Chapter 23 Kieran
Kieran
“A wrong is unredressed when retribution overtakes its redresser.” Edgar Allan Poe
Walking to Sheridan’s office never rattles me.
It only grates on my patience that I have to carve time out of my day for his petty games.
He’s always been an irritating little twit.
Before I knock, I pause in the hallway and force myself to breathe and keep it together, especially if he brings up Deirdre again.
Opening the door, I’m hit by the musty smell of old books and fresh varnish—a choking combination that suits him perfectly. He’s already slouched in his swivel chair, fingers steepled, a smug curl on his lips.
“Kieran,” he greets, fake warmth dripping from every syllable. “Glad you could make it. I have a request.”
I shut the door with deliberate calm, feeling the hairs at the nape of my neck spike.
One brow lifts. “You only call me in when you think I’ve misbehaved, Sheridan. If I recall, I haven’t decked any frat boys recently.”
His grin widens, like he’s savoring a promise of trouble.
“Hardly. I thought you might like to lend your…talents somewhere more civilized. The Fine Arts Department is hosting a charity gala in March, funding the study abroad program. The board wants you front and center. Hosting, schmoozing benefactors, rubbing elbows with starry-eyed students.”
My jaw clenches so tight I fear I’ll crack a molar. Prancing around with silver-haired donors and desperate students? Hell no.
“I’m buried under classes and grading. I’m not some decorative ornament for the university.”
Sheridan waves me off like I’m a fly on his desk. “Nonsense. You have a certain…magnetism. Exactly what this gala needs.” His eyes glitter under the lamplight. “After all, you don’t seem to mind Miss Ravencroft’s company. I’m sure your doe-eyed assistant will be there.”
The air in the room shifts. My pulse hammers in my ears, but my voice is ice. “Tread carefully, Sheridan.”
He tips his head, feigning innocence. “I only note that a professor with such…interest in a student draws attention.”
I lean forward across his desk, my fists firmly planted on the wooden top.
“If you think I am showing her more attention, why were you the one who suggested she become my assistant? I’ve never needed one in the past. I work well on my own.”
He ignores me and continues, “Everywhere she is, you seem to turn up.”
I snap, my voice bellows loud enough for anyone outside the door to hear. “Maybe your precious board ought to screen your male students better—or, for fuck’s sake, institute real security on campus to protect your female students from being attacked!”
The expression on his face lets me know he isn’t fazed by my outburst, so I decide to throw the one thing I know will grab his attention.
I slam my palm against his mahogany desk, the sound cracking like a gunshot. Sheridan flinches, but only slightly, his manicured eyebrows barely twitching.
“You sanctimonious bastard,” I snarl, leaning in until I can smell his expensive cologne. “You want to play moral arbiter? With your history? Tell me, how exactly did that mentorship with Ms. Atkins end at Cornelia? The one where she left mid-semester?”
His jaw clenches, a vein pulsing at his temple. “That’s enough.”
“You think I don’t remember finding her sobbing in the east stairwell? You think I don’t know what you did?” My voice rises, blood pounding in my ears.
“Watch yourself, Kieran,” he hisses, rising from his chair.
“Or what?” I laugh, a harsh sound. “You’ll report me based on what exactly? Rumors? Go ahead. I am sure Ms. Atkins would gladly report you with just a little convincing. I am influential, right?”
His face drains of color, but he manages to squeak out, “You’re crossing a very dangerous line.”
“And you crossed every fucking line there is!” I slam the desk again. “At least I never abused my position. My relationships are consensual, you predatory piece of shit.”
He clears his throat. “Ancient history.”
“Not to her. Not to the board when I bring it to their attention.” I lean closer, voice dropping to a whisper. “Not to your wife when she finally hears the details of her lying, conniving husband.”
The heating vent hums in the silence between us. His face has gone from red to ashen.
Finally, he exhales, tightening the Windsor knot of his tie and smoothing his shirt with trembling fingers.
“The gala arrangements stand,” he says, voice artificially steady. “I expect your department’s full participation.”
“You’re playing a game of chess, Sheridan, and I will fucking win.”
I turn around on my heel and swing the door open so hard it crashes against the wall, the sound reverberating through the silence, down the empty hallway.
My hands tremble as I stalk away, each beat of my heart pulsing acid through my veins.
Behind my eyes, the pressure builds; the weight of his knowing smirk, the casual way he dropped her name like a poisoned pawn on the board between us.
The polished marble floor beneath my feet feels unstable, shifting with my rage.
Under his implications, he thinks I’ll sacrifice her to protect my position, my reputation. The thought makes me want to tear my own skin off. I’ll ruin my own life before allowing the darkness to touch her again.
He believes he’s the grandmaster, moving pieces across some ivory board, but he’s miscalculated.
If he so much as breathes near Deirdre, I’ll dismantle his career piece by methodical piece until there’s nothing left but the hollow shell of his academic pretensions.
As I stalk toward the elevators, I taste copper—I’ve bitten the inside of my cheek without realizing. The pain is clarifying. I punch the elevator button three times, my reflection in the brass doors showing a stranger with wild eyes.
The smug bastard. Always circling. Always prying. And the worst part? The thought that tears at my insides, that keeps me awake at night? He’s not wrong.
Every time I think of Deirdre, of what we’re doing, I know I’m gambling with her future.
She’s twenty-two, brilliant eyes still wide with possibility, just stepping into the world she’s worked so hard for, and I’m the one pulling her into shadows, into secrets.
Into the kind of scandal that follows you forever.
Sheridan doesn’t need proof. He just needs patience.
Long enough for me to fuck up, to leave a digital footprint, a witness, a moment of carelessness.
The cold January air cuts sharply as I step out of the university gates, winter seeping through my coat to chill the sweat on my back.
For a moment, I consider walking to the dorm, to her, to let her warmth burn away Sheridan’s venom, to lose myself in her laugh, her touch, her faith in me that I’ve done nothing to deserve.
But the guilt digs its talons deeper, twisting beneath my ribs.
No. Not tonight.
I shove my hands into my coat pockets. My car keys dig into my palm as I walk straight for my car.
Forcing myself to drive home instead, I grip the steering wheel until my knuckles whiten.
My house feels like a large cave, too quiet; the silence presses against my eardrums like a physical weight.
I tell myself this emptiness will make me sane again.
That distance will calm the hunger that’s turning me into something I don’t recognize, a man who is ravenous and selfish.
I want to see her. Christ, I want her in my arms, her breath against my neck, her laugh vibrating through my chest. I need to be buried inside her. But isn’t that the sickness? That I can’t stop wanting what I have no right to claim?
I drop my keys on the entryway table, the sound ricocheting off the walls of an empty house. Sweat beads at my temples despite the chill. My chest constricts when I pull my phone from my pocket, my thumb hovering like a man about to step off a ledge before I type.
I should just leave her alone tonight. She’s studying.
Kieran: How was the rest of your day?
The dots appear almost immediately, and my heart lurches traitorously.
Deirdre: Good. Boring without you. Claire made me laugh so hard I spilled coffee on myself.
A faint smile pulls at my lips despite the self-loathing crawling up my throat. She makes everything lighter, brighter, even when she doesn’t mean to. But the smile fades as quickly as it came, replaced by the familiar ache of shame.
Kieran: Stay focused. First week is always the hardest. Tipton’s class is a beast.
Deirdre: Don’t be such a professor. I’m fine. Come see me?
My stomach twists into a nauseating knot. The one thing I want to do is the one thing I shouldn’t. Not after that meeting. It’s the one thing that could destroy us both. I stare at her words until the screen goes dark, my reflection a ghostly, haunted thing.
I don’t reply.
Instead, I go to my study, where shadows gather in the corners like my darkest thoughts. The fire is unlit, the room chilled, but I sit at the desk and open the black journal with hands that don’t feel like my own.
Our journal.
The one thing I use to desperately tether myself to her even when we’re apart, like a man clinging to driftwood in a storm.
The moment my fountain pen hits the paper, the words begin to flow.
Sheridan’s shadow lurks closer every day.
The way he looks at me, the questions he asks—it’s only a matter of time before suspicion hardens into proof.
And what will that mean for you? For us?
After the meeting today, I just kept telling myself it’s best if I stay away, that keeping my distance is the only way to shield you from the storm I’ve brewed.
Yet the thought of a life without you…it isn’t a thought I can bear. Not now. Not ever.
I’m selfish. I know it. I should be the strong one, the one to set boundaries and hold the line, but every time I think of you, every time I feel you, I lose that resolve.
You are my light in the darkness, and I’ve spent far too long in the dark to willingly step back now.
Sheridan can circle around us like a vulture.
The university can whisper. But even if the world comes down around us, I will not give you up.
Because somewhere between the first time I saw you and now, you became the only thing worth breaking every rule for.
All my love,
Kieran
Even just writing a simple entry, getting the words on paper, a weight feels like it has been lifted. I close the journal, pressing my palm to the cover as I take a few deep breaths. The storm inside me settles if only for a moment.
My phone buzzes on the desk. I don’t even hesitate. I need her. If not to see her tonight, then just to talk to her, to be a tiny blip in her orbit.
Deirdre: Just so you know, Claire says you’re officially banned from grading me too hard this semester. Something about harassment if you do. ;)
An unexpected laugh bubbles up from deep within me, despite the stress of the day. She always knows how to pierce through the heaviness. My thumb hovers over the keyboard before I finally type back.
Kieran: Remind me to have a talk with Claire about definitions.
Her reply is almost instant.
Deirdre: Or you could just come over and tell me in person.
My chest tightens. Whatever guilt I was feeling evaporates like smoke. Distance was never going to save me. Not when she’s only ever a heartbeat away.