Page 28

Chapter 27

Deirdre

“You fancy me a mad. Madmen know nothing. But you should have seen me. You should have seen how wisely I proceeded...” Edgar Allan Poe

T he rest of October and November passed by in a whirlwind. The crisp air of autumn gave way to the biting chill of late fall, and before we knew it, Thanksgiving break came and went. Claire spent the holiday back home in New York, while I stayed behind at Cornelia. Despite my very distant family’s invitation, I couldn’t bring myself to return to the West Coast. Kieran and I carefully snuck around between his house and my dorm to spend time together throughout the break.

While Claire and I texted constantly, nothing compared to the relief of reuniting on campus, already exhausted by the mere thought of finals week.

The last few weeks have been a blur of studying, work, and risky moments. Between our grueling coursework, Claire and I managed to carve out time with Gabe and Kieran, small double dates tucked away in quiet restaurants outside of town, late-night study sessions that often ended in laughter, and cozy weekends spent watching movies with takeout.

And Kieran.

Our relationship, though still hidden from the rest of the world, has grown into something deeper, although neither of us have uttered those three little words. I know that what we share is more than fleeting.

We stole moments where we could. His hand brushing against mine in passing, the knowing looks exchanged across the lecture hall, and the rushed nights spent tangled in each other’s arms when our schedules allowed. It was dangerous, secretive, and completely intoxicating.

But today, there is no time for distractions.

The weight of the room is thick with stress and tension among every student. Our respective finals loom over us like an executioner’s blade. And as I sit in the lecture hall, the last class before our final on Wednesday, I try my best to focus, despite the fact that Kieran is looking annoyingly attractive standing at the podium.

“As I mentioned in my syllabus at the beginning of the semester,” Kieran says, adjusting his glasses as he surveys the room, “this final will be comprehensive. Which means, for those of you who were hoping otherwise, you will be tested on everything we’ve covered this semester.”

A collective groan rumbles through the class.

Kieran smirks, clearly enjoying the suffering. “Yes, yes, I know. How dare I expect you to retain knowledge from more than two weeks ago?”

Claire, sitting beside me, mutters, “Sadist,” under her breath.

I bite back a smile.

“The exam will be a mix of multiple-choice, short-answer, and essay questions. You’ll be analyzing passages, discussing themes, and making connections between texts. The usual expectations apply—thoughtful analysis, coherent arguments, and, preferably, legible handwriting.”

Another wave of groans.

“Now, I won’t tell you to enjoy studying, but I will tell you that if you don’t, you will suffer for it.” His smirk deepens. “Greatly.”

Claire leans over and whispers, “You are sleeping with the devil.”

I elbow her lightly, fighting the blush threatening to creep up my neck.

“That’s all for today,” Kieran concludes, closing his folder. “If you have any questions, I’ll be here for a few minutes after class. Otherwise, I’ll see you on Wednesday. Good luck.”

The moment he dismisses us, students begin to file out, some grumbling, others frantically flipping through their notes as if they can absorb the material by sheer willpower.

Claire stretches her arms over her head, sighing. “You know, for someone who looks that good, he sure loves making us suffer.”

I roll my eyes. “You say that like you’re not going to ace this.”

She grins. “You have an advantage. What was it that you said about extra credit a few weeks ago?”

I smack her arm as she bursts into laughter.

As I glance toward the front of the room, Kieran’s gaze meets mine briefly. His eyes possess a flicker of amusement.

Wednesday may be looming ahead of us, but in this moment, despite the immense amount of stress, I can’t help but feel a sense of calm when he looks at me.

I linger in my seat as students pour out of the auditorium, the buzz of complaints about the final still hanging in the air. Claire gathers her things beside me and slings her bag over her shoulder before glancing at me expectantly.

“You coming?” she asks, but the smirk on her face tells me she already knows the answer.

I hesitate for a second before shaking my head. “I’ll catch up.”

Claire’s smirk deepens. “Mmhmm…” she sings teasingly before turning on her heel and making her way up the steps.

I wait until the last student disappears through the door before rising from my seat and making my way toward the podium. Kieran has already gathered his notes into a neat stack, but as he sees me approach, he leans against the desk. He crosses his arms over his chest and arches a brow.

“Miss Ravencroft,” he greets smoothly, his tone equal parts professional and mischievous. “Do you have any questions regarding the final?”

I tilt my head, playing along. “I was just wondering…” I pause, letting the words hang between us for a moment before stepping closer. “If I needed any extra credit.”

Kieran’s expression darkens, a slow, knowing smirk creeps onto his lips. His gaze flickers to the now-empty auditorium before he pushes off the desk, closing the space between us. My pulse begins to race with excitement.

“I think you’ve already…”

His voice trails off, because I’m already reaching for his tie, curling my fingers around the silk and giving it a gentle tug. The shift in his posture is immediate, like every cell in his body switches from restraint to desire. I can feel it radiating off him.

“I’ve been very attentive this semester, Professor,” I murmur, stepping into his space until there’s barely an inch between us.

“Oh, I’ve noticed.” His hand comes to my waist, slow and deliberate, the heat of his palm bleeding through the fabric of my shirt. “You’ve been…very eager.”

His other hand comes up to cup the side of my face, thumb grazing the edge of my jaw. His mouth is so close now, I can feel his breath on my lips—warm, laced with the faint scent of coffee. His eyes drop to my mouth.

“I really should reward that kind of dedication,” he murmurs.

Before I can respond, he closes the distance. His lips claim mine in a kiss that’s deep and commanding, the kind that erases reason and replaces it with desire. I melt against him as his hand grips the back of my neck, the other sliding around my waist and pulling me flush against him. My fingers fist in his blazer as he turns us around and backs me against the desk, his hips pressing into mine in a way that makes my thighs ache.

I gasp into his mouth as he lifts me onto the edge of the desk without warning, his hands sliding beneath my thighs. The feel of him—solid, hard, and hungry—makes my heart thud wildly. His mouth trails down to my neck, breath hot against my skin.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, Miss Ravencroft,” he growls softly, tongue flicking against the shell of my ear. “You keep looking at me like that and I’ll forget where we are.”

“I’m counting on it,” I whisper, breathless.

He leans in again, capturing my mouth, this time slower, more thorough—like he’s savoring the taste. His fingers tease the edge of my shirt, sliding just beneath the hem, and the contact of skin on skin makes my spine arch instinctively.

He breaks our kiss and motions for me to turn around.

Nodding obediently, I hop off the desk.

As I am turning around, the glass double doors at the entrance swing wide open, and the heavy thud echoes through the room. Kieran immediately backs away from me, and I step away from his desk, our bodies instinctively putting distance between each other as we turn toward the sound.

Walking in the doorway, dressed in his signature navy suit, is none other than the university president. President Sheridan.

My stomach rolls.

“Ah, just the two I wanted to see,” he says, his tone lighthearted as he strides inside with an air of confidence that sends my anxiety skyrocketing.

He knows.

My heart pounds in my chest, and I swallow hard, willing myself to stay composed.

But surely, if he had found out about Kieran and me, he wouldn’t just barge into an auditorium to confront us about it…right? That would be completely unprofessional. Something like that would be handled in his office, behind closed doors, with stern voices and written documentation. A meeting of Kieran’s peers or something.

I try my best to calm myself, yet I can’t shake the feeling that he’s here for something big.

Beside me, Kieran’s demeanor is as cool and collected as always, but the subtle way his posture straightens doesn’t escape me. He clasps his hands in front of him in a picture of careful control.

I force a smile, hoping to mask my nerves.

“President Sheridan,” I greet him, my voice comes out steadier than I feel.

“What can we do for you?” Kieran says as he clears his throat.

Sheridan’s sharp eyes flicker between the two of us. I am unable to read his expression, but something about him is entirely too perceptive. My stomach twists in a knot as I brace myself for whatever comes next.

President Sheridan looks straight at me, his sharp gaze pinning me in place.

“Well, Miss Ravencroft, I received an email from the registrar’s office.” He folds his hands in front of him. “It seems some transcripts came through from your high school, specifically, an update on your dual credits. The registrar sends her apologies; she must have filed them wrong.”

He gives a small, approving nod. “As it turns out, you have enough credits to be classified as a junior at Cornelia. Not a freshman.”

The anxiety that's been gripping my chest slowly unravels, giving way to sheer confusion.

Not caught. Just completely blindsided.

My thoughts race as I process his words. A junior?

I blink at him, trying to come down from the sheer panic of ‘Oh God, he knows’ to the reality that I have somehow skipped almost two years of college because of a paperwork mix-up.

But as the relief settles in my stomach, a new concern creeps in.

Wait…if I’m a junior, that means I won’t be taking any more of Kieran’s classes until I’m a graduate student.

“So that means…” I hesitate, still trying to make sense of the sudden shift. “I won’t be taking 2456 Poe’s Aesthetic for the Future?”

Sheridan nods. “It would be a waste of your financial resources to take a class you don’t need,” he states matter-of-factly. “However, as a junior at Cornelia, you can apply to be a teacher’s assistant for the course.” He glances at Kieran. “Should Professor McKnight agree to work with an undergrad, that is.”

I turned my gaze toward Kieran, my heart thumping in my chest.

A TA? I hadn’t even considered the education route, but the thought of working so closely with him sends a thrill through me.

Kieran’s expression remains carefully neutral. “I’ll have to think on the matter,” he says smoothly. “If I have a need for an assistant.”

President Sheridan gives him a curt nod. “Very well. Let me know by the time you submit grades so we can file the necessary paperwork.”

As he turns to leave, I cast a shocked glance at Kieran, but before I could say anything, Sheridan suddenly stops in his tracks, turning back toward us with a casual but pointed addition.

“Oh, by the way, Professor,” he says, adjusting the cuff of his suit. “I received a notice from Brandon Danforth. He officially withdrew from the university. Good riddance, I’d say, eh, Miss Ravencroft?”

With that, he exits the auditorium, leaving silence in his wake.

I stare after him for a moment before whipping around to face Kieran. “What did you do to Brandon?” I ask, suspicion creeping into my voice.

Kieran lets out an amused breath, running a hand through his hair. “Apparently, I punched him too hard.”

I cross my arms over my chest. “I’m being serious, Kieran.”

His amusement fades into something colder, sharper. His jaw tightens, and when he finally speaks, his voice carries a weight of finality.

“I am, as well,” he says, his tone flat. “He withdrew because he was a rich little twit who thought he could fuck whomever he pleased.” His eyes darken. “I reminded him of his place.”

A shiver runs down my spine, not from fear, but from the sheer certainty in his voice. Kieran didn’t just warn Brandon. He ended his college career here.

By his tone, I know he doesn’t regret it, but I wonder if he wishes he had done worse.

A shiver runs through me.

Or did he do worse?