“He uses the same playbook everywhere he goes.” I lower the ice pack, letting them see the full extent of the bruising. “He frames compliance as professionalism. Presents restraint as virtue. And he justifies crossing every boundary because of my secondary designation.”
Emily’s jaw tightens at this, a small muscle jumping near her temple. Her fingers curl tighter around each other on the table.
“He never starts with physical confrontation,” I continue, pressing on while my courage holds. “First, it’s meetings that run late. Small comments about my clothing. Questions about my personal relationships framed as professional concern.”
The bandages on my hands draw my eye, a stark reminder that I didn’t fight back. I never even considered it, and shame fills me at the realization.
Iusedto fight back. When did I become soweak?
“The first time he touched me was three months after I started at Westbrook. It started slowly, with his hand on my shoulder or elbow, always testing to see how long before I objected. When I moved away, he’d call it oversensitivity.”
My fingers tap the side of my glass, counting out the rhythm of memories I’ve kept buried. “By month six, he’d escalated to standing in doorways, so I had to brush past him to leave rooms.”
Jared’s hand curls into a fist on the table, knuckles white with pressure. His scent changes, salt air turning stormy as anger builds in him. But he remains silent, letting me speak.
“I tried managing it without escalation,” I admit, the shame of it burning my throat. “Scheduled classes during his administrative meetings. Kept my classroom door open. Never stayed after hours if he was in the building.”
Grady shifts in his chair, leaning forward. The notepad beside him remains untouched, though I know he wants to document every word. His restraint speaks volumes.
“When that didn’t work, I started missing faculty gatherings. Ate lunch in my car. Declined mentorship opportunities. Isolated myself from colleagues who supported him.” The words come faster now, a dam breaking after years of keeping it all in. “I believed he would lose interest if I kept my head down.”
I draw a slow breath through my nose. “But Carson doesn’t lose interest in things he considers unfinished.”
Mixie appears in the archway but doesn’t continue forward. Instead, she stares from a distance, sensing the tension filling the room.
I stare back, because it’s easier than facing them when I say, “At the end of my first year at Westbrook, he started changing the narrative.”
Emily’s nostrils flare, taking in my pheromones. What does she smell? Fear? Regret? The bitter residue of surrender? I can’t control it, can’t mask it anymore as the truth bleeds through every pore now.
“How?” she asks.
I trace a ring of condensation on my whiskey glass. “He stopped criticizing me in public, and I thought maybe I had misunderstood his intentions. That he was stern, but well-intentioned.”
Jared sets his untouched water glass back on its coaster and tugs at the sleeve of his shirt.
I shift in my chair. “He began introducing me differently at faculty meetings, not as ‘his project’ anymore.” Raindrops slide down the windowpane in slow rivulets. “I had become someone he wasinvesting in.”
Grady’s pen poises over his notebook. “Go on.”
The clock on the mantelpiece ticks steadily. “He told the administrators I had potential. That Omegas in education often struggle without the right Alpha guidance.”
Emily presses her fingertips against the wooden tabletop. “And he volunteered to be that guidance.”
“For a while, it worked.” I focus on the glass of whiskey. “My evaluations improved. Parents stopped questioning my authority. If someone raised a concern, Carson shut it down before it spread.”
Jared exhales through his nose, the sound almost drowned by the wind outside.
I reach for my glass again. “Then he warned me that the rumors about my temperament would return.”
Emily’s knuckles whiten on the table’s edge. “Unless?”
I lift my eyes to hers. “Unless we formalized the relationship everyone already assumed.”
Grady taps his pen on his notebook. “You mean?—”
“A courtship.” The single word falls like ash across the table.
“He framed it as practical,” I continue, staring at the amber liquid swirling in my glass. “Two professionals aligning reputations would offer stability for faculty and students alike. He said it’d remove the perception that I was an Omega without guidance.”
