“Lillian?” Khalifa stood a few feet away, holding out my phone. “You forgot this.”
“Oh. Thanks.”
His eyes bounced back and forth between us. “What’s going on?”
Malik grinned, vain and unbothered. “Just catching up.”
Khalifa’s tone dropped an octave. “You’re not classmates anymore. There’s nothing for you to catch up on.”
“I’m going to go,” I said quickly, grabbing my phone. My heart was pounding too loud, too messy.
“Wait,” he murmured, cutting a glance toward Malik again before pivoting his attention back to me. His lips moved inaudibly, “Are you okay?”
I forced a small smile, something light and dismissive that saidI’m fine, nothing to see here.He didn’t look convinced. Not even a little. His gaze lingered, and I wondered if he could read the slashes Malik’s words had carved into me, if he could smell the faint smoke of the wreckage Malik had left behind only moments before, still drifting through the air. Was it obvious? Had something in me been marked beyond hiding—my skin somehow tainted, my presence spoiled, the label my mother stamped on me years ago burning itself into my forehead like a bright redScarlet A?
It was ironic, almost cruel, that Malik and my mother believed they knew me, when in truth neither had bothered to scratch past the surface long enough to catch even the faintest glimpse of who I really was.
Khalifa finally nodded, ready to head to his office, when Malik chuckled, stopping him mid-step. He turned back with no warning, no hesitation, and offered one clean, effortless punch that sent Malik stumbling into the wall. Then he adjusted his jacket smoothly, like the whole thing had been a trivial inconvenience, and walked away without another word.
For a second, all I could do was stare—half-shocked, half-mortified, and, annoyingly, a little impressed. The man had justcommitted mild assault in a tweed blazer, and I’d never found him more attractive.
Malik moaned, rubbing his jaw, and I let a snicker slip through. “Yousodeserved that. Only tragic part is that I didn’t get to do that myself, asshole.” One swift kick sent his briefcase skating across the hall, dumping papers, pens, and whatever else he deemed essential flying in every direction. I crouched beside his sprawled form, limbs akimbo, looking like a rejected mannequin. “And for the record? I’m pretty, smart,andway out of your pathetic league.”
The entire drive back to work, my pulse still hadn’t caught up with me. It was stuck at the university—somewhere between his lecture, the way he’d looked at me before pretending he hadn’t, and the part where he threw a right hook without breaking a sweat.
I pushed the entrance too hard, the handle clattering against the wall. Kevin nearly choked on his yogurt.
“Follow me,” I demanded, already making a beeline toward my office.
He hesitated, spoon halfway to his mouth. “Uh, is this—?”
“Now, Kevin.”
He scrambled up, clutching the spoon like he might need it for self-defense, and followed me in. I started pacing, trying to breathe past the hammering in my chest.
Kevin stood stiffly near my desk, wide-eyed. “Is this about Mrs. Henderson?” he asked slowly, hands raised. “Because I swear—”
“It’s not about Mrs. Henderson!” I snapped. “I have a huge problem, Kevin. Monumental.Catastrophic.”
“Okay. Catastrophic sounds bad. But you’re saying it calmly enough that maybe it’s fixable?”
I stopped pacing and faced him. “I think I have feelings for my husband.”
Chapter Fifteen
THE ONLY SOUND IN THEroom was the faint buzz of the air conditioner and my own impending humiliation.
Kevin blinked. “I’m sorry, you mean yourhusbandhusband?”
“Yes, Kevin,” I hissed. “Thathusband.”
He looked confused. “That’s...good, right? For, you know,marriedpeople?”
I stared at him, my voice dropping to a whisper. “Not when it’s fake.”
“I’m sorry—what?”
“The marriage,” I said, throwing my hands up. “It’s not real. It’s an arrangement. A contract. A mutual...convenience thing.”
