Chapter 28

It's been an entire month since he has iced me out. Professor Ryland Anderson, the untouchable Prince of the USA, keeping everyone at arm's length, has been back in full force. He has blocked off every attempt by me to talk to him in private. He's acting like nothing has ever happened between us.

Like anything can erase the fevered memories of me falling apart in his arms, experiencing the most intense orgasm in my life, the way he tasted—mint with a hint of coffee—how he came alive each time he held me against him, all blistering lightning and pelting rain, a tornado sweeping me up into madness.

How can I forget any of this? It's impossible.

The only good thing that happened this last month was receiving my PhD acceptances. The girls were ecstatic for me when the letters came in. Joss even sent me some celebratory flowers and chocolates from LA. My hard work has paid off and I have my pick of programs.

I know I should stay away from Ryland. After all, I'm putting my dreams at risk by being entangled with him. But lately, the argument sounds feeble to my heart, which recognizes in its very core what Ryland and I have. The way our psyches speak to each other is one of a kind, and something I won't encounter again. And I can't bring myself to let this go, to let us go. Ultimately, this is a risk I'm willing to take.

Gritting my teeth, I haul ass across the paved pathways on campus, ignoring the chilly breeze of fall. The amber leaves flutter and fall to the ground, a kaleidoscope of colors I usually admire when I'm in a better mood.

Instead, I wrap my red cashmere scarf tighter around my neck and stride toward class, my mind spinning with ideas about how I can get through the heavy layer of sleet to reveal the bubbling lava within the volcano of his soul.

"Who do I need to kill, and will you help me with the body?" Chloe appears next to me, her porcelain skin pink from the elements.

She cracks her knuckles as if she has a black belt in anything, even though the woman can't swat a fly. She'll probably hit herself with a bat while trying to inflict bodily harm on to someone else.

Biting back a smile, I reply, "You don't need to kill anyone. I'm fine."

"You've been sulking the last month and I've noticed something else interesting as well…" her voice trails off as she waits for my reaction.

I roll my eyes. "What did you notice, Chloe?"

"A certain dark-haired professor has been looking extra pissed off this past month too. Like he really needs to get into a good fight or something. I wonder if the two are related."

My heart skips a beat and I fight the urge to look at her, even though I can feel her gaze searing onto the side of my face.

"Who?" I ask nonchalantly.

A gentle shove. "Come on, girl. I won't tell Belle if that's what you're worried about. Well, maybe not everything…but she's been pestering me, so no guarantees. You're seeing her tonight, right? Say hi to her for me."

I let out a sigh. "Chloe, there's nothing going on between Professor Anderson and me. Drop it. I don't want rumors to spread. It'd be disastrous for us both. And yes, I'm meeting with the other girls tonight, you nosy person."

She skips a few steps in front of me before turning around, giving me a saucy, victorious wink. "I said nothing about Professor Anderson. You came up with that all by yourself."

Chloe then points her index and middle fingers toward her eyes then at me, the universal hand signal for "I'll be watching you," and waggles her brows. "Hurry, we'll be late soon. And I'm on your side, professor or not!"

Dammit.

The first half hour of class was another frustrating, blood-boiling affair where Ryland would look over my head when talking to me, his hands hidden in his pants pockets. But I felt the heat of his stare when I wasn't looking at him, when he thought I was unaware. And when I'd turn my face toward him, I'd catch the smallest glimpse of his silver gaze flashing away and a vein throbbing on his forehead.

Now, we're in the middle of the JEAP committee meeting, presenting the new information we've gathered on the open cases this past month from hours of interviewing, reviewing footage and emails.

The university IT department has turned over hard drives of emails between Professor Archer and Tammy. There is definitely a personal relationship, but the phrasing has never moved beyond innuendo. There isn't anything definitive to show Professor Archer and Tammy are doing anything inappropriate.

I never knew how extensive these investigations were, but I guess it's a good thing the university is being thorough. I know that's sadly an anomaly and not the norm.

Perhaps the strict, unimpeachable Ryland has something to do with the gold standard here at NYUC.

"Why are we doing this, professor? Aren't we just wasting time? It's obvious Professor Archer and Tammy are guilty of a relationship. Just fire him and expel her. Why continue to spend hours talking to people and wasting everyone's time?" Pete Crosby, a lanky guy with horn-rimmed glasses perched on his nose, asks.

Ryland's face is unemotional as he turns to the rest of us. "Anyone want to answer Pete?"

Looking around the classroom and seeing no raised hands, I speak up. "There's an inherent imbalance of power in the alleged relationship, and the damage to the reputations of both the professor and the student will be severe if the committee rules against them. As advisers, we should do our best to ensure all facts checked out, no rocks are left unturned, and there's unequivocal evidence of guilt before we recommend our position to the Ethics Committee."

I clear my throat. "This might seem like a waste of time when everything seems to point in one direction, but that doesn't mean we get to shortcut the entire process. We owe it to Professor Archer and Tammy to do our due diligence."

Pete snorts and waves his hand in dismissal. "It's easy for you to say, Millie. You are a shoo-in for passing this class with your connections and everything. The rest of us actually have to study and go through the normal process of applying and waiting for PhD program acceptances."

Fred stiffens next to me and Chloe mutters, "What the fuck," under her breath.

My hackles rise and I clench my jaw. "What are you trying to say, Pete? I've earned my academic standing and my early admissions to PhD programs result from my hard work, and those acceptances can easily be rescinded if I don't work my ass off like everyone here."

He rolls his eyes, his lips flattening with displeasure. "Come on, Millie. We live in the real world. I mean, that's what Professor Anderson has been preparing us for, right?"

I sneak a glance over at Ryland, finding his hands behind his back, his muscular forearms straining against his white dress shirt, his lips twitching into something resembling a snarl.

Pete mutters, "You're telling me being the sister of Adrian Scott won't make a difference how others treat you and your acceptances into the top programs?"

He rolls his eyes. "Yeah, everyone knows. You want to talk about ethics? Now, that's an ethical violation right there."

The students gasp around me. Chloe shoots to a standing position and points her fingers at Pete. "You asshole. Millie works harder than any of us."

My face erupts in flames as the classroom breaks into chaos. Memories of Lloyd force themselves into my mind. The greedy glint of his eyes when I told him Adrian was my brother. How he'd magically appear at my side whenever I spoke with Adrian on the phone, or how he'd insist on coming with me whenever I met up with Adrian, only to be furious when I rejected him. How he broke up with me because I wouldn't ask Adrian to give him a loan to pay off his credit card debts.

This is what I'm afraid of. Everyone seeing me as billionaire Adrian Scott's younger sister, instead of Millie Callahan. Everyone scrutinizing my achievements under a microscope because of my brother.

My hands clench the edges of the tabletop, a firestorm of fury racing inside me.

"I'm proud of my brother and his achievements, but my successes are my own," I grit out under my breath.

Pete snickers and a few of his friends laugh alongside him. "It must be wonderful to be na?ve. If only the rest of us had the same privilege. I just found out I didn't get into the PhD program at Cornell because they only take one student from NYUC and I know you got that spot, you b—"

Slam!

The loud sound of textbooks thrown against the table reverberates in the classroom like a shockwave, abruptly silencing Pete and all the furtive whispers in the room. We turn toward the disturbance.

Ryland towers over his desk, a stack of books scattered over the table and on the floors. A muscle twitches rapidly in his jaw as his dark eyes shoot daggers at Pete, who slowly cowers under his withering gaze.

"This behavior is why you didn't get into Cornell, Mr. Crosby. Not Millie, not anything or anyone else. If you had spent more time studying and working hard instead of forming conspiracy theories and being a general fucking jackass, perhaps you would've had a shot."

He walks away from his desk, his steps slow and measured, a lion slowly approaching his next meal. I shudder at the fury rolling off of him in heavy waves and Pete hiccups in his seat. Ryland towers over Pete and leans down, not stopping until he's a few inches away from his face. I try and fail to ignore the tiny flutters in my stomach as I see him come to my defense.

His voice is low and hoarse, the violence barely concealed within. "Ms. Callahan is a brilliant student, her work speaks for itself, and I don't need to fucking pander to Adrian Scott or to any billionaire because I'm a fucking billionaire myself. If you have a problem with her or with the way this class is run, you come to me. You don't speak to her. You don't look at her. You don't fucking spread rumors about her. Am I making myself clear?"

Those tiny flutters are now a large swarm, flapping wildly and wreaking havoc inside me. My breathing quickens and I feel Chloe putting her hand over mine and giving me a squeeze of support, but I barely notice.

I only see him. My avenging warrior.

He can ignore me for all he wants and pretend everything that occurred between us never happened, but this…this magnificent display of emotion tells me everything I need to know.

Ryland's eyes dart to mine and he holds my gaze. My fingers tremble as I press them against my lips and swallow the ball forming in my throat. Words want to escape my throat, but I can't say them here in front of everyone. A burning sensation appears behind my eyes and wetness prickles my vision.

His nostrils flare and his eyes flash, darkening into swirling midnight pools of tar before he turns back to Pete. Ryland's hands are fisted on his desk, clearly trying to restrain himself from physically reaching over and hauling Pete up by the collar of his shirt.

"Am. I. Making. Myself. Clear?"

Pete physically shakes underneath his withering glare and nods. "Y-Yes, Professor."

"Now, apologize to Ms. Callahan and the rest of the class for this immature disturbance," Ryland barks.

Pete jumps in his seat and turns toward us. His eyes are downcast as they briefly skate over me to the rest of the room.

"S-Sorry, Millie. Sorry, class."

My exhales are ragged as I give him the barest of nods. My eyes flicker over to Ryland again, finding him staring at me, the same intense pools of gray right before he hauled me into the shed and kissed the ever fucking daylights out of me. The same eyes boring into mine in my dreams when I'd wake up sweaty with an unrelenting ache between my legs.

Are you okay? His gaze tells me if I answer anything negative, he'll burn the world for me.

I flash him a trembling smile. I am. Because of you.

His eyes skim over my features in a gentle caress, even though we're standing several feet apart amidst a classroom full of people. But in this moment, nothing matters. No one matters except for him.

My heart throws itself against my rib cage, wanting to escape and hurl itself toward him. The seconds freeze in time and everything begins to fade around us.

"And you were saying there's nothing going on?" Chloe whispers in my ear. "You guys are having a full-on conversation without words."

I don't respond to her, because my voice is frozen, my breath is stolen by this intimidating man in front of us, and if he is my jailer, I'm willing to walk into his cage.