Page 12 of Lessons in Cruelty

Jeez, how long did I zone out for?

“Good. Class dismissed.” Rooke flicks his fingers toward the door, a wry smile on his lips. “Now get the hell out of my sight.”

Students pause to put away their laptops or speak to a classmate, but most head straight for the door. Kai is already on his phone, a deep eleven between his brows. I stand, my notepad smothered against my chest. The redhead nods at me before she leaves, and I quickly turn to follow her.

“A moment please, Miss.”

I freeze in my tracks when I realize Professor Rooke is speaking to me. When I glance over my shoulder, his eyebrows twitch up as he drops his chin. “Yes. You.”

I glance at Kai. His smirk has just doubled in size.

Fuck.

What are the chances there’s a fault line right below this building that can open up and swallow me whole?

Chapter 4

Kai

Little Miss Heavenly.

I’ve jerked off to the memory of her tears more times than I can count. Now Haven Lee is back, and I get to make new ones.

Aw, look at that. She bought a little notepad and everything, just like a real college girl.

But she’s not. She’s here on a grant. A fucking charity case.

She hasn’t earned this. Not like I have.

I spent my summers being tutored, writing mock SAT exams until I dreamt about them in my sleep, getting migraines because I spent all day staring at a laptop.

What was Haven doing?

Fuck knows, because she pissed off out of Agony Hollow the moment things stopped going her way. From what I heard, she’s equal parts train wreck and town bicycle.

How the hell did she get the grant anyway?

Sure, the Haven I knew wasn’t an idiot. But she was much too busy dreaming about wedding dresses and romantic shacks at the beach to care about education. She almost got held back a year in middle school because of her grades.

She doesn’t belong here. Definitely doesn’t deserve to be here.

Absurdly high admission fees gatekeep this institution for a reason. This college isn’t for losers like her. Agony Hollow nurtures visionaries and leaders, the top one percent of the one percent.

Haven is the mud I scrape off my Balenciaga sneakers after my morning run.

The childish, slutty mud I⁠—

“You must be my scholarship student, Miss Lee.” Rooke’s smooth voice cuts off the thought.

“Yup!” she bleats.

I pretend to be busy on my phone as I watch them with sadistic glee. Rooke watches Haven reluctantly approach, his expression calm and benevolent. Haven’s cheeks are flushed, eyelashes trembling. She’s flustered. Panicked. Like she doesn’t know if she should run, or get on her knees.

If I was still her friend, I’d tell her not to sweat it. It’s just the Rooke Effect kicking in.

Rooke crosses his arms over his chest. “You’re aware that maintaining a B average in my class is a condition of your funding?”

“Yup.”