Today, nearly all of my lectures passed without incident—save for one.
I hadn’t harbored a single doubt that the philosophy professor would be the sole person to pounce on me the moment I stepped into the hall, demanding to inspect my lecture notes.
My instincts proved entirely correct. The moment class commenced, he singled me out, sinking his teeth into an aggressive interrogation despite the fact that I had already submitted my transcribed pages to him the previous week.
I couldn’t fathom the root of his bitter bias against me. Yet his open hostility was unmistakable, coiling a tight knot of dread deep within my chest as I struggled to understand what I could have possibly done to earn his ire.
His long-winded tirade—during which he thoroughly denounced me as an irresponsible student and a fundamentally inadequate being—culminated in a punitive assignment for the following afternoon. Once tomorrow’s classes concluded, I was ordered to perform a complete deep-clean of his massive lecture hall entirely on my own.
I would have to wash the broad windows, wipe down every dust-laden shelf, and scrub the floors. In all likelihood, the university administration had simply denied his request for an additional custodian.
As far as I knew, he suffered from a severe dust allergy, and the standard cleaning staff only swept the floorboards. The desks, walls, and glass were only scrubbed twice a year—and always by punished students.
To top off his ultimatum, he threatened that if I failed to deliver another freshly transcribed set of notes alongside my labor, he would officially put my name forward on the list for expulsion.
A bitter chill ran down my spine at his words, because an expulsion meant the absolute end of my future.
I had no idea what had gotten into him, but shortly after the lecture ended, Ian—one of the males in my cohort—approached me. Slipping his notebook into my hands, he quietly remarked that the professor was just a miserable old fool, telling me to return the pages whenever I finished copying them.
I was profoundly grateful for his kindness. Unsurprisingly, every girl in my group had begun whispering among themselves even before the lecture started. The moment class ended, they filed out without so much as a backward glance, treating me as though I were carrying a contagious disease.
They all resided in the dorms, and I was willing to bet every single one of them had passed by my charred door that morning. I couldn’t even fathom what wild conclusions they had drawn, though I knew none of them were flattering.
Judging by their venomous glares, you would have thought I’d stripped naked in the central plaza and stolen a handful of Alpha males, leaving their mates heartbroken with a dozen fatherless pups.
I was used to being an outcast, used to navigating the world in isolation. Yet deep down, the cold shoulder still stung, leaving a sharp, familiar ache in my chest.
I could only pray they wouldn’t spread filthy rumors based on the graffiti left on my door. But who was I kidding? Of course they would. They probably already had.
Despite how deeply nauseated I was by the direction my life was taking, I knew I had to adapt to Magnus’s demands for the time being—even if I couldn’t comprehend his motives.
I didn’t understand why he went out of his way to hide our fated mark from the world, yet dragged me into his private sanctuary as if I were already his personal property to command. It was baffling. Terrifying, too.
. . .
By the time we returned to his loft, the night was well underway. I had spent hours waiting for his lectures to finish, hiding in the university library and attempting to focus on my textbooks, though my thoughts kept cycling back to the scorched door, the vile slur, and the reality that I had nothing left to my name. Absolutely nothing.
Stepping into the apartment, I kicked off my sneakers by the threshold, immediately hit by a sharp wave of hunger. My stomach cramped violently, reminding me that my last meal had been a rushed breakfast—a cup of coffee and a single sandwich Magnus had practically forced down my throat under the weight of a dark, threatening scowl.
Mr. Grumpy Brows.
I followed him into the living space, stopping right at the edge of the kitchen. "Where’s the nearest grocery store?"
Magnus spun around abruptly, his gaze so freezing cold that I instinctively took a step back.
"Why do you need a store?"
"Well... we need to eat something," I muttered, wringing my hands in nervous tension.
He strode over to the refrigerator, pulled the door open, and stared at the empty glass shelves. A second later, he slammed it shut with enough force to make me jump. Pulling his phone from his pocket, he dialed a number and pressed the speaker to his ear, turning his back to me.
"Where the fuck is Maria?" his voice rumbled, sharp and dangerously close to a growl. "In the hospital? Since when? ... I don’t give a damn. Find a replacement. Today."
He cut the line, shoved the phone back into his pocket, and turned to face me once more. A dark, stormy irritation flickered in his eyes, making every instinct in my body urge me to put more distance between us.
While he was occupied on the phone, I checked my screen and shot a quick text to Annie, asking how she was holding up. She replied almost instantly, letting me know her fever had finally broken. She added a quick note telling me not to despair—the dorm supervisor had promised we would be reassigned to a shared room as soon as we returned, keeping us together.
A bitter knot twisted in my stomach as I read her message. I hadn’t had the heart to tell her yet that things had spiraled far beyond our plans, and that she would likely be forced to live alone.
Deep down, I was still desperately clinging to the hope that Magnus would change his mind and let me return to the dorms. Remaining in his lair was dangerous—especially after the boundary he had shattered this morning.
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