And this time, I wasn’t letting her fucking disappear without a fight.
My name opened doors. It always had. I had never needed to demand it, and I took no pleasure in the deference that followed reputation, yet years of work had built something people found difficult to ignore. Publications, conferences, research projects that moved through academic circles faster than I ever meant them to. By the time I contacted the rector of Ashcroft University, the conversation had already shifted in my favor before I finished introducing myself.
He sounded surprised at first, confused in the careful way administrators try to hide behind courtesy.
“Professor Stone,” he said during our call, the faint clink of a teacup reaching through the speaker, “I must admit this is unexpected. You have an exceptionally established position already. What brings you to a private university in London?”
I gave him the explanation I had prepared before making the call, speaking of academic collaboration, international engagement, and the chance to expand research initiatives through broader connections. It sounded convincing, even if it came nowhere close to the real reason.
My name still carried weight in the right circles, and Ashcroft moved faster than I expected. Universities rarely hesitate when a scholar arrives with funding, influence, and a reputation polished for every official announcement. By the end of the day, the position was mine.
Dean of the Faculty.
They called it temporary at first, although both of us understood how easily temporary arrangements in academia become permanent once the right people approve them. That decision brought me exactly where I had meant to be since yesterday, behind the dean’s desk, waiting for the one person who had made London impossible to leave.
The moment the door opened, Edwina stepped inside my office and the air changed immediately. Her breath caught before she could hide it. The reaction was subtle, easy for anyone else to miss, but I had spent too much time studying her once to overlook the smallest shift in her composure. The calm authority she carried during her lecture yesterday vanished for a fraction of a second, replaced by something raw and startled.
Shock suited her less than confidence. Still, I could not deny the satisfaction that moved through me.
Her eyes scanned the room quickly, as though she expected the scene to rearrange itself into a more reasonable shape if she kept looking.
It did not.
“Professor Rhodes,” I said calmly.
Her gaze snapped back to mine. The silence stretched between us. Then the disbelief surfaced.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
The words left her mouth before she could restrain them, sharp and incredulous in a way that might have amused me under different circumstances.
I leaned back slightly in the chair, studying her expression with open interest.
“What kind of greeting is that?” I asked.
She did not smile. Her eyes narrowed.
“Answer the question.”
I allowed the tension to linger for another second before replying.
“I came to continue where we stopped,” I said.
The name followed naturally, slipping into the space between us with the same familiarity it always carried.
“My little Flare.”
Her reaction was immediate.
“Don’t,” she snapped.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t call me that.”
I leaned forward slightly, resting my arms on the desk.
“Why not?”
