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I freeze. The world snaps back into focus, harsh and bright. Levi’s mouth stills on my neck, and I can feel his body tense. Slowly, painfully, I pry my eyes open and turn my head toward the source of the interruption.
She’s like a vision from a glossy magazine, standing there with one hip cocked and an eyebrow raised—a supermodel made flesh. Her confidence radiates like a tangible force, the smirk on her full lips speaking volumes of her self-assuredness.
My heart skips not just a beat but an entire measure. Suddenly, the air feels too thick, too warm. The walls of the classroom press in on me, and I’m acutely aware of how vulnerable I am perched atop this desk, my skirt ridden up, my blouse askew.
“Who—” My voice is a croak, and I clear my throat, trying again. “Who are you?”
The woman doesn’t answer right away, her gaze sweeping over me, assessing, appraising. It’s a look that chills even as my skin still burns from Levi’s touch. I’m caught in an unsteady limbo between desire and the dawning realization that something here isn’t as it should be.
Levi shifts slightly, and I sense him looking at the woman, his silence now thunderous in my ears. My fingers, once knotted in his hair, now hover uncertainly in the air between us. The moment stretches, taut as a wire—and I’m waiting for it to snap.
Levi’s voice breaks through the tension, a low rumble that sends another shiver down my spine. “Portia, I didn’t expect you this early.”
Portia doesn’t blink, her cool demeanor unshaken as she steps further into the room, the click of her heels like punctuation marks to the sudden silence. “I’m full of surprises,” she says, and there’s a laugh in her voice, light and mocking.
My heart trips over itself. Portia—her name is as sleek and powerful as she is. And she owns it, owns this moment with the easy grace of someone who’s used to getting what she wants.
“Isn’t she cute?” Portia’s words slither toward me as she saunters closer, her gaze locking onto mine. I feel like prey, like something small and insignificant under the scrutiny of those piercing eyes. “So…innocent.”
That word, from her lips, feels like a barb. Innocent? Me? The heat of Levi’s body still burns against my skin, a vivid reminder of just how not innocent I was seconds ago. Confusion knots inside me, tight and painful.
“Very,” Levi answers, but he doesn’t look at me, doesn’t defend or claim. His eyes are on Portia, and I feel the shift in the air, the change in gravity as his attention moves. It’s palpable, the connection between them, and I’m suddenly an outsider, scrambling for purchase in a scene that’s slipping away from me.
Portia’s smile widens as she stands beside me.
“Levi knows I don’t mind sharing.” Her words carve out a hollow space within me.
She’s marking her territory, claiming him with her presence, her confidence, her insinuating words. And I—caught in the cross fire of their silent conversation—am nothing more than collateral damage.
My fingers still tingle where they clung to Levi, but now there’s a cold void as he steps away, his focus all on Portia. “You don’t need to explain anything to her,” he says, his voice a blade slicing through the last thread of whatever this was between us. “She doesn’t mean anything.”
The words sting, a slap across my face. I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks, burning with humiliation and something fiercer—an ember of anger that wasn’t there before.
“Nothing, huh?” I scoff, yanking my bag from the floor with more force than necessary. The contents jumble inside, a chaotic mess matching the turmoil he’s tossed me into. But I won’t let him see that, won’t give him the satisfaction.
“Good to know where we stand, Professor.” The title is a venomous dart, poisoned with sarcasm. I sling the strap over my shoulder, the weight grounding me, anchoring the swirling emotions long enough for me to take a step toward the door.
I don’t look back, not at Levi, not at Portia with her smug smirk. The door swings shut behind me, the click of it final, like the period at the end of a sentence. And just like that, I’m out of their orbit, the classroom, and whatever game they’re playing. It’s just me, my quick breaths, and the echo of my heels against the hallway tiles—an anthem of one woman walking away.
The ladies’ room door swings open at my push, and I’m face-to-face with my reflection. My cheeks are flushed, eyes bright with unshed tears, but there’s a spark there too—determination.
“Next class,” I whisper to the girl in the mirror, steadying my voice. “You’ve got this.”
I smooth down my blouse, pinch my cheeks for color, and swipe a thumb under each eye to catch any traitorous tear that might think to escape.
This complication won’t define me. Levi Griffin doesn’t get to unravel Brielle Rose.
17
BRIELLE
“Yep, I look hot,” Callie announces from the bathroom.
I zip up the side of a slinky black dress. Callie moves back in, sprawling across my bed, her legs folded beneath her, skepticism painting her features.
“A party, Bri?” she drawls, one eyebrow arching high. “I can’t believe you agreed to this.”
“Me neither.” I catch her gaze in the mirror, a spark of rebellion flickering inside me. “Tonight’s about breaking the mold, Cal. Just feeling the pulse of something fresh, you know? Since I’ve been back, I just feel like…” I trail off, not knowing how to explain it.
