Page 134 of The Wrong Play

Air rushed into my lungs so fast it burned.

My chest heaved,a violent sob tearing out of my throat,but Callum only sighed,brushing a hand over my damp cheek.

“There you go,”he murmured. “That’s better.”

I jerked back to reality, breath coming fast and shallow as I tried to remind myself I wasn’t there. I wasn’t his anymore.

But it didn’t matter.

Because he was here. Standing at the podium. Watching me.

The rest of the lecture blurred together, my brain barely processing anything but him. Every word he spoke was laced with meaning only I could decipher. Every glance my way felt like a warning.

By the time the hour was up, my pulse was a wreck.

The second he dismissed us, I shoved my notebook into my bag, keeping my head down as I practically ran for the exit.

I was so close.

Just a few more steps and?—

“Riley.”

My stomach dropped, and I froze.

I turned slowly, my legs numb. The last few students passed by, oblivious to the way my entire body had gone rigid, like prey caught in a trap.

The door clicked shut, and I was alone with him.

He leaned against the desk, casual, like this wasn’t some twisted nightmare I couldn’t wake up from. His suit was crisp, dark navy, the sleeves perfectly fitted to his frame. The gold of his cufflinks glinted beneath the harsh fluorescent lights, his wedding band gone, like he never even had one. Like his wife’s existence had never mattered.

Like I was the only thing that had ever mattered.

“It’s been a long time,darling.”

The sound of that word—the way it slithered off his tongue, snaking around me, tightening with every syllable—sent a hollow weight sinking deep in my veins.

I swallowed, my nails digging into my palm. “Don’t call me that.”

His lips twitched, amusement flickering in his blue eyes. “You always hated when I called you that. And yet…” He tilted his head, eyes raking over me, soaking me in like he was remembering every inch of me.

“Look at you,” he murmured. “It’s been just a few months, and yet you look like you’ve changed…like you’ve grown up.”

He looked a little disappointed by that and bile was in my throat again.

His gaze flicked to my bag, my fingers curled so tightly around the strap that my knuckles had gone white. “Running off already?” He pushed off the desk, closing the distance between us with lazy, confident strides. “That’s disappointing. I really thought you were going to want to catch up.”

I stepped back, and he smiled.

A slow, knowing smirk. Like he could see inside of me. Like he could still reach into my chest and twist his fingers around my heart, my throat, my everything.

Callum’s voice curled through the air, low and smooth and terrible. “Stay,” he said softly, like it was a request, but I knew better. It was a command.

The word slid down my spine like ice, every muscle in my body locking up. His tone was too familiar, too calculated—the same one that had whispered in my ear in dark rooms, had slithered into my bones until I didn’t know where I ended and he began.

But I wasn’t that girl anymore.

I forced myself to breathe, to push past the way my skin prickled under his gaze. “I don’t want to stay.” My voice wasn’t as strong as I wanted it to be, but it was steady. It was mine.

---