“Now that you’re being propped up with Asta, and her fortune of course, I doubt your apprenticeship is going to continue being all that important to you. But the public scandal of fucking a student?”
A flash brightens his eyes, like flares, and that jaw tenses so tight that his teeth might shatter.
“That might upset Mr Ström. And Asta. And then, maybe, you’re fired? Which is a whole other PR nightmare that could have all sorts of knock-on effects in your life.” My smile is full of malice. “Reputation is very important in our world, Eric.”
His throat bobs with a swallow, like he’s downing vicious words before he can fire them at me.
“Not too high.” I point my finger at him. “We want my grades to still be within the realm of believability.”
I sling the bag strap over my shoulder and turn my back on him.
I make it one step towards the door when Eric’s voice snakes up behind me—
“You and him are right for each other.”
My steps pause.
“I used to feel sorry for you. I thought you were kind of sweet, actually. But you and him are the same.”
Ihmpha noise that’s nothing less than ‘whatever’ and leave him to sit in the dim light, alone.
There’s not so much as an ounce of regret in me as I stalk through the corridors, back to the main staircase.
I am absolute in the things I said to him.
My mind was a whirl of chaos for my return to Bluestone this semester, but day by day, I’ve peeled threads apart from the knotted mess, and I’ve understood more and more with each bit of untangling done.
Eric is one of those threads.
His motivations were so clear.
‘A lot of people around here think that… We expected that Dray would chase your contract.’
He knew then what I didn’t.
Dray wanted me.
He knew then that Dray went after those who pursued me.
But he also knew that Dray didn’t go easy on me.
Eric pushed me to join him in playing an innocent game of snowmen—but under Dray’s nose, under Asta’s nose, and he used that moment to his advantage.
All this time, he’s been playing me.
Eric just never thought I would figure it out.
I have the fleeting wonder if I’m the fool in everyone’s story, because it sure seems that way.
My cheeks swell with a violent huff, one so fierce that it billows the loose strands of hair around my face.
My ponytail bobs and sways and rattles with my determined steps down the final corridor—
And I falter.
Because at the end of the corridor, in the light of the landing between staircases, there he is.
Waiting.
