Page 140 of Wicked Little Secret

The way he used to make me feel like I was worth the world. I was special and he was in awe of me.

I stop in front of his desk and wait for him to acknowledge my presence. Pin me with an intense stare through the lens of his black-framed glasses or utter my name in that cool, harsh voice of his that is like fine leather…

Instead, he jots away in some type of ledger as he ignores my presence.

We’re back to square one.

I clear my throat. “Professor Adler?—”

“Class is over,” he says. “Please see yourself out.”

Hannah Fochte is making it to the door as I glance over my shoulder to make sure we’re alone. The door snicks shut once she’s out of the cavernous room, granting me permission to drop my polite act.

“Theron,” I say, “we need to talk?—”

“You are to address me as Professor Adler,” he scolds immediately. “I believe I made that quite clear on the first day of class, did I not, Miss Oliver?”

My heart races as his gaze snaps up to my face for the first time since I’ve approached his desk. Heat rises from the inside, almost making me dizzy. His burning stare alone is enough to remind me how I’d fallen so deep down the rabbit hole.

How I let things get as far, as real, as they did…

“Professor Adler,” I correct. “Can we talk?”

“There is nothing to discuss. Please show yourself out.”

My brows knit. “But I want to explain why I did what I did.”

“Even if I had any clue what you were talking about, Miss Oliver, I wouldn’t care.”

“Us,” I say, stepping even closer to his desk. My arms tighten around my books. “Me and you. Everything that’s happened between us?—”

“Let’s get one thing straight. There is nous. There is nothing between you and me. You are just one student of many in my class. You are mistaken.”

“There is an us!” I argue. “We’ve slept together… many times. You’ve slept in my bed. I’ve bathed in your bathtub. We talked about a future?—”

“You. Are. Mistaken.” He pops to his feet on a dangerous pulse of anger that feels like it could quickly spiral out of control. He thrusts a finger in the direction of the exit. “See yourself out. I believe I’ve asked three times now. There won’t be a fourth. Campus security will simply be called.”

So thrown by his blatant denial of our history together, I find myself without a real defense. I blink at him in shock and offense, as if it’ll make any difference.

It doesn’t.

He sits back down, picks up his pen, and begins furiously scribbling in his ledger all over again. His face sharpens in concentration. His glasses sit perched on his strong, straight nose while a lock of his unruly dark hair brushes his brow.

He’s ignoring me. Pretending like I don’t exist.

We never existed.

It’s worse than outright condemnation.

I’d almost rather he bend me over the desk and take the yardstick to my ass…

When several seconds go by and nothing changes, I finally take the hint.

I show myself out, feeling lost and hollow.

For the rest of the afternoon, I’m a wanderer. I roam the campus, going from the darkest corners of the library to thefarthest patches of land neighboring the pine forest. The same forest that holds so many secrets.

Professor Adler had driven to the northern edges just to dispose of Samson. Had he disposed of bodies there before?

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