Julian Blackwood didn't hear a word Professor Thorne said about market equilibrium. His eyes were fixed on the back of a head three rows down.
Elena Vance.
The name was a jagged piece of glass in his throat. He watched the way she tucked a loose strand of chestnut hair behind her ear—a nervous habit she'd had since she was sixteen. Back then, that gesture had made him want to pull her closer. Now, it made his jaw ache from clenching it so hard.
She came back. Five years. Five years of silence after her family took the "hush money" his father had offered to make the "scandal" of a Blackwood dating a gardener's daughter go away. He had waited for her at the train station for six hours that night. She never showed. She just took the check and vanished into the night, leaving him to face his father's mocking laughter alone.
He flipped his expensive fountain pen between his fingers, his eyes narrowing. She looked thinner. Poorer. If she had taken the money, why was she wearing a hoodie that looked like it had been through a war?
"Mr. Blackwood?"
Julian looked up. Professor Thorne was peering at him through thick spectacles. "Since you seem so captivated by the floor, perhaps you can explain the concept of Sunk Cost Fallacy?"
A few students snickered. Julian didn't blink.
"It's the misconception that if you've invested a lot of time, money, or emotion into something, you have to keep going, even if it's clearly failing," Julian said, his voice cold and projected. "It's a loser's trap. Smart people know when to cut their losses and burn the bridge."
He caught Elena's shoulders tensing. Good. He wanted her to know every word was a bullet aimed at her.
"Correct," Thorne sighed. "Now, for the semester's primary assignment. You will be paired with the person sitting directly in front of or behind you. This is your 'Business Partner.' You will share a grade for the final 40% of the course."
The blood drained from Julian's face.
Elena turned around slowly, her eyes wide with horror. She looked like she wanted to bolt for the door.
"Professor," Julian stood up, his chair screeching against the floor. "I'd like to request a different partner. I don't work with... transfers."
"The syllabus is set, Mr. Blackwood," Thorne replied without looking up from his notes. "Either work together or both of you can drop the course. I believe your father mentioned you must ace this class to qualify for the internship at Blackwood Holdings?"
Julian felt the familiar cage of his father's expectations tighten. He looked down at Elena. She was staring at him, her chin tilted up in that stubborn way that used to drive him crazy.
"I'm not dropping," she whispered, loud enough only for him. "I worked too hard to get here. If you want out, you leave."
Julian leaned over the desk, his shadow falling over her. "You think you can survive a semester with me, Elena? I'm going to make sure you fail. I'm going to make you wish you'd stayed gone."
"You already destroyed my life once, Julian," she snapped back, her voice trembling with a mixture of rage and something that sounded terrifyingly like grief. "You don't have anything left to break."
She turned back around, but not before he saw the shimmer of a tear she refused to let fall.
Julian sat back down, his heart racing. He hated her. He hated her for leaving, he hated her for coming back, and most of all, he hated that even after five years, he still knew exactly how she looked when she was trying not to cry.
Fine, he thought, gripping his pen until it snapped in his hand, staining his palm with black ink. Let the war begin.