Chapter 26 Sep 17, 2025 James stepped fully into the room, his "Hello, Ruby" casual enough to suggest nothing unusual had transpired. His eyes tracked between Aiden and me once before settling on neutral territory-the whiteboard still covered in hostile takeover strategies. "Sarah Mitchell will be here in about thirty seconds," he announced, checking his watch with theatrical precision. "Department head meeting about the Singapore exchange program. She's in rare form today-already eviscerated two tenure applications before noon." Dr. Mitchell appeared in the doorway as if summoned by her name. Her entrance changed the room's molecular structure-suddenly everything snapped into sharper focus. Gray suit sharp as a blade, silver hair pulled into a bun that could cut glass, she swept the space with the clinical efficiency of someone who'd spent decades reading scenes most people missed. Her eyes catalogued everything: the distance between Aiden and me, my flushed face, his too-perfect composure. "Professor Green." Her voice carried the kind of authority that made grown men remember detention. "Miss Pearson." The pivot came to me like breathing-muscle memory from a lifetime of performing for authority figures. My spine straightened, my smile warmed to exactly the right temperature of respectful enthusiasm. "Dr. Mitchell, how wonderful to see you." The words flowed like honey over broken glass. "Professor Green was just clarifying his points from last Thursday's Strategy Lab session. The discussion on regulatory capture was fascinating, but I missed some of the nuances about the Delaware courts' evolving stance." I had no idea what Thursday's topic had been. The lie constructed itself from fragments-legal terminology Emma had mentioned, Aiden's usual themes, educated guesswork delivered with conviction. "The way you framed the central paradox really illuminated the whole issue," I continued, gathering my things with unhurried grace. "How regulatory bodies designed to protect markets end up protecting market leaders instead. Brilliant." Mitchell's expression remained unreadable, but something shifted-a degree less suspicion, perhaps. "Thursday's session was well-attended, I heard. Several faculty members mentioned it." "It always is when Professor Green leads," I said, moving toward the door with calculated casualness. "His ability to make complex theory accessible is why his classes fill within minutes of registration opening." "Indeed." Mitchell's tone could have meant anything. "Thank you again for your time, Professor Green." I met his eyes briefly, professionally, as if we hadn't just been devouring each other against his desk. "Your insights are invaluable." "My door is always open to dedicated students," he replied smoothly, the irony apparent to no one but us. I escaped into the hallway, my heartbeat thundering loud enough that I was certain Mitchell could hear it through the walls. My heels clicked against marble in a rhythm that sounded like running even though I forced myself to walk. * * * The bathroom mirror reflected someone I barely recognized-lips swollen, cheeks flushed, the careful composure I'd worn like armor completely shattered. I splashed cold water on my face, tried to reassemble the pieces of the girl who hadn't just nearly destroyed two careers with a badly-timed kiss. An hour crawled by. Then another. My phone remained silent, and the absence of Aiden's words felt like held breath. Finally, I cracked. Me: I'm sorry. That was reckless and unfair to you. The situation I created could have ruined everything. The response didn't arrive until nearly nine o'clock, when I'd given up checking my phone every thirty seconds. Aiden: Stop apologizing for my choices. I kissed you back. I always kiss you back. That's on me. Again Aiden: We should talk tomorrow. In my office. Before I could respond, the apartment door opened with the particular exhaustion that meant Alex had survived another family business meeting. He dropped onto the sofa beside me, his groan reverberating through the cushions. "And it's only Monday," he said, loosening his tie like it was strangling him. "I swear these board meetings get longer every quarter. My father spent forty minutes debating bathroom tile selections for the London property." "Bathroom tiles?" I set my phone aside, screen down. "That seems excessive even for Whitmore standards." "Everything's excessive with Whitmore standards." He pulled me against him, his arm heavy across my shoulders. "Want to escape? Drive along the river, get those overpriced hot chocolates from the place that puts actual gold flakes in them? I need to see something that isn't a spreadsheet." "Yes," I said, grateful for the promise of ordinary motion, of Alex's uncomplicated presence after the day's near-disaster. "Let's be excessive about hot chocolate instead." His BMW purred through empty streets, the late hour keeping most sensible people indoors. We found the riverside drive mostly deserted, city lights fracturing across black water. Steam from our drinks fogged the windows, creating a cocoon that felt separate from the world's watching eyes. "The weirdest thing happened today," Alex said, his hands relaxed on the wheel as we cruised past shuttered boats. "Remember that girl? The one who needed help with my article?" My body tensed before I could stop it. "The one with the legs?" "That's cruel." But he smiled. "Though accurate. She asked me to meet her at the library again. Said she still needed help with the mathematical proofs." The jealousy arrived sharp and immediate, possessive in a way that surprised me. "And?" "I told her I couldn't. Made it clear-studying buddies, professional boundaries, non-negotiable lines." He glanced at me, something satisfied in his expression. "She won't even look at me now. Crosses the hallway when she sees me coming." "You're proud of that." Not a question-I could read it on the set of his shoulders. "I'm proud of choosing us." His hand found my knee, thumb tracing circles through denim. "Of proving people can change. That I can be better than my mistakes." "She must be disappointed," I said, the words carrying more edge than intended. "To be shut down so definitively." Alex pulled into an overlook, the river spreading before us like spilled oil. He turned to face me fully, and something predatory flickered across his features-not the careful, considerate expression he usually wore, but something rawer. "Jealous?" The word carried heat. "Should I be?" "Tell me." He leaned closer, his voice dropping to that register I'd rediscovered over the weekend. "Tell me why she thought she had a chance. What did she see that made her think I'd cross that line?" "You're Alexander Whitmore," I said, my breath catching as he moved closer. "Heir to an empire, gorgeous enough to make smart women stupid, wearing suits that cost more than most people's rent. Of course she fell for you." His smile turned dangerous. "Why?" But he didn't wait for an answer. His mouth crashed into mine with the kind of hunger that had been missing for months before last weekend. The kiss felt like possession and question simultaneously-claiming me while asking if I understood what I had, what I could lose. My hands found his collar, pulling him closer despite the awkward angle over the center console. The heat between us spiked, immediate and consuming. His hand tangled in my hair, tilting my head to deepen the kiss until thought became impossible. When I finally broke away, gasping, the windows had completely fogged. We could have been anywhere-suspended in gray nowhere, invisible to the world. "Are you sure?" I asked, breathless, gesturing vaguely at the public space, the theoretical presence of other cars, other people. "Someone could see-" Alex hit the locks with decisive force, the click echoing through the fogged interior. He tilted his head toward the tinted glass that turned us into shadows from outside. "Let them look," he said, already pulling me across the console into his lap. "Let them see exactly who you belong to."