Page 41

Nic

The last two days have been like a nightmare I can’t wake up from.

I shove down another bite of ramen, barely tasting it. I’m not hungry, but I haven’t eaten since yesterday.

Kai took my laptop. He’s seen everything. The photos. The messages. The newspaper clippings. He has enough evidence to mold me into a goddamn serial killer.

So, why haven’t the police come looking for me?

Maybe they’re watching. Following my every move, waiting for me to lead them to the real killer.

The curtains billow in a gust of air, making me wonder if I left the window open.

I grip the wooden handle of the broom I found in the supply closet and cross the dingy room to check.

The rain has stopped, but the streets still shine, slick with water, reflecting neon motel signs and distant headlights. No one’s out there.

Except I can’t shake the feeling of being watched.

I shove my hands through my hair, exhaling sharply. I’m fucking losing it.

Two days of cheap motels. Of checking over my shoulder. Of not knowing if I’m running from something—or waiting for it to find me.

The smart thing would be to keep moving. Put more distance between me and Valencia. Between me and Kai.

The first night, it was San Diego. Yesterday, Tucson.

But I can’t do it anymore. Every mile I put between us feels like I’m peeling my own skin off inch by inch.

I should hate the bastard for assuming the worst. For laughing at my misery and not hearing me out. For running me out of town like some hardened criminal.

But all I can think about is the way he looked at me.

It wasn’t just rage, or betrayal.

Devastation.

He loved and trusted me, and I broke that.

I squeeze my eyes shut. I need to talk to someone before I go crazy. Someone needs to fucking hear me out.

My new phone sits on the motel nightstand, next to a crumpled piece of paper where I scribbled down my contacts before ditching my old phone. The ink is smudged from when my hands were shaking too hard to write clearly.

I reach for the phone, my fingers hesitating over the names.

Dad. Bea. Barry. My kids’ moms. Lilith. Lana. David. Eva. Kai.

The last one is useless. I already tried hundreds of times. It never even rings. He must have blocked me.

My thumb hovers over Eva’s name. I hesitate—then press call before I can rethink it.

The line barely rings twice.

"Hello?” The familiar voice makes my stomach clench.

"Eva?” My voice comes out hoarse. "It’s Nic."

A sharp exhale, then—

"Oh my God, Nic! I didn’t realize it was you."

"Yeah. Sorry about the unknown caller status. It’s a new phone, and . . . I can’t figure it out yet."

She huffs a laugh. "Jesus, you scared me. For a second, I thought it was Tom’s creepy ex."

I try to smile, wondering if that’s how Kai’s future girlfriend will talk about me someday. The thought is sharp, ugly. I shove it off and blurt, "Eva . . . have you heard from Kai?"

A pause. Just long enough for my stomach to sink.

“He’s not with you?”

I press my fingers against my pounding temple. "No. He’s not. You see, we, ah—we broke up."

"What? No!” Her voice spikes. "When? Why?"

"I’m not trying to get him back,” I say quickly. "Or even sure that I ever could. I just . . . I hurt him pretty bad. And I just want to know if he’s alright."

Silence stretches for a beat too long.

"Nic, do you mind telling me what happened?"

Heat crawls up my neck. My fingers tighten around the phone and I give her the version I can live with—the stalking. Not about Cass. Not the blackmail. Not the feathers. Just enough to explain why Kai looked at me like I was something he had to scrape off the bottom of his shoe.

When I finish, my pulse pounds in the silence.

"That’s why he broke up with you?"

I frown. "Isn’t that enough?"

A chuckle bursts through the speaker.

I blink. "Eva?"

"Sorry,” she sobers instantly. "It’s not funny, I swear. I’m just shocked.” She clears her throat. "Nic, Kai has a much stronger stomach than that."

A strange, creeping unease coils through me. "What do you mean?"

She hums, like she’s debating how much to reveal.

"Let me put it this way, and I mean this, Nic.” Her voice turns serious. "If I killed someone and needed to get rid of the body, and get away with it, who do you think I’d call?"

I don’t answer.

She exhales. "You guessed it—your boyfriend.” A pause. "I’m sure you know Kai isn’t the type of man who’d push you away for pissing him off. He’ll punish you."

A chill runs down my spine as my mind tumbles through every moment with Kai, every line he’s blurred without guilt or hesitation.

Eva sighs, her tone shifting back to light. “Look, just make up already, okay? I miss you guys, I need you back in Gstaad, pronto.”

My chest aches. “Thanks, Eva.”

"Anytime, babe."

I pace the motel room, phone clenched in my fist, her words circling in my head like vultures.

Kai has a stronger stomach than that.

I make another call.

David picks up, his voice casual, friendly even when he realizes it’s me. “Hey, Nic. What’s up?”

"I’m good. I’m . . . just checking in."

"Your timing is perfect, as always. I was meaning to call you."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Alan Thorne finally sent the contract for the school bulletin ad. Do you want to come by the gym tomorrow to sign it?"

I freeze. "Um, sure. I’ll swing by on my way home."

"Sweet. Let’s get this thing rolling."

David’s attitude has been noticeably cooler to me since finding out about Kai and me, but nowhere near as hostile as I was expecting, considering recent events.

He sounds normal. Like he has no idea what’s going on.

I snatch my phone back up. Open Google. Type in his name.

Chase Mitchell scandal. Chase Mitchell Aldridge professor. Chase Mitchell affair.

Nothing.

No breaking news. No university statement. No whispers of an investigation.

I click through blogs and gossip sites. Valencia Gazette. Valencia Police Department socials page.

Still nothing.

I wet my lips, my heart thudding. Kai hasn’t told anyone. He hasn’t filed any report. There’s no investigation. No police are looking for me.

I’m just sitting here, stewing for no goddamn reason.

Except . . . Oh shit. Is he punishing me right now?

A cold realization slithers through me.

This wasn’t about running me out of town. This was about making me suffer enough to crawl back to him.

Nine hours later and an overnight bus later, I’m standing in front of Kai’s office door, trembling like a leaf.

My fist hovers inches from the dark wood. I hesitate, my knuckles grazing the surface but not knocking.

Kai usually attends weekly faculty meetings, then heads straight for his office after. He should be in there right now.

Gritting my teeth, I force myself to knock. The sound echoes too loudly in the silence, startling me.

I wait, straining to hear any movement inside.

Nothing.

I knock again, harder. “Professor Mitchell?”

Silence.

"Kai,” I whisper.

Still nothing.

The breath I’ve been holding slips out in a shaky exhale. I glance down the hallway. There’s only one other place he could be.

The thought of going to the staff lounge makes my stomach twist, but I can’t leave without trying.

The straps of my leather backpack dig into my shoulders as I head down the corridor. It’s not just guilt driving me. It’s the unanswered questions.

What really happened to Cass and those other women? Why were they killed?

The muffled hum of conversation reaches me before I even step inside the faculty office. The staff meeting must have just ended, and now professors mill around, chatting over coffee. Each time someone opens the door, voices spill into the hallway.

I slow my steps, straining to catch his deep baritone.

"He’s left? Just like that?"

The voice belongs to Professor Lively, the dynamic business professor whose energy is as bold as her bouncy red ringlets.

"He probably got a seven-figure endorsement,” another professor—a man with a neatly groomed afro—replies. "Let’s not forget the man’s a celebrity."

The words slice through me like blades. Surely they can’t be talking about Kai?

I inch closer to the doorway, dread coiling tight in my stomach. If I can just peek in—maybe I misheard. Maybe he’s in there.

Then another voice cuts through the murmurs. “Well, that’s annoying. I was starting to enjoy the nudes that were mistakenly sent to my email instead.”

Laughter ripples through the group.

"Although, that’s probably why the man left. His inbox must be like Pornhub."

My breath comes in shallow bursts. My grip tightens around my backpack straps.

"Miss Abbott."

The sharp voice behind me makes me whip around, my heart leaping into my throat.

Dean Halloran stands there, expression sour. His gaze sweeps over me, then fixes on my backpack with a look of disgust that makes my blood run cold.

What the hell?

"Good morning, Dean,” I say, forcing my voice steady.

"Step into my office, will you?"

I glance toward the lounge, my last shred of hope slipping through my fingers.

"Well, I was just waiting for—"

"Now.”

He turns, already walking toward the hallway leading back to the offices.

Shit. I follow him, my thoughts racing, each one more frantic than the last.

Why is he looking at me like that?

Does he suspect something?

My pulse skips as I remember the high of near discovery—under Kai’s desk, sucking him off while the Dean prattled on about borrowing some damn book.

Dean Halloran’s office is as severe as the man himself—dark chipped wood, dim lighting, the air thick with the scent of old books and stale authority.

I grip the straps of my backpack as he lowers himself into his chair, the leather creaking beneath his weight.

He leans back, steepling his fingers. But his gaze never strays from me.

His eyes flick to my bag again.

"Is that bag yours?” His voice is deceptively calm.

I swallow. "Of course. Why do you ask, sir?"

His lips curl in a humorless smirk. He leans forward, forearms resting on the desk like he’s about to deliver a verdict.

"Because it’s the same bag that was on Mr. Mitchell’s desk weeks ago."

The words hit like a gut punch. My breath catches, my blood turning to ice. I try to form a response, but my mind blanks.

Oh, fuck. He didn’t see me that day. He saw my backpack.

My pulse thunders in my ears. "I don’t know what you’re talking about."

Halloran’s brow arches. "Let me refresh your memory, Miss Abbott. November 12th, around six p.m.” He pauses, watching me squirm. "This bag—your bag—was sitting on Mr. Mitchell’s desk while obscene and explicit noises emanated from under it."

He leans in further, voice dropping to a cutting whisper. "Does that help?"

Shame claws up my throat, hot and suffocating, but I force myself to meet his gaze head-on. "I still don’t understand what this has to do with me, sir."

Halloran shakes his head. Almost like he pities me. "You skip lectures to run your own unendorsed charities and treat your degree like a side hobby.” His voice sharpens. "And now you have the audacity to whore yourself out to a professor?"

Barry’s right—he has it out for students with side gigs.

"Professor Mitchell is—"

"Fascinating. Wealthy. Probably treats you better than your fiancé.” His voice cracks like a whip. "I see the appeal."

My stomach turns. "Respectfully, my private life is none of your business—"

"You made it my business when you fucked a member of my staff.” His voice is pure venom.

I clench my jaw so hard it aches.

"Now, listen well.” He sits back, studying me like I’m some na?ve little girl who doesn’t understand how the world works. "A sex scandal won’t ruin Chase Mitchell—it’ll do the opposite. More press, more attention. But it would destroy you. Unless, of course, you were to claim he forced you, now that would be . . ."

"He didn’t force me.” The words spill out before I can stop them. "I wanted him. I . . . I stalked him."

Halloran’s expression doesn’t change. If anything, his smirk deepens. "So you admit it? You had an affair with him?"

I say nothing.

"You need to start thinking about yourself, Miss Abbott.” His tone is almost patronizing. "Mitchell doesn’t need your protection. He’s gone."

I blink. "Gone?"

"Mr. Mitchell has resigned,” he says, each word like a death knell.

The truth of it crushes me.

He’s gone.

And I’m here alone, facing the consequences.

Halloran stands, his chair scraping against the floor.

"So here’s your penalty, Miss Abbott. Six months' suspension. Effective immediately. You lose your scholarship. And you’ll lose the year for having an unfair advantage over your peers."

"No.” My voice sounds strange, distant. "You can’t just . . . there’s no panel investigation?"

Halloran tilts his head. "Are you denying that you carried out an illicit affair with a professor?"

The words tumble out, desperate, like I can somehow claw my way out of this. "We had a relationship before he took the job. And we’ve broken things off . . . it’s over.” I clutch my bag tighter. "Besides, you have no proof except this stupid leather bag. The disciplinary team can’t suspend me on those grounds."

Halloran’s gaze sharpens. "You have a choice, then."

His smile is sinister. "Accept the suspension, or I escalate this to the governing board. Considering it’s Mitchell, you can bet the press will have a frenzy."

Panic surges, hot and suffocating. I know exactly how vicious the media—social or otherwise—can be to women embroiled in a scandal.

"I’ll . . . I’ll take the suspension,” I say quickly.

Halloran's smirk is pure venom—he knows he’s won.

"Good. Now get out."

I make it back to the near-empty lecture hall before my legs give out.

The wall is cool against my back as I slide down, the strap of my accursed bag slipping from numb fingers.

The emptiness inside me splinters into a thousand jagged pieces.

I’ve lost everything.

"Nic?"

The voice snaps me out of my spiraling thoughts. I jerk my head up to find Barry staring down at me, his usual smirk replaced with concern.

"What are you doing on the floor? And where have you been? I’ve been calling your line nonstop."

I blink at him, disoriented, like I’m waking up from a dream I don’t remember falling into.

"You wouldn’t believe me if I told you."

"Try me."

"Halloran just suspended me.” I swallow hard. "He found out about me and Kai."

Barry’s expression darkens as he drops to a crouch beside me, scanning my face. "You’re kidding."

I shake my head slowly. "I wish I was."

"How long?"

"Six months. Lost my scholarship, too. And a whole year."

Barry stills. "What?” His voice lowers, controlled but furious. "But he can’t take that decision without going through the senate—"

"He hates my guts.” The words slip out before I can stop them, and they nearly choke me. "He’s wanted me out of the scholarship program. And I just gave him ammunition. Blackmail or a scandal—either way, he wins."

Barry huffs. "Not if your Zaddy has anything to say about it."

"It’s over, Barry.” I might have found that admission painful if I wasn’t so numb.

"That’s not possible.” The gentleness in his voice tugs at something inside me. “What happened?”

My head drops to my knees, my hair falling forward, hiding my face. Maybe that’ll make this easier.

"I’ve been stalking him, Barry.” My voice is barely a whisper.

"What do you mean?"

The confession spills out like floodwater, unstoppable now.

"For years. Buying photos, videos, knickknacks . . . I had this whole creepy collection.” I let out a bitter laugh, my throat tight. "I contacted dark web goons. Budget private investigators. Anyone who could give me pieces of his life.” The words taste sour in my mouth, my own desperation repulsive.

Barry tenses beside me. "Jesus Christ, Nic. You knew him. That night at the charity ball. You knew it was him. That’s why . . ."

I nod. “I knew who he was and I’m sorry I lied to you. I know it’s sick. I know I’m pathetic—"

"Stop."

Barry’s arms wrap around me, sudden and fierce. "Nic. Stop."

A sob escapes before I can stop it. "I wanted to tell you so many times. But I was ashamed.” Fresh tears sting my eyes. "Don’t hate me too,” I manage, my voice cracking. "Please."

"Hate you?” Barry pulls back, gripping my shoulders. "God, I want to kill you for not telling me. We could have stalked him together, made it a whole project."

A laugh bursts from my lips despite everything, shaky and wet. The weight of my secret lifts—just a little.

Barry grins. "I think you’re a boss bitch, Nic.” His voice softens. "If I ever came face to face with the object of my obsession? I’d have been a hot mess. Probably have their name tattooed on my forehead by week two."

I sniffle. "Well, apparently, he doesn’t do messy.” My voice wobbles. "He just . . . leaves."

Barry’s expression shifts, something flickering behind his eyes.

"That’s where you’re wrong."

I frown. "What?"

His hand moves to his pocket, hesitant. "There’s something you should see."

I wipe my eyes, trying to get a read on his expression. "Barry, what is it?"

He pulls out an envelope and hands it to me.

I stare at the bold script of my name on the front, my pulse stuttering.

"When did you get this?"

"It was delivered with pizza this morning.” Barry’s lips quirk up. "Bit of confusion since no one ordered pizza, and it was too early for the shops to be open, anyway."

My fingers cramp with how fast I rip the envelope open.

The letter is short. Commanding. Familiar.

So you want to know me?

Get on your knees where you first did and give back every piece you stole.

Because you’ll need more than a motley collection to survive me.

Heat floods my body, equal parts arousal and fear.

It’s classic Kai—that mix of punishment and promise that makes me want to submit, even as something primal in me urges me to run.

Kai isn’t asking for physical pieces—photos, videos, articles I’ve hoarded.

He’s demanding something deeper. Trust. Submission. My complete surrender.

"Earth to Nic?” Barry waves a hand in front of my face. "You’re doing that thing where you forget other people exist."

"He wants . . .” My voice catches. I swallow, heart hammering. "Yeah, you’re right, Barry. He didn’t leave."

I stand, fingers tightening around the letter.

"I have to go."

His smile is diabolical. "Of course you do, darling."