Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
Isabelle
It’s time to see Parker.
The unsettling thought sends a cold wave of anxiety racing through my chest like water breaking through a damn.
My heart picks up with every step I take toward his office, each beat coming quicker, a steady drumroll that doesn’t match the pace of my breathing.
I try to focus, try to calm down, but my thoughts are racing—darting from one worry to the next.
I’m crazy for thinking about anything other than Parker, but Kade never left my mind. He rarely does, but last night was different to any other.
His words bounced around in my head, pushing me back to the crux of our problems—the thing I did to him.
I thought I was okay with riding out the situation without knowing, but now I’m not so sure. The closer we get, the more I want to know what I did to him.
Part of me—the part that’s slowly growing attached to him and can’t deny our attraction—wants a chance to fix it.
That part of me savored his walk down memory lane back to the first day we met.
That part of me thinks if I know what I did and I fix it, I might be able to figure him out without the vendetta he has against me. Then maybe we could just be those two people from the past.
I’m not sure if such a thing is possible. Or if I should want it.
Kade is still the guy I need to stay away from because he’ll hurt me.
All thoughts of him stall in my mind and shelve themselves when I turn the corner and see Parker’s door ahead.
My soul trembles, and the weight in my stomach grows, feeling like a bolder, heavy and unmoving. My steps slow, but I will myself to keep going.
I can do this. I will be okay…
I’m attempting to summon Aunt Liza again. It worked at the fundraiser. But not so much now.
Back then, I was just worried about Kade. Now I’m facing the man who I believe wanted my mother dead.
Of course, I would feel like the world has shifted and I’m desperately clinging to the edge, trying not to fall off the face of the Earth.
I reach the door, breathe deeply, then knock.
“Come in,” Parker calls out, and my mind holds on to the sound of his voice. The tone, the words, the cadence.
Was that the voice I heard that night?
Was it his?
I was twelve, terrified, and I thought I was going to die. I could have gotten it wrong. Did I?
My heart tells me it was him, but like Dad said, there’s no evidence.
I think past the tightness in my brain and open the door, praying to whoever will listen that I won’t fall apart.
When I walk into the office, the first thing I notice is how different it feels. And it’s been redecorated. The pictures and certificates of achievements are all gone, and the wall is bare. All traces of Chancellor Potalov have been removed as if he was never here.
Two more steps in, past the wall of bookshelves, and I find Parker sitting behind the desk—Chancellor Potalov’s old desk.
The ropes around my chest tighten, but at least I hold it together.
Parker’s dark brown eyes meet mine with a blank face and a calm demure.
“Good morning, Chancellor Federov,” I manage.
“Morning. Please, take a seat.” He gestures to the chair in front of the desk.
Trembling legs take me to him, and I sit, folding my hands in my lap.
He gives me a slow smile that looks forced and fake. “It’s been a while, Isabelle Kolyav. Last time I saw you, you were fifteen. And you were working at the gallery for the holidays.”
“Yes. That was a long time ago.”
“Just over three years now.” He nods with reflection. “I was sad I never got to say goodbye to you.”
“I remember my last day was really busy because of the sales.”
“Indeed. There was a lot going on that day.” Something in his tone as he says those last words along with the way he’s looking at me grips my insides.
I’m already paranoid, so I can’t wholly trust my instincts, but I feel more than ever that he suspects I had something to do with the hacking.
“Anyway, I suppose I always feel some sort of duty toward your mother when I see you.”
The mention of my mother makes my heart shy away with grief, and my thoughts slips momentarily. “That’s nice of you.”
“She was good to me. I met her here at Raventhorn, and it was a privilege to work with her for so many years.”
Bastard . Curse him to hell. I wish he wouldn’t talk about my mother.
“You seem to have followed in her footsteps, I hear,” he adds.
“I hope to.”
“Well, it looks like you’re on the right track. I have looked over your project proposal, and I’m very impressed. I can see why Christian Degas selected you.”
Okay, this is going well so far. “Thank you.”
“I’ve gone ahead and approved it, so you need to start working on it as soon as possible.”
“I plan to work on it today.”
“Good. Now, there are some other matters we need to discuss in relation to the final interview for the application and your probation.”
Damn, I relaxed too soon. “Of course.”
“I understand that everything is in hand with regard to your punishment, so following Aleksander’s guidance, I have excluded the incident from my review.” His gaze hardens, and he looks uneasy, probably because he didn’t want to exclude it. I have my reservations about Aleksander, but today, I’m grateful to him.
Dad said he spoke to him. Perhaps this is one time he listened.
“I appreciate that.”
“At the same time, as the incident is the reason for your probation, I do need to consider it when we come to the end of the time.”
“I understand.”
“With regards to your endorsement for Cambridge, I’d need to see a lot more from you before we get to that stage.”
Oh no. This was the part I feared. The part he has control over. “What more do you need to see from me? I thought I just needed to redo my sculpture.”
“No.” He shakes his head and gives me a thin, grim smile. “Not if you want to pass the interview or receive a reference from me. At the moment, I personally don’t believe you’re suited for a scholarship program of this level. So, unlike Chancellor Potalov, I’d like to carry out my own assessment.”
My hopes deflate quicker than a balloon losing air, and my skin buzzes like I’ve been stung by a thousand bees. “What would that involve?”
He sets his shoulders back and lifts his chin. “First of all, I need to assess your academic progress throughout the college year, so we won’t be doing the final interview until the last week of the summer semester. Before that, I’d like to see a portfolio from you of original work. Chancellor Potalov considered the work you’ve done since you started here as your portfolio. I will not do that.”
“Why is that?” I try my best to keep the irritation out of my voice, but it peeks through.
“The artwork you’ve done here is based on guided supervision from your professors. I need to see your own ideas and a few more sculptures that show your
original craftsmanship. Which is another thing I need to discuss with you.”
“I always strive for original craftsmanship.”
“I’m sure you do. The ideas you put forward are good, but they look too similar to things I’ve seen before. An artist is identified by their individual touch that’s signature to them. You don’t have that.” He pauses for a moment, and the sting of his words hits me repeatedly with each passing second. “The art world doesn’t need artists who copy each other. It needs individuals. I see nothing in your work so far that separates you from the crowd.”
My God … I can’t believe what I’m hearing. I was worried about the wrong things. I thought he would look at the incident with Kade and label me a troublemaker, but what he’s doing is worse. He’s telling me I’m not good enough.
“I also want to see some more work experience,” he throws in, piling on the shit. “Many of the applicants starting Christian Degas’ program have years of experience from summer placements at notable establishments. You don’t have anything that carries substantial weight. Lack of work experience tells me you may not be serious about your career.”
“I assure you, that’s not the case.”
“Well, I need to see proof. Here is a list of ideas that should help you. I’ve also set out my expectations for the portfolio.” What he slides over is not a simple list. It’s a dossier.
I pick it up, look through the first few pages, and my heart sinks. What I see so far looks like something you’d find in a fulltime job. “This is a lot to do in such a short space of time. I have less than five months left before the summer break.”
“Unfortunately, this is the way it has to be if you want my endorsement. So, either you put the time in to make it work, or you pull out. As for your probation, if you don’t maintain a 4.0 average on all your subjects or you do something, and I no longer feel you meet the standard expected for Raventhorn, you’ll be asked to leave.”
My God. I’ve just landed in hell. “Leave?” I can barely say the word.
“I’m afraid so. Those on probation are held to a higher standard than everyone else.”
Shit. This is bad, and I feel like I’ve gone through the wrong door again.
But… none of this makes any sense.
He wants me to do triple the work, hates my skills and craftsmanship, and he doesn’t think I’m good enough for Cambridge.
No one else had these types of problems with me. So, why would he?
Why in the hell would he want me to do so much more work he knows I won’t be able to?
Even with my model student status, there’s only so much I can manage. And as for doing all the shit he wants and maintaining a 4.0 on all my subjects, that’s not going to happen. He must know that.
Unless…
He’s doing this on purpose.
Is he?
He definitely sounds like he’s trying to prevent me from getting into Cambridge, but he also seems to be trying to cut me off from Raventhorn, too. If he is, there would be a good reason for that. And the only reason I can think of is the one I’ve held in my heart for all these long years—Mom.
I stare back at him and take in the superior expression on his face.
What if I’m right?
Usually when things don’t make sense, it’s because they don’t. I’ve never had anyone speak to me like this before or require so much from me.
The programs advisor at Cambridge already saw my work and approved it, so I didn’t need a portfolio or additional work experience. And if Christian Degas chose me, it means he thinks I’m original. Yet Parker doesn’t.
If he suspects me of the hacking at the gallery, he’d also know I have a reason to help a hacker. That reason could only be Mom.
It’s not on the records that I was at the crime scene. I was the anonymous witness who was able to identify the shooter. It’s on record that the witness—me—also said there was someone else at the crime scene.
Parker is a powerful man. My actions years ago at the gallery could have pushed him to dig around, and he might know that anonymous witness was me.
Am I right? Is that all too farfetched and me jumping to all sorts of conclusions?
There’s no way of knowing. But it certainly looks like he wants to eliminate me. The way you would with a threat.
“Do you have any questions for me? You’ve gone quiet.” He looks me over.
“I’m just… thinking about what I need to do.”
“I’m sure you’ll figure it out. I have faith in you.”
Fuck you, bastard. I’m sure you do.
“I’d like for us to meet every other week to keep on top of things.”
“Okay,” I answer with reluctance, feeling like a robot programmed to agree.
“Wonderful. Well, if you don’t have any questions, that’s it for me.”
“I have nothing.”
“Alright, well, we’ll meet two weeks from today.”
“Sure.” Gathering strength, I stand, but I feel like my body is filled with lead as I make my way out of the office.
I close the door behind me and stop in the corridor by the window to get some air and catch my breath.
Fuck. This is absolute shit.
It’s strange how I had that horrible feeling deep down in my gut telling me that I was going to have a problem with Parker. I was right.
But that’s the least of my worries, because I could be right about everything else.
That asshole has backed me into a corner where his fucking assessment is set up for me to fail.
Fail and lose everything.