I didn't walk out of the lecture hall.
I ran.
My cheap sneakers squeaked against the polished marble floors of Sterling University. I clutched my bag to my chest, my heart pounding so hard I thought I might throw up.
He had my paper.
He had the evidence.
"Maya! Stop! Earth to Maya!"
A hand grabbed my arm, spinning me around. I came face to face with a pristine, pink Louis Vuitton bag. Attached to the bag was Larry.
Larry was the only person in Law School who wore more designer labels than the professors. Today, he was wearing a silk scarf that probably cost more than my rent.
"Larry, I can't..." I gasped, trying to pull away.
"Oh, honey, you can and you will," Larry said, looking me up and down with critical eyes. "You look like a deer in headlights. A very poorly dressed deer. What happened in there? Professor Black looked ready to murder someone."
"I... I was just taking notes," I lied.
Larry raised a perfectly groomed eyebrow. "Notes? Girl, please. You turned bright red. Did you write a love letter? Did you draw a heart around his name?"
"Worse," I whispered.
Before Larry could press for details, a sharp clicking of heels echoed in the hallway.
The temperature seemed to drop ten degrees.
Vanessa Vanderwaal stopped right in front of us. She was perfect. Blonde hair, expensive blazer, and a smile that didn't reach her eyes. She was the top student, and she made sure everyone knew it.
"Well, well," Vanessa purred. "If it isn't the charity case."
I straightened my back. "Hello, Vanessa."
She stepped closer, invading my personal space. "I don't know what you did to upset Professor Black, Maya, but I hope you packed your bags. Sterling University doesn't tolerate... mistakes. Especially from scholarship students."
Larry stepped in front of me, flipping his scarf dramatically. "Back off, Barbie. Don't you have a soul to sell somewhere?"
Vanessa rolled her eyes. "Just a warning. Professor Black is strict. He eats girls like you for breakfast."
She bumped her shoulder against mine as she walked away, her heels clicking like a ticking clock.
"Witch," Larry muttered. He turned back to me. "Ignore her. But seriously, Maya. Fix this. Whatever it is, fix it. You need this degree."
"I know," I said, my voice shaking. "I know."
The bus ride home took forty minutes. It was enough time for my panic to turn into dread.
I lived in a small, simple apartment complex on the edge of the city. It was a stark contrast to the shiny campus, but it was home.
I unlocked the door and was immediately hit by the smell of garlic and spices.
"Abuela Elena?" I called out.
"In the kitchen, nena!"
I walked in to find Elena stirring a large pot. She wasn't my real grandmother, my parents died a long time ago, but she was the closest thing I had. She was sixty, widowed, and had absolutely no filter.
She turned around, wiping her hands on her apron. She took one look at my face and frowned.
"Ay, dios mio. You look terrible," she said bluntly. "Pale. Sweaty. Like you saw a ghost."
I dropped my bag on the sofa. "I had a bad day, Elena."
She tsked and walked over, pinching my cheek. "You work too hard. You study too hard. You know what you need?"
"Sleep?" I suggested.
"No," she said seriously. "A man. A strong hot man with big hands to massage your shoulders and make you forget your name. That is what you need. You are too dry, mi hija."
My face flushed. "Elena! Please!"
Before she could give me more explicit advice, a small blur of energy ran into the room.
"Mommy!"
The fear in my chest instantly melted. I dropped to my knees and opened my arms just in time to catch him.
Milo.
My son buried his face in my neck, smelling like baby shampoo and cookies. "You're home!"
"I'm home, baby," I whispered, hugging him tight.
I pulled back to look at him. He was four years old and the light of my life. He had my nose, but his eyes... his dark, intense eyes were not mine. They belonged to a stranger I met in a dark club four years ago.
"Did you be good for Abuela?" I asked, smoothing his dark hair.
"Yes! We made cookies!" Milo beamed.
Looking at him, the reality hit me like a truck. If Adrian Black reported me... if I lost my scholarship... I wouldn't be able to give Milo the future he deserved.
Buzz.
My phone vibrated in my pocket.
I swallowed hard. Slowly, I pulled it out.
I froze,
From: [email protected]
Subject: Office Hours.
The preview of the message was short. Cold. Terrifying.
Miss Lin,
My private office. 8:00 PM tonight. Do not be late.
Address attached below.