20. Chapter 20
Chapter 20
Anastasia
I could hear them.
Every word.
Every syllable spoken when Megan and Elijah thought they were alone.
Their voices carried through the walls, slicing through the veil of steam filling the bathroom.
I kept my head pressed to the door, listening, even after I had turned the water on.
A cold, creeping dread spread through my body, settling deep in my bones.
They know something.
Or, at the very least, they suspect something.
And if their suspicions grow into certainty, if they put the pieces together before I could figure out my next move, everything would implode.
What happened between Noah and me, the tension, the hunger, the way he claimed me, had been ours alone. But now?
Now, it’s a fucking disaster.
It’s a war zone.
On one side, Megan and Elijah, driven by love and concern for me.
On the other, Cole and Walker, driven by a sadistic need to see me suffer.
The worst part?
Cole is smarter than I ever gave him credit for.
Walker is a distraction, a loud, arrogant pawn. But Cole? He’s calculated. Dangerous in ways Walker could never be.
If he even suspects something is happening between Noah and me, that means Noah is fully on his radar.
The weight of that realization suffocates me.
If this gets out, if someone decides to take this to the wrong person, I won’t be the only one to pay for it.
Noah could be fired or worse, arrested.
I could watch him be shoved into the back of a cop car, his entire life destroyed because of our choices.
Because of me.
Maybe…
Maybe distancing myself from him is the only thing I can do.
The thought makes something tighten in my chest, but before I can let it settle, I feel it.
The toy.
Still inside me.
A filthy reminder of just how far I’ve let this go.
Of how fucking reckless I’ve become.
My stomach flips as the full weight of it all crashes down on me.
"Fuck," I whisper, voice barely above a breath.
Pressing a shaking hand to my forehead, I force my reflection to meet my eyes in the mirror.
"What the hell have I gotten myself into?"
As usual, I’m the first to class.
Settled into my seat well before anyone else, I tap my pencil furiously against the desk, my thoughts a tangled mess of panic and regret.
Everything I’ve done, the choices I’ve made, the recklessness I’ve allowed to consume me, has built a wall of problems too high to climb.
If Walker decides to poke at Noah with Cole, how long before they start putting the pieces together?
How long before they know?
Walker has already proven that he doesn’t mind stirring shit. That he’ll drag others down just to prove a point.
So what the hell happens next?
Before my mind can spiral further, a deep, rasped voice slices through the silence.
“You’re not Mr. Ackerman… are you?”
The question startles me.
Snapping my head up, I lock eyes with a man who is tall, dark, and entirely too intense.
His stare alone could peel back layers of skin, sinking into something deeper, something more dangerous.
The tattoo wrapping around his neck draws my attention first, dark vines and thorns, inked in sharp, interwoven lines. It stops just below his ear, like a warning.
Then there’s the gold band wrapped around his ring finger, gleaming under the harsh overhead lights.
Married?
Who the hell is this guy?
“No,” I whisper, gripping my pencil tighter. “He usually comes in fifteen minutes before the bell.”
The man gives a curt nod, then strides toward Noah’s desk without hesitation.
With zero hesitation, he rummages through Noah’s things.
Blatantly.
Like he has every damn right to be here.
My breath catches.
Who the hell does this guy think he is?
“Can I ask why you need him?” My voice comes out steadier than I feel.
But he doesn’t bother looking at me.
Doesn’t acknowledge the question.
Instead, he shoves a thick envelope into his coat pocket like he just finished a routine errand.
“Just needed something with his full legal name,” he mutters. “Mail will do.”
Mail?
My stomach drops.
Is this guy fucking insane?
Or worse, does he have a reason for what he’s doing?
The hair on my arms stands on end as I try again.
“Are you his friend?”
This time, he actually looks at me.
Not just a glance.
A lingering, razor-sharp stare.
He leans into Noah’s desk, watching me closely, like he’s trying to decipher something.
“Are you?” he counters.
The edge in his voice makes my pulse quicken.
“Not many students sit alone before class starts, waiting for their professor.”
“Right. Says the guy who just went through my professor’s things and still hasn’t told me who the hell he is.” I scoff, crossing my arms.
He smirks.
A slow, smoldering thing, one that’s more fire than warmth.
"Roman Briar."
My heart stops.
Fuck.
The Priest.
"Your wife is Mrs. Briar!" The words fly from my mouth before I can stop them, and for the first time since stepping into the room, Roman Briar actually looks intrigued.
"You have her class?"
"I do." I nod, studying him carefully. "I've got to admit, you're not quite what I expected. Are you the reason she shows up to class looking like she got pummeled some days?"
His smirk vanishes. A dark red flushes his cheeks, but his stance remains unfazed.
"I love my wife." His voice is steady, but the intensity behind it settles like lead in my stomach. "I won’t apologize for making her feel loved in the ways she wants."
Jesus.
Roman Briar, the man wrapped in tattoos and suspicion, standing here unapologetically admitting to wrecking his wife in ways that leave her marked for days.
I don’t know what’s more shocking, the fact that he said it so boldly or the fact that I somehow respect it.
But it doesn’t answer my real question.
"So, if you're Mrs. Briar's husband, why are you taking Mr. Ackerman's things?"
Roman takes a step closer, planting his hand on my desk, trying to intimidate me.
"I like to know who my wife is working with. Simple as that."
Still possibly insane.
"What has Noah-" My mouth snaps shut, panic flooding my system as soon as I realize my slip-up. "Mr. Ackerman done to make you so wary?"
Roman’s fingers drum against the desk, eyes flickering with something calculating.
"I suppose nothing." He shrugs, glancing at his watch. "But I don’t trust the university to do thorough background checks."
A long pause.
Too long.
Checking the door, he sighs.
"Time for me to go."
And before I can stop myself, I grab his wrist.
"He's a good teacher." My voice drops to a whisper, "You aren’t going to find anything. If you're worried about him making a move on your wife, I promise you Mr. Ackerman has other affairs."
His brows lift, expression shifting in an instant.
Too late to take it back now.
"Word of advice, kid?" He watches me carefully, waiting for me to let go.
"Be careful who you associate with. It may feel right in the moment, but you never know what demons someone is running from. You may feel like you're on cloud nine, but what something means to you may not be the same to the other person."
The words hit harder than they should.
My throat tightens.
He knows.
Or at least, he suspects something.
"I don’t know what you’re talking about," I hiss, forcing as much confidence into my voice as I can.
Roman’s smirk returns.
Like I just confirmed everything he needed to know.
"Right," he murmurs, shaking his head. "They never do."
And just like that, he’s gone, stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets, keeping his profile low as he strides toward the door.
Then the shadow outside the doorway stills.
The handle turns.
My heart stops.
Noah.
His icy stare flickers from me to Roman, his body rigid, his jaw tensed so tight I swear I hear his teeth grind.
For a moment, nobody speaks.
Seconds pass before Roman laughs.
A deep, amused chuckle that clashes violently with the thick tension in the air.
He claps a hand on Noah’s shoulder, gaze flicking back toward me, and grins.
"You're right." Roman smirks. "His focus is most definitely on someone else."
And with that, he walks away.
Noah doesn’t move.
Doesn’t breathe.
The silence between us is suffocating.
Finally, I force myself to speak.
"Mrs. Briar’s husband."
Noah gives a slow, stiff nod, his jaw locked, muscles tight.
"He knows?" I whisper.
His fists tighten, his exhale slow and deliberate.
"I think he knows all too well what kind of situation I’ve put myself in."
The way he says it sends a shiver down my spine.
"And?" I push.
Taking a seat at his desk, he kicks himself back slightly, eyes locked on me.
"Come over here."
The way he says it, calm, steady, and dangerously unreadable, sends electricity pulsing through my veins.
I don’t hesitate.
I don't think.
All I do is listen to his quiet command.