28. Epilogue

Sweet Sorrow

Sunlight bathes Tanglewood University in a golden glow.

I stand in a sea of black gowns and mortarboards, the cool spring breeze ruffling the tassels that dangle over eager, nervous faces. The air hums with anticipation, a symphony of whispered dreams and barely contained excitement.

I should be exhilarated, triumphant even, but my heart feels heavy, anchored by an absence that gnaws at the edges of my joy. My eyes can’t help but scan the crowd for a familiar blonde head, a pair of sparkling blue eyes.

Daisy should be here, her laughter cutting through the tense atmosphere, her hand clutching mine as we navigate this rite of passage together. She wouldn’t actually walk in the same ceremony as me, considering our majors. Even this ceremony, containing most of the liberal arts graduates, takes up the entire east lawn.

Daisy should be whooping and hollering in the audience section.

I should be doing the same at her ceremony.

She isn’t graduating.

A lump forms in my throat as I look around, the pomp and circumstance suddenly feeling hollow. The grand stage, draped in the university’s colors, seems less vibrant without her here to share it with me.

The chatter of proud parents and beaming graduates grates against my ears, a harsh reminder of the silence from Port Lavaca. My parents didn’t come—not that I expected them to. I got a congratulations text from Carlisle, though.

To my favorite scholar.

It includes a photo of her lifting a champagne flute. In the background I can see a tumble of backstage equipment, which means she’s still in rehearsal for her tour, which made headlines as it sold out. Being supposedly canceled from Tanglewood University did nothing to quell her celebrity. Everyone’s dying to see her perform.

I clutch the program in my hands, the paper crinkling under the force of my grip. My name is printed there. It doesn’t look quite real, such an ordinary name in an ordinary serif font. Anne Elizabeth Hill, Magna Cum Laude.

Dean Morris takes the podium. “Graduates, today marks the culmination of your dedication. You studied literature or philosophy or history, but that’s not really what matters most. I know, I know, now we tell you.” I crack a smile despite my nerves. “The most important skill you acquired here was a love of learning. The most important knowledge you gained was that of human nature—your professors, your fellow students.”

He surveys what must be a sea of black hats and gowns.

“The most important power you hold is that of your own understanding. Not what they teach you in books. Not what people tell you to believe. It’s your own ability to discern the truth. Today it’s both my duty and an honor to preside over this ceremony. Which means I’m sending you all out into a world of clickbait and fake news.”

A pause.

“I wish I had a better one, but this is it. Broken and unjust and…beautiful, despite these flaws. You can fix it together. And you will, but it’s a large goal. An overwhelming one. So I’ll send you off with a smaller one, though just as important.

I’m far away from the stage, the H of Hill being halfway back in the rows, but it looks like a tear glints in his dark eyes. It’s confirmed when he becomes choked up.

“Instead of focusing on saving the world,” he says, “for now, at the beginning, focus on saving one person. Build a better life, a safer place, a stronger core. For yourself. Because if only one more person in the entire world has that, then you’ll have succeeded, even, especially , if that person is you.”

Tears stream down my face.

I’ve read many speeches at graduation ceremonies before. It was part of my research, since I have one of my own to give. And apparently my makeup will be ruined by then. I wipe my eyes, smearing whatever light powder I applied. Some speeches exist on a grand scale, encouraging us to be of service, to give generously, to change the world. Other speeches contain more practical, occasionally pithy career advice.

They’re all good speeches, but this one…this one feels like it was meant for me.

It’s a reminder that I can kill myself trying to save the world.

A reminder that it feels like an impossible task.

Except that I’ve already done it. I’ve done it precisely once, when I saved myself. Which means I might be able to do it again, though only if I’m careful. Only if I don’t give too much, so much that there’s nothing left. Only if I don’t lose my way. The world will always need more of me than there even is. It will take and take and take, all for worthy causes. It’s up to me to defend my most precious research—myself.

An unconventional send-off perhaps, but one that I needed to hear.

The first row stands, the rustle of gowns and murmurs of excitement filling the air. They begin calling names. I watch as they cross the stage one by one—accepting a scroll from Professor Miller, shaking hands with the dean, moving the tassel from one side to the other. I try to memorize the movements, afraid I’m going to be clumsy in the moment. I’ll do them all in the wrong order, and then possibly fall off the stage.

My heart thuds in my chest, a steady drumbeat counting down the moments until it’s my turn. I rise on unsteady legs, smoothing down the wrinkles from my gown, the silky fabric rough against my palms. The hat feels too big, perched precariously on my head, the tassel swinging like a pendulum with every movement. Students in front of me ascend the stage. Some of them beam with clear happiness. Others are more subdued, seeming nervous and self-conscious. I’m sure I look terrified.

When they call my name, I climb the steps and cross the stage.

Accept the scroll.

Shake hands.

Professor Miller smiles at me, pride in her hazel eyes.

“Congratulations, Ms. Hill,” the dean says, his voice low. “You’ve earned this.”

Move the tassel from one side to the other.

This is a total win. I even manage to take the steps down from the stage without falling on my face. Relief is short-lived. When the other students file back toward our seats, I move to the side. The typical valedictorian’s speech is only five to ten minutes long.

However, I’m fairly certain this one’s going to last five to ten years .

Or at the very least, take that much off my life.

Some small percentage of me wishes that Thorne had stuck around long enough to…well, not to fail me, but maybe a B. That would have brought my GPA down low enough so that I wouldn’t have to do this.

Heavy velvet curtains rustle behind me.

A sudden draft sends shivers up the gown.

A strong hand grips my wrist.

Before I can react, it tugs me into the shadows. I stumble, my heart pounding in my chest, as the curtains fall back into place, sealing me off from the noise and the bright lights of the ceremony.

Professor Stratford also wears a gown, though his is made of thicker, more luxurious material, dark green. Instead of the shiny mortarboard, he wears a soft tam in deep red, making up the colors of Tanglewood University. It’s an uncomfortable reminder that there’s a reason why the Society’s dangerous pomp and circumstance once thrived here—there’s a touch of it built into the foundation.

William’s dark gaze fills with pride and possession. The corners of his mouth lift slightly, a hint of a smile that’s both reassuring and alarming. “You’re officially not my student anymore. Not a student at all.”

“Absolutely not,” I whisper, reading his intentions.

“They can’t hear us,” he murmurs, leaning down to kiss the side of my neck.

The gold honors cord is in the way.

He moves it to kiss my neck, making me shiver. Then he holds the braid in his large hand, brushing a thumb over it in a gesture that makes me flush with memory. It’s as if he’s caressing it. “Hmm,” he says. “It’s thinner than the one in the tower, but I think it will still make a very good rope for holding you down.”

“Oh my God.”

“You seemed nervous. I’m trying to distract you.”

“Well, it’s working!”

“You’ve been a very good student.”

I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry. “Have I?”

His lips curve into a predator’s grin that promises both pleasure and pain. “Oh, yes,” he says, his fingers tangling in my hair, tilting my head back to expose the column of my throat. “You’ve learned so much. Now it’s time to give you your A.”

His mouth descends on mine, a demanding kiss that leaves me gasping. I melt into him, my body pressing against his as his hands roam over my curves, claiming, possessing. His tongue invades my mouth, a sensual assault that leaves me dizzy. I can feel the hard length of him pressing against my belly, a promise of what’s to come.

My hands find their way to his chest, my fingers curling into the soft fabric of his gown. I can feel the steady beat of his heart beneath my palm, a rhythm that matches the pounding of my own. He growls, his hands gripping my hips, holding me tight.

He presses me back against the wall, the rough brick biting into my shoulders. His mouth trails down my neck, his teeth nipping at the sensitive flesh, sending waves of pleasure coursing through me. I arch against him, a moan escaping my lips as his hands cup my breasts, his thumb circling my nipple through the thin fabric.

“You’re mine,” he says. “Every inch of you belongs to me.”

I nod, my breath coming in short gasps. “Yours,” I whisper, my voice barely audible.

His mouth captures mine once more, a fierce, possessive kiss that leaves me trembling with need. I can feel the hard length of him pressing against me, the promise of pleasure and pain intertwined. I surrender to him, my body, my soul, my heart. In this moment, there is nothing but him, nothing but us, nothing but the fire that burns between us.

And as his hands slip beneath my skirt, his fingers tracing the edge of my panties, I know that I am lost, utterly and completely.

Lost in him, lost in us, lost in the storm that rages between us.

There are only a few minutes to put myself together again, to pat my cheeks and straighten my cap before they call my name, again, this time for the speech.

Goddamn it.

I should have taken Advanced Calculus with Daisy.

That definitely would have ruined my GPA.

Instead I climb the stage again and take the podium.

I clear my throat, my hands trembling slightly as I unfold my notes. There’s more shifting in the audience, now that everyone has gotten to walk. Or maybe it’s only that Dean Morris knows how to command a stage better than me. Students fiddle with the scrolls they’ve been given. A couple have even taken off their mortarboards, probably itching to throw it into the air.

Five to ten minutes.

Or maybe just an entire lifetime.

“When Dean Morris told me I would have to give this speech, I asked him what it should be about. He said that, now that I’m graduating, I should think independently. So I told him I was opting out of giving a speech. He said…not that independently.”

Polite laughter. I’ll definitely take polite laughter.

I wrote and rewrote my speech a dozen times, each iteration a struggle to encapsulate my time at Tanglewood University. In the end, I turned to the one thing that always brought me solace, the one thing that always made sense to me—Shakespeare.

Silently, William steps from the wings.

He watches me with pride. And perhaps some worry. I refused to practice it on him, or even show it to him, no matter how much he cajoled.

“I’ve chosen to deliver my speech in the form of a sonnet,” I say, a soft murmur rippling through the audience. “It’s a form that’s strictly bound by specific metric and rhythmic structure. But within those boundaries, it has power. Within those boundaries, it can change everything. Like our time here at Tanglewood University.”

I clear my throat, praying I don’t stumble.

“Upon this stage, we stand, our journey’s end,

In robes of black, our hearts aflame with pride.

Each step we took, each path we chose to wend,

Has led us here, where futures wide and bright abide.”

The words flow from me, a river of emotion that ebbs and surges with each line. I feel the weight of every syllable, the power of every phrase.

“We laughed, we cried, we fought, we loved, we lost,

In hallowed halls and shadows cast by moon.

Each moment shared, each memory embossed,

A tapestry of youth, forever strewn.”

This is my story, our story, the tale of a thousand dreams and a million heartaches, of triumphs and failures, of love and loss. This is graduation.

“So let us stand, on this our graduation,

Not as the end, but as a new creation.

For we are Tanglewood, and we shall be,

Forever bound, in love and memory.”

When I finish the last word, the crowd is silent. I would wonder if I even said the words, except that I feel them resound in my chest. And then a roar hits me—clapping, shouting. Tears shine in eyes. Some of these people I know. Others I don’t. In this moment, we’re together. We’re united. We’re throwing our mortarboards into the sky, apparently, a smattering of black caps soaring across pale blue.

I take off my own and toss it into the air. It goes diagonal, of course. I’ve never been into sports. So it’s lost in a sea of people, but it doesn’t matter. Now when Dean Morris is there to shake my hand again, to squeeze my shoulder, before sending me, gently, into William’s waiting arms beside the stage.

Which is good. I wouldn’t have been able to navigate the stairs, not with tears flooding my eyes. This is not goodbye. It’s a beginning, a promise of things to come. This is Tanglewood, and we shall be, forever bound, in love and memory.

As the applause continues, I step back from the podium, my heart full, my spirit soaring. The future stretches out before me, a blank page waiting to be filled. And I am ready, pen in hand, to write the next chapter of my story.

Then it’s William’s turn.

Stratford’s gaze sweeps across the crowd, his eyes lingering on mine for a moment that feels like an eternity. A shiver runs down my spine, a mix of excitement and trepidation. This is it—the end of our journey, the beginning of something new.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he begins, his voice deep and commanding, resonating through the auditorium like a symphony. “Today, we gather here to celebrate the achievements of these remarkable individuals, to honor their dedication, their perseverance, and their unyielding pursuit of knowledge.”

His words wash over me, a soothing balm that calms the storm raging within. I can feel the weight of his gaze, the unspoken promises that hang in the air between us. The future is uncertain, a vast expanse of unknowns and possibilities. But in this moment, there is only him—only us.

“As I stand before you today,” he continues, his voice steady and sure, “I am reminded of the words of the Bard himself. ‘Parting is such sweet sorrow.’ And indeed, it is with a heavy heart that I bid you all farewell.”

A collective sigh ripples through the audience, a shared sense of loss and longing. Tanglewood has been our home, our sanctuary, our battleground. It has shaped us, molded us, forged us into the people we are today. And now, it is time to say goodbye.

“But,” Stratford says, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, “as we part ways, let us not forget the lessons we have learned, the friendships we have forged, the love we have found. Let us carry these memories with us, a beacon of light to guide us through the darkest nights.”

His eyes find mine once more, a silent communication that speaks volumes. My heart swells with emotion, a mix of joy and sorrow, of hope and fear. This is our moment, our farewell—and I am determined to make the most of it.

“And so,” he concludes, his voice barely above a whisper, “I leave you with one final thought. ‘Love all, trust a few, do wrong to none.’ May your paths be filled with love, with trust, with righteousness. And may you always, always find your way back home.”

The auditorium erupts in applause, a thunderous ovation that fills the room and reverberates through my very soul. I can feel the tears welling up in my eyes, the lump forming in my throat. This is it—the end of an era, the beginning of something new.

And then, without warning, Stratford steps away from the podium, his eyes locked on to mine. He crosses the stage in three long strides, his movements fluid and sure. The auditorium falls silent, the air thick with anticipation. I can feel the weight of a thousand eyes upon us, the collective intake of breath.

He reaches me, his hands cupping my face, his thumbs brushing away the tears that streak my cheeks. His eyes are a storm of emotion, a swirling vortex of desire and longing and love. I can see the future reflected in their depths, a future filled with promise, with possibility, with us.

And then, he kisses me.

It is a kiss that steals my breath away, a kiss that sets my soul on fire. His lips are soft and firm, his taste a heady mix of mint and man. I melt into him, my body pressing against his, my hands gripping the lapels of his suit. The world around us fades away, the applause, the cheers, the expectant faces. There is only him, only me, only us.

The kiss deepens, his tongue invading my mouth, a sensual assault that leaves me gasping for breath. I can feel the heat radiating from his body, the subtle shift of his muscles beneath his suit. His hands tangle in my hair, tilting my head back to expose the column of my throat. His mouth trails down my neck, his teeth nipping at the sensitive flesh, sending waves of pleasure coursing through me.

The auditorium erupts in cheers, a roar of approval that fills the room and reverberates through my very soul. I can hear the whistles, the catcalls, the shouts of encouragement. But it is all a distant hum, a background noise to the symphony that plays within me.

And then, as suddenly as it began, the kiss ends. Stratford pulls away, his breath coming in short gasps, his eyes burning into mine. I can see the future reflected in their depths, a future filled with promise, with possibility, with us.

“I love you,” he whispers, his voice barely audible. “I have always loved you. And I will love you, forever and always.”

The tears spill over, streaming down my cheeks in a torrent of emotion. I can feel the weight of his words, the power of his love. It is a love that transcends time, that defies convention, that conquers all.

And in that moment, I know—this is not the end. This is not a goodbye. This is a beginning, a promise of things to come. This is Tanglewood, and we shall be, forever bound, in love and memory.

As the applause continues, I stand there, my heart full, my spirit soaring. The future stretches out before me, a blank page waiting to be filled. And I am ready, pen in hand, to write the next chapter of my story.

***

Thank you for reading THE FINAL EXAM!

Once upon a time there was a beautiful college student…

And a beastly professor with scars he can’t hide.

Erin cleans Mr. Morris’s house twice a week to pay her tuition. The reclusive ex-soldier intimidates her, but she can’t help but feel sympathy for him. Then she walks in on him touching himself…and moaning her name. The flames scorch them both, but she never expected him to be the professor on the first day of the semester.

Professor Avery Miller also has a story set in Tanglewood!

The price of survival…

Gabriel Miller swept into my life like a storm. He tore down my father with cold retribution, leaving him penniless in a hospital bed. I quit my private all-girls college to take care of the only family I have left.

There’s one way to save our house, one thing I have left of value.

My virginity.

A forbidden auction…

Gabriel appears at every turn. He seems to take pleasure in watching me fall. Other times he’s the only kindness in a brutal underworld.

Except he’s playing a deeper game than I know. Every move brings us together, every secret rips us apart. And when the final piece is played, only one of us can be left standing.

“Sinfully sexy and darkly beautiful, The Pawn will play games with your heart and leave you craving more!” —Laura Kaye, New York Times bestselling author

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