Chapter 72 PROFESSOR.
\~~~SERENA.
I rested my head on Maya’s shoulder, my body slumped sideways on the lecture bench like I had given up on life for the day.
The classroom was noisy in that lazy, pre-lecture way with chairs scraping and people laughing too loudly. My head felt heavy, like it had too many thoughts stacked on top of each other.
Maya had her laptop open, scrolling with one hand while the other absentmindedly played with my fingers.
“The timetable isn't out yet, but I'm guessing it should be by tomorrow,” Maya said, her voice soft but steady. She clicked through the university portal, the glow lighting up her face.
I breathed out a long sigh and lifted my head, rubbing my temples. “I can't believe tests are coming up already. Trust me, I am not in a good place mentally for it. I think getting married was a totally wrong idea. I can't even think of anything other than…”
“Your husband?” Maya grinned, her eyes sparkling with that teasing glint she always got when she knew she'd hit a nerve.
“I was going to say home, bitch,” I shot back, rolling my eyes and we both laughed.
“So, have you sorted things now?” Maya asked, closing her laptop with a soft snap. Her gaze turned serious, probing.
I shook my head, staring at the scuffed floor. “I thought you weren't going to ask anymore.”
It had been a week since that blowout in the bathroom, since I'd laid down the rule of no touching, and no more pretending we were anything but stuck together.
I'd started it of course, drawing that line sharp and clear. But Damien? He acted like it was nothing. Every morning, he'd be up before me, the smell of coffee and eggs drifting from the kitchen.
He'd set a plate in front of me at the breakfast bar, his hand brushing mine just enough to make my skin tingle, then pull back like it was casual.
Dinner too, sometimes he'd cook something simple, pasta or grilled chicken, and we'd eat in silence, the tension thick as fog. He didn't push, and didn't argue. He just watched me with those dark eyes, like he was waiting me out.
I hated him for it. Hated how he made it so easy to slip back into wanting him.
“What would you have me say? You came back to school the next day with tons of hickeys on your body. That pretty much explained everything.” Maya's words hung there, her smirk returning.
My face flushed hot, and I palmed my cheeks, groaning. “Shut up! Fuck, it's not what you think.”
The marks had been impossible to hide at first. The dark bruises were blooming on my neck, my collarbone, and even peeking from under my shirt sleeves. I'd slathered on concealer, but Maya had spotted them the second I walked into class, her eyebrows shooting up like she'd won the lottery.
“Tell me what I think didn't happen?” she pressed, giggling now, leaning in like we were sharing secrets at a sleepover.
“It was just a random thing,” I muttered, crossing my arms over my chest, defensive.
She turned fully to me, eyes wide. “Since when do you consider sex random? You, Serena? You think with emotion, not logic.”
“Why does it sound like an insult coming from you?” I frowned, shooting her a glare.
“Because it is. You're forgetting about this because of the sex. Or, rather still, you don't want to come to terms with the fact that your husband might have killed those people four years ago. Oh, and took care of their bodies, because there was nothing on the news the next day.”
Her words hit like ice water, drying up my throat in an instant. I'd been dreading hearing it out loud, and even dreading saying it myself.
“You don't know that. Damien isn't a person like that,” I said, my voice firmer than I felt.
“Of course you'd say that.” Maya sighed, shaking her head like I was a lost cause.
“Wait, what has changed? You used to like him!” I snapped, my frown deepening. Heat rose in my chest, anger at her for doubting him, and at myself for defending a man who kept secrets like they were treasures.
“Well, my friend is probably married and living with a psychopath. Of course I am skeptical.”
“Damien would never…” I trailed off, the words sticking. Would never what? Hurt me? Lie to me?
“Yeah, yeah, defend him,” Maya cut me off, turning away to fiddle with her laptop again.
I opened my mouth to fire back, to tell her she was wrong, that Damien was just protective, intense, but not a killer. But the door creaked open, and the room went silent. Heads turned, including mine. A woman strode in, heels clicking sharp against the tile floor. She was tall, poised, with sharp features and hair pulled back in a severe bun. Her suit was crisp, navy blue, like she stepped out of a courtroom.
“Who is that?” I whispered to Maya, my heart picking up for no reason.
“I think she's a visiting professor of law. I heard one was coming over.” Maya leaned closer, her voice low.
“A judge in residence?”
“Yes.”
The woman stepped to the front, adjusting the microphone with efficient movements. The class was now filling up as more students trickled in and settled on their chairs.
“Good morning,” she said into the mic, her voice clear and commanding, echoing slightly.
“I am Gwendolyn Forbes. I am a judge by training and by profession, and for the rest of this term, I'll be teaching here as a Visiting Professor. Everything we discuss in this class comes from lived decisions, not hypotheticals. So, you may call me Professor Forbes.”
The room erupted in polite applause, but I sat upright, my spine tingling. Her eyes scanned the class, slow and deliberate, a weirdly dark smile curving her lips.
And then her gaze landed on me, locked on and the smile deepened, just a fraction, but it sent a chill down my back.
I shifted in my seat, forcing a clap, but it felt awkward, my hands clapping too loud in the quiet.
She didn't look away. Not right away. Her eyes held mine, piercing, like she was peeling back layers. I swallowed hard, my mouth dry again.
“What is her deal?” I whispered to Maya.
Maya shrugged. “No idea.”
But my stomach twisted.
Because something about the way Professor Forbes had looked at me felt wrong.
Like… she knew me.