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All the joy leaches from his expression, leaving him staring at me, wide-eyed.
“Sorry,” he mutters.
I shake my head. “Forget it.”
This time, when I walk away, Veer doesn’t follow or say another word.
That comment was really shitty. I would never begrudge anyone for having more money than me or even a better life, but what happened between us in the first year still festers like an infected wound.
I need to retreat, get my head straight, and shake off this resentment if I’m ever going to be presentable enough to find work.
If I didn’t realize it before, I sure as hell know that relying on someone to take care of me is just begging for disappointment.
ChapterThirty-Nine
MARIUS
I lean against the closed door and scowl at the conversation taking place in the hallway. Phoenix knows better not to drop hints to a girl like Thalia Grace, but there’s no telling how she will react when upset.
Guilt burrows through my gut, gnawing a path of regret through my insides and leaving me empty.
I finally found someone who fits me perfectly—one whose company I enjoy both in and out of the playroom, and now she’s gone.
My anger burns at a low simmer. Too many barriers stand between us. Both life-ruining and deadly.
It’s better to end things this way. Phoenix can continue her degree without getting caught and expelled or used as leverage in one of my father’s sick games.
A knock sounds on the door. It’s either Miss Grace, Dr. Xander, or any one of the annoying bastards who can’t seem to get a hint that their presence is unwanted.
The second knock adds lighter fluid to the fury already burning through my veins.
I fling the door open, ready to tear into the asshole, when it’s someone completely unexpected. My employer, who looks on the verge of having a heart attack.
“Dean Westmore?” I ask, the anger lessening to a background flicker.
The old man mops his brow with an oversized handkerchief. I’m almost certain that he’s been blackmailed or coerced into leaving academia to manage Marina University because there’s no other reason why someone as well-respected as Dean Westmore would leave a prestigious institution like King’s College.
Finally, he says, “I’m sorry to interrupt your day, professor, but the matter is related to our founders.”
“What is it?”
“His nephew made a disturbing phone call about not wanting to continue his studies.”
My back stiffens. As far as I know, the only founder whose relative seems so disinterested in learning is the one I want to exchange for Mother’s freedom.
“Who is the student in question?” I ask, keeping my tones measured.
“Mr. Veer Bestlasson.” The dean shuffles on his feet, unable to meet my gaze.
My eyes narrow. “If you’ve come to request that I talk to the boy or single him out for special attention—”
“No, no, no.” He raises both hands.
“Then what?”
“His father and uncle would like a brief report on his progress.”
“You realize I haven’t been here long enough to know all my students,” I say because it’s technically true.
