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I blinked.

It wasn't my imagination. She was actually standing there, staring down at me.

Unease spread through me.

I hadn't forgotten the phone call from a few weeks ago.

“What does she want from you?” asked Nash, who had noticed that I was still holding his car door open and staring up at the co-director like a piece of toast forgotten in the toaster.

I slammed the door shut and shrugged at him.

“To be honest, I don't even want to know.”

With these words, which sounded far too casual, I walked away from the Copelands and hurried across campus toward the east wing.

I was way too late because Nash's friends had had a muddy race through the woods. The jeeps looked accordingly. So did the collar of my white blouse and the navy-blue sweater vest of my uniform, because one of the blueberry muffins that Alarik had kindly baked for us that morning had been pressed against my clothes when Nash had slammed on the brakes.

With a sigh, I glanced up discreetly at the large window once more. Harlow had disappeared.

Lost in thought, I shook my head and entered the corridor that would take me to my philosophy history lecture.

Suddenly, sharp nails dug into my upper arm, and I was dragged into a dimly lit side corridor.

“I've finally got you!” a voice all too familiar to me hissed, and shock spread through me. “Gloria will be pleased.”

Rebecca Harlow pulled me along the hallway.

I tried to think clearly, to break free, but the harder I pulled, the tighter her killer grip became.

“What the hell?!” I gasped, looking around to see if anyone was coming, but the hallway was completely deserted. “Let go of me!”

“Don't think I don't know you're up to something, Miss Adams! You and Alaister Westcode's incompetent daughter!”

I stared at her in disbelief as she continued to drag me along.

“Let go of the girl!” a firm male voice called out behind us.

The Madame quickened her pace, but she was too slow. Our pursuer caught up with us – in what felt like the speed of light – and came to a threatening halt in front of her, causing her to stop, gasping for breath.

When I realized who it was, I couldn't help but swallow hard.

What was he doing here?

Had he been lying in wait for me too? Or was he here because of his own family?

“You!”

The Madame glared at Bastien and took a step back, her nails still digging into my arm, and as I grimaced in pain, Bastien pulled me away from her and positioned himself in front of me, so that I could just see Harlow’s dissatisfied expression.

“I'll give you one minute to leave this corridor. If you haven't left by then, I'll have the DUIO file a complaint against you for inappropriate physical contact with students and for assault.”

My jaw dropped.

Harlow narrowed her eyes.

I didn't know if Bastien could really do something like that, but ever since Larissa had told me that the DeLoughreys worked with the secret service and the best lawyers in New York, Washington D.C., and Toronto, I believed these crazy rich people were capable of anything.

“I have video footage, Miss Harlow,” he continued. “And it may be that Alaister Westcode's daughter won't take any legal action against you, but the DUIO units are ready to intervene at any time.”