CHAPTER SIX
ALICE
A grip on my sleeve is the only thing keeping me from making a choice I'll regret for the next four years. My pulse is thundering in my ears, a hot, rhythmic beat that matches the strides I'm taking toward the black Porsche. I can see him now—really see him. He's tall, and striding towards me like he was born owning the Oakhaven.
"Alice, stop," Mio whispers, her voice frantic. "I don't know what your vendetta is with him, but don't mess with him. Not yet. It's your first day, and you're going to ruin everything if you open your mouth to him now. He's too arrogant to care about anyone but himself."
Her words hit me like a bucket of ice water. I blink, my boots coming to a halt just a few yards away from him. I look at my hands—they're still shaking. If I confront him now, I'm the girl in the muddy rags yelling at the prince of the campus. I'd look like a lunatic, and he'd just laugh.
"You're right," I mutter, forcing the air back into my lungs. "You're right, Mio. Thank you. Let's go. We're already late by fifteen minutes."
I don't look back until we reach the heavy stone archway of the building. I can't help it. I turn my head just enough to catch his silhouette one last time. I give him a glare so sharp I hope it leaves a mark on his expensive windshield. Suck it, bastard, I think.
The walk to the seminar hall feels like a mile. My stomach is doing somersaults. If I was nervous standing in Arthur King's office, I am a total wrecking nerve now. There is nothing I hate more than being late. In my world, being late means missing a shift. Missing a shift means missing rent. Here, it just feels like cringing into a black hole.
"He won't say anything to you," Mio says, noticing my pale face. She gives me a small smile, the kind that makes her eyes crinkle shut. She looks so young, so innocent in this world of sharks.
"Are you sure you're twenty-one, Mio?" I ask, reaching out to pinch her cheek. "You look like you belong in a middle school."
"Oh, come on! Don't do that," she huffs, rubbing her cheek, though she's giggling.
"Let's go," I mutter. I reach for the handle of the massive lecture hall door. I take one last breath, push it open, and pray for invisibility.
I was wrong. There is no invisibility at Oakhaven.
Fifty pairs of eyes land on me the second the door creaks. It's like being dropped into a pit of eagles waiting for prey. The room is a steep theater of mahogany desks and oxblood blazers. I feel the heat rise in my cheeks as I stand there in my hoodie, clutching the strap of my bag.
But then, the Professor turns around. He isn't what I expected. He doesn't look like a gatekeeper. He actually smiles—a real, genuine smile that doesn't have a drop of pity in it.
"You must be Alice Miller, if I am right," he says. He walks toward the edge of the podium and extends his hand.
I'm shocked. I've spent the last three hours being treated like a stain on the floor, and here is a man offering me a handshake. I take it, giving him the firmest shake I can manage.
"Yes, Professor. I'm Alice Miller. The new scholarship student."
"Oh, I know, Ms. Miller. I've seen your entrance exams. Very impressive work," he says, finally releasing my hand. "We'll have a proper chat after the lecture. Until then, make yourself comfortable. Ms. Mio, why don't you show Ms. Miller to a seat?"
He turns back to the chalkboard as if my entrance was the most normal thing in the world. I feel a weight lift off my shoulders, just a little. Mio nudges me toward the back.
"Sit on the left, near the corner," she whispers.
I shake my head. "I can't see from there, Mio."
Even with my glasses pushed up on the bridge of my nose, the glare from the windows makes the chalkboard a blur. I slide into a seat on the far right instead. It's closer to the front than I'd like, but I need to see the numbers. I need to hear every word.
I pull out my notebook—a cheap, spiral-bound one that looks pathetic next to the MacBooks surrounding me—and start writing. For the next ten minutes, the world outside Oakhaven disappears. The Professor is talking about liquidity ratios and market volatility, and for the first time today, I feel like I'm breathing. This is what I paid for. This is what I stayed up until 3:00 AM for, working double shifts and studying by the light of a fading phone screen.
Then, the heavy silence of the room is shattered.
The door doesn't just open; it slams against the wall with a loud, arrogant thud. The Professor stops talking mid-sentence. The fifty pairs of eyes that were on me now pivot toward the entrance like a synchronized dance.
The devil himself slides in.