Annie were waiting for me, both armed with smoothies and gossip.
"Girl," Annie said, "you look like you got hit by a hurricane."
"I did. His name is Ryan Jacobs."
"Ooooooh," Lucy sang. "Isn't he that fine tech guy who never talks to anyone unless it's his computer?"
"That's him. And guess what? I'm his personal assistant now because I murdered his tablet with my face."
Annie choked on her drink. "Did he make you sign a contract?"
"He might as well have. He's got me running around like his robot."
Lucy grinned. "I don't know… this sounds like enemies-to-lovers in progress."
"No. No love. Just enemies and migraines."
---
ANGEL'S BEDROOM – THAT NIGHT
As I collapsed into bed, exhausted, my phone pinged.
Ryan: Good work today. Bring a highlighter tomorrow. Yellow.
I stared at the message. No emojis. No "thanks." Just… orders.
But deep down, I realized something.
Ryan Jacobs wasn't just cold. He was layered.
And if I wasn't careful… I just might start thawing the Ice King.