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But to my surprise, there are none.
Zero emails carrying her name.
This doesn’t make any sense because I can see he definitely emails about his other students.
Did he delete them so no one would find any evidence?
My eyes momentarily skitter away to the notes on his desk, but they fixate on a particular small stack of papers inside a box. Because it’s yellow, same color as the paper tucked underneath my door.
I grab one and feel it.
Same texture too.
On the corner of the desk lies a book with personal notes, and curiosity forces me to open it. His handwriting is all over each date, outlining all of his business for the rest of the year.
But what strikes me the most is the letters and the way they’re written. The loop on the E and the curl at the bottom of the letter F …
I fish out my phone and find the photo I took of the note shoved under my door, and my hand begins to quake.
It’s the same.
The same handwriting.
The same paper. The same color. The same texture.
My heart skips a beat.
It came from here.
Did Dylan’s father threaten me?
But that doesn’t make any sense. He’s the dean. Why would he stoop so low as to get multiple students to shove notes underneath one girl’s door when he could just call her into his office and talk to her? He has all the power. He could kick me out of this school any time he wanted. I don’t understand.
Suddenly, the door slams open, and I stare right into the eyes of the man whose office I’ve raided.
“You,” he asks, his voice accusatory. “What are you doing here?”
“Waiting for you,” I reply.
It’s part lie, part truth. Even though I hate to even look at this man, I need to know the truth.
He puts his briefcase on the table next to the door. “You broke into my office?”
“Your door was open,” I retort as I get up from his seat.
“Impossible,” he scoffs.
I shrug.
“You realize it’s illegal to barge into my office, right?” He narrows his eyes as he takes off his coat like he’s about to get busy with work. “I could expel you just for the audacity.”
I cross my arms. “Is that what you threatened my sister with?”
He pauses while hanging his coat and stares me in the eyes.
“Yeah, I know about your little ‘talk’ right before the bonfire.” I make air quotes with my fingers.
His nostrils twitch as he approaches the desk, but I’m not afraid of him or the consequences of being here. Because if even an inch of it is true, he’s in deeper shit than I am.
“Tell me, what do you think it is you know?” he mutters, approaching the desk.
I grab one of the yellow papers off his desk and hold it up. “Someone pushed a note underneath my door. The same paper.”
He snorts. “What does that have to do with anything? There’s a ton of this kind of paper on the market.”
“Your handwriting was on it.”
His pupils dilate, and he leans in. “Listen here, I don’t know what you’ve got into your head, but—”
I hold up my phone and show him the picture of the note.
He can’t deny it now.
“You sent some fucking students to send me a threat.”
He snorts. “Ridiculous.”
“No wonder he wouldn’t tell us,” I snarl. “Why?”
The dean suddenly slams his fist onto the desk. “This is my office. Do you hear me? Get. Out.”
I stare right back at him, determined not to budge even an inch. “No. What did you tell my sister?” I interject. “I have a right to know.”
A wicked smirk forms on his face, and it’s the first time I see Dylan in him. But this smile … it’s far more sinister than Dylan could ever be.
“You’re just as meddlesome as she was. Always up in everyone’s business where you don’t belong,” he seethes.
“So you admit you made Nathan put that note under my door,” I growl.
“I told my son he shouldn’t involve himself with the likes of you, and now look at what you’ve done—breaking into my office like you own the fucking place,” he retorts.
“Answer me,” I say.
“Or what? You gonna threaten me with that little knife of yours?”
My eyes flicker.
How? When? Where?
“Yeah, I’ve seen you toy around with that thing,” he scoffs. “You’re a child. You have no clue how dangerous that is.”
“What are you talking about?” I mutter.
His eyes darken in a terrifying manner. “My son is not your fucking plaything,” he grates, slamming both hands onto the desk now. “You are a threat to him. Just like your fucking sister.”
My face tightens as I lean in, almost crushing my phone in my hand. “Is that why you sent that note?”
“Stay. Away. From. Him,” he reiterates.
I stand up straight, unable to keep my emotions from taking over. “She jumped because of you.”
