Page 20

Kai

The ring is gone.

Her pen moves in sharp, angry strokes across the paper. The tight set of her jaw, the almost imperceptible tremble in her fingers as she brushes a wisp of honey blonde hair behind her ear—it’s all wrong.

She’s not herself. Angry, no doubt, but there’s something else I can’t put a finger on.

That she’s broken off her engagement should satisfy me, but instead, irritation needles its way through my veins.

Did she do it because I made her? Is that why she looks so devastated? For that frat boy who hasn’t the foggiest clue what she needs?

My focus snaps back to her face, and I catch the crease in her brow as her pen pauses mid-word and exhales, as if she’s barely holding herself together.

Barry shifts, then looks up, catching me watching his friend. His gaze flickers between her bent head and mine, then he shakes his head.

I hear him loud and clear: she’s not fine.

Irritation flares in the pit of my stomach, even as I find myself nodding back.

What the fuck are we doing, talking in code now?

Ever since I casually asked where Nicole was last week, Barry’s been acting like her personal handler—sending me wordless updates in his glances. And what pisses me off more? I understand every damn one of them.

I turn my attention back to the rest of the room. “Time’s up.”

The class hums with the quiet energy of students scrambling to finish their papers, the rustle of paper and clatter of pens filling the room as they comply.

Nicole’s movements are mechanical as she hands off her sheet. I wait for her gaze — will it to meet mine—but she stubbornly keeps her head down.

Fine. Let’s make this unavoidable, then.

“You’ll get your results within a week,” I say, just loud enough to pull the room’s wandering attention back to me. “This is a bonus exercise, so your score will be scaled to a maximum of fifty percent of your highest graded assignment.”

I let the moment stretch as my gaze flicks back to Nicole. “Now, who’s feeling confident enough to discuss the first question?”

Hands shoot up. Eager faces. Bright eyes. None of them hers.

“Ms. Abbott.”

Her head snaps up, eyes widening for a fraction of a second before she schools her expression into cold indifference.

“Me?”

“Yes, you.” I step closer. “I understand you run a charity in Valencia. A physical therapy class.”

Her posture straightens, but her voice remains flat. “I do.”

I nod. “Impressive. Why don’t you walk us through your marketing strategy to get your ideal donors?”

Her shoulders tense, annoyance bleeding into her tight expression. “Social media and local advertising with flyers.”

Generic nonsense. “That’s your strategy?” I arch a brow, letting my tone drip with condescension. “The kind that bankrupts ninety-eight percent of small businesses?”

Her eyes flash and I sense the storm about to erupt.

“Not everything is about profit margins, Professor Mitchell,” she spits. “Some things are driven by passion, not theories and projections.”

“Really?” I tilt my head, my voice deceptively casual. “So, you think passion’s going to keep the studio lights on? Or fix the plumbing?” I let my voice dip into something darker. “Unless, of course, you’re planning to clean for free while you find another rich man to finance your dreams?”

The entire room goes still. A few gasps. A sharp intake of breath.

Nicole’s face drains of color, her fingers trembling against her notebook. She’s about to snap.

Barry lurches forward. “Excuse me—”

Nicole’s hand clamps onto his arm, her fingers digging into his sleeve to hold him back, but her gaze stays locked on me. “At least, Professor, my students learn something real and don’t have to endure their teacher jerking off to his sick power trips,” she fires back.

A ripple of shock moves through the class. Barry chokes on a laugh.

All I feel is the rush of primal heat flooding my veins. Because she’s fucking perfect when she fights back. “Ms. Abbott,” I snap. “If this is your approach to tackling questions, it’s no wonder your scholarship’s hanging by a thread.”

I pause, letting the threat settle like a weight. “One which has just snapped.”

Another ripple of whispers spreads across the room. Barry shoots to his feet. “You can’t just fail her based on—”

“Sit down, Mr. Thorne!” I warn.

Barry complies, but his eyes burn holes into me.

I say into the brittle silence. “I expect to see you in my office immediately after class, Miss Abbott.”

Her eyes are narrowed into slits, the fires in them barely banked.

I glance at Barry. “You too, Mr. Thorne.”

Then, to the whole room looking on as if they’re waiting for the next round of blows, I announce, “Class dismissed.”