Chapter 2 I sent Alex away with steady hands and a voice that didn't crack. "I need to prepare for tomorrow's seminar," I told him, watching relief wash over his face as he clutched at this lifeline of normalcy. The door clicked shut. I stood in my apartment's silence, then walked to my bedroom mirror and studied the woman staring back. Not a victim. Never a victim. Not in a world where Rachel Clark had probably forwarded those photos to half of Columbia by now. Sleep didn't come. Instead, I lay awake constructing armor from silk and confidence, rehearsing the role I'd play when dawn broke. By 5 AM, I was in my bathroom, transforming myself with the precision of a general preparing for war. The dress was new-purchased two weeks ago in a moment of rebellion I hadn't understood until now. Burgundy silk that hugged curves Alex had never properly appreciated, a neckline that suggested rather than revealed, hemline that made walking an intentional act. Armor, yes-but today it's also a weapon. I want to feel my pulse in places he never reached. I want proof my body belongs to me. I paired it with the Louboutins my mother had sent for my birthday, the ones Alex called "excessive." Emma nearly dropped her coffee when I emerged from my room. "Holy shit, Ruby." My roommate's eyes widened with appreciation. "You look-" "Like I'm not hiding?" I grabbed my own mug, inhaling the steam. "Like you're hunting." Emma grinned, her law student instincts sharp as ever. "Whoever he is, he doesn't stand a chance." "Maybe there's just me... and the possibility of feeling something." I let the lie sit, warm and dangerous. "Right. And that dress is not for Strategic Management with Professor Green." Emma's knowing smile made me pause. "The entire campus knows he's impossible to get. Even Sophia Dunn-you know, the grad student with the modeling contract-struck out spectacularly last semester." "I'm not trying to seduce our professor, Emma." "Of course not." She grabbed her bag, heading for the door. "But if you were, that dress would be admissible as a deadly weapon." The walk to campus usually calmed me-through Morningside Heights' tree-lined streets, past the coffee shops already brewing their morning rush. Today, each step felt like stepping onto a stage. By my third lecture, I was nauseated from the weight of eyes tracking my every movement. Whispers followed me through hallways like smoke. "-heard it was Jessica Martinez-" "-in the bathroom at Brass Monkey-" "-poor Ruby, but honestly, Alex was always-" I kept my spine straight, my smile serene, performing indifference with such commitment that I almost believed it myself. Let them look. Let them whisper. They expected to see Ruby Pearson shattered. Instead, they got something else entirely. Then Strategic Management arrived, and Professor Aiden Green walked in. The room's atmospheric pressure shifted. It always did when he entered-like gravity had suddenly remembered it had a job to do. Six feet of controlled power in a charcoal suit that had been tailored by someone who understood the assignment. Dark hair that looked professionally tousled, as if he'd run his hands through it while solving complex theorems. "Good morning, future titans of industry." His voice carried that particular blend of sarcasm and authority that made half the class want to impress him and the other half want to challenge him. "Today we're discussing hostile takeovers. How appropriate for a Tuesday." He moved through his lecture like a predator teaching prey how to hunt-controlled, precise, devastating when he wanted to be. He dissected case studies with surgical precision, his questions designed to expose weak thinking. "Mr. Davidson," he called on a boy who'd been staring at me instead of his notes. "Explain the poison pill defense strategy." Davidson fumbled. Professor Green's expression didn't change, but something in his eyes sharpened. "Perhaps if you focused on the material instead of Miss Pearson's outfit, you'd have an answer." The room went silent. Heat flooded my cheeks, but I kept my eyes on my laptop screen. "Though I admit," he continued, his tone shifting to something more dangerous, "Miss Pearson does seem particularly... focused today." I looked up then, meeting his gaze directly. His eyes-green like his name, how ridiculously perfect-held mine for a beat too long. Something electric passed between us, unspoken but unmistakable. Maybe this is what revenge looks like on me: not destruction-awakening. The audacity of what I was considering curved my mouth into a smile I couldn't stop. Of course he noticed. "Miss Pearson." My name on his lips felt like a challenge. "Since you seem so engaged today, perhaps you can explain the Williams Act provisions for tender offers." I stood slowly, aware of every eye in the room. "The Williams Act requires any entity acquiring more than 5% of a company's stock to disclose their intentions within ten days. It's designed to protect shareholders from predatory tactics by ensuring transparency in hostile takeover attempts." "And the implications for defensive strategies?" "It levels the playing field." I kept my voice steady, professional, but let my eyes hold his. "Forces the aggressor to show their hand early. Though sometimes..." I paused, tilting my head slightly, "the best defense is making yourself too dangerous to acquire." Silence. Then a slow smile spread across his face-not the practiced one he used for teaching, but something more genuine and infinitely more dangerous. "Excellent analysis, Miss Pearson." He turned back to the board, but not before I caught the interested gleam in his eyes. "Though I'd argue that making yourself dangerous only works if you're willing to follow through on the threat." My pulse trips. Follow through. The words land lower than they should, heat pooling where I've been numb. I want to know what wanting feels like without apologizing for it. I winked at him. Actually winked. In front of forty students. The marker in his hand stilled against the whiteboard. He watched me for another moment, then continued his lecture. But I felt his attention return to me throughout the class, like heat from a spotlight I couldn't escape. When the lecture ended, students filtered out quickly, eager to dissect what they'd witnessed. I took my time packing up, knowing he was waiting. "Miss Pearson." He lounged against his desk, arms crossed, an almost lazy grin playing at his lips. "Stay back a moment." I approached slowly, stopping just outside of appropriate distance. "Yes, Professor?" "Strong wink." His eyes danced with amusement. "Not in the syllabus, but I admire the confidence." "I didn't hear anything particularly new today," I said, playing dumb but cheeky. "So I figured we were operating on the same level." He actually laughed-a rich sound that did unfortunate things to my composure. "Ambitious. Last I checked, your student ID doesn't say 'Professor.'" "Good thing I'm not after a title." I adjusted my bag strap, letting the movement draw his attention to the dress Emma had called a weapon. "I want something else." "Mysterious." His eyebrow lifted, intrigue replacing amusement. "Should I be flattered or concerned?" "Both." I smoothed my bag strap again, a deliberate gesture. "Have a good day, Professor Green." I turned and walked toward the door, forcing myself not to look back even though I felt his gaze burning into me. "You too, Miss Pearson," he called after me, his voice carrying that dangerous edge of sarcasm. "And try to keep your extra credit attempts out of the front row. It's distracting to the other students." "Only the other students?" I paused at the door, looking back over my shoulder. His smile was pure predator now. "Get out of my classroom, Ruby." But the way he said my name-my first name, not Miss Pearson-told me everything I needed to know. If there's a version of me that wakes up here, I won't apologize for her.