Chapter 8: Bullied The Way I Liked

Alex pov

I had never struggled to sit through a lecture before.

The Academy required discipline, and discipline had always come naturally to me. I understood how to focus, how to filter distractions, how to give just enough attention to stay ahead without wasting effort. Most lectures followed a rhythm I could navigate without thinking.

Professor Aldridge spoke at the front of the hall, his voice steady as he moved through a discussion on market behavior and investor response. Around me, pens moved in quiet consistency, pages turning in sync with his explanations. It should have been easy to follow.

It wasn’t.

My attention shifted more than it should have, settling briefly before slipping again. Not toward the door this time, but toward the empty seat beside me.

Sloane was never late.

She had a way of arriving before everyone else, already prepared, already composed.

It wasn’t something I had paid attention to consciously, but her absence made the difference obvious.

I forced my attention back to the board. Numbers formed beneath the professor’s chalk, part of a model I should have followed without effort.

I wrote down the first line, paused, and realized I had already lost track of the explanation.

I stopped writing.

It was unnecessary to dwell on it. Whatever kept her away had nothing to do with me. She was my tutor, nothing more. Her absence shouldn’t have been enough to disrupt my focus.

And yet it had.

“Mr. Hamilton.”

I looked up.

Professor Aldridge was watching me with measured patience.

“Yes, Professor.”

“You seem less engaged than usual. Is there something you’d like to share with the rest of the class?”

A few students shifted, their attention turning in my direction.

“No, sir.”

“Then perhaps you can explain the model we’re working through.”

I straightened slightly, drawing from what I had managed to retain.

“It’s a behavioral model,” I said. “It explains how investor decisions shift when stability is uncertain. Once confidence drops, decisions become reactive rather than strategic.”

“And what does that lead to?”

“A chain reaction,” I answered. “One response influences another. Eventually, the market reflects perception more than actual value.”

He held my gaze for a moment, then nodded.

“That’s correct. Try to stay with the lecture.”

“I will.”

He turned back to the board, continuing without pause.

I lowered my gaze, but the effort to refocus felt forced.

Minutes passed.

Then the door opened.

The sound was quiet, but it broke the rhythm of the room.

Professor Aldridge paused, his attention shifting briefly toward the entrance along with everyone else’s.

Sloane stood there.

She didn’t move immediately, as though stepping into the room required more effort than it should have. Even from a distance, something about her looked wrong.

Her usual composure was missing. Her hair fell loosely around her face, unkempt in a way that didn’t match her. Her blouse was wrinkled, the collar slightly uneven.

Her face made the difference clearer.

She looked pale. Tired.

Her eyes were swollen, the redness too pronounced to ignore.

“Miss Kensington,” the professor said evenly.

“I apologize for the interruption,” she replied.

Her voice was controlled, but softer than usual.

“You’re late.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Is there a reason?”

A brief pause followed.

“I had a situation to attend to.”

He studied her for a moment, as though weighing whether to press further.

“Are you able to remain for the lecture?”

“Yes.”

“Then take your seat.”

“Thank you.”

She moved into the room, closing the door quietly behind her before walking down the aisle. The shift in attention was immediate, though not as obvious as laughter. It lingered in the way people looked, in the subtle glances exchanged between rows.

She reached the seat beside mine and paused briefly before sitting down.

Up close, the details were harder to ignore.

There was tension in the way she held herself, a kind of restraint that didn’t feel natural. She opened her notebook with deliberate care, aligning it neatly before picking up her pen.

She didn’t look at me.

Didn’t acknowledge me at all.

Professor Aldridge resumed the lecture, his voice returning to its steady rhythm as he continued explaining the model.

Sloane tried to follow.

It was obvious in the way her pen hovered over the page a moment too long before writing, in the pauses that broke her usual precision. She wrote something down, stopped, then continued as though she was forcing herself to keep up.

It didn’t match her.

“You missed the last step,” I said quietly.

She didn’t look at me. “I’ll review it later.”

“That’s not how you work.”

Her hand stilled for a moment.

Then she continued writing.

“It is today.”

There was no irritation in her voice. No defensiveness. Just a quiet finality that made further questions unnecessary.

I leaned back slightly, watching her from the corner of my eye.

Her breathing was controlled, too controlled. Her posture held steady, but not naturally. It looked like effort—like something she was maintaining rather than something that simply existed.

I looked away.

Professor Aldridge’s voice filled the space again, outlining the next phase of the model, but the words blurred into the background.

Beside me, Sloane’s pen moved more slowly.

Less certain.

Then it slipped from her fingers.

It hit the desk softly and rolled toward the edge.

She didn’t reach for it immediately for a brief second, her eyes closed.

Not long enough for anyone else to notice.

I picked up the pen before it could fall and placed it back on her notebook.

“You dropped it,” I said.

She opened her eyes and looked at me.

Up close, the exhaustion was unmistakable. Not just physical, but something deeper, something she was holding back with visible effort.

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

Her voice held, but only just.

She looked away again, returning her attention to the page as though nothing had happened. Just then Lana's voice caught through the air, loud and aggressive.

“You should stand up and apologize for disrupting the lecture, fatty.”

The pen slipped again, falling without resistance out of anxiety. I watched the drama unfold, hoping they would bully her the way I wanted.

Sloane's body swayed, the movement was sudden, uncontrolled, her chair scraped sharply against the floor as she lost balance, and before anyone could react, she collapsed.