Page 29 of Johan.

She watches me, her eyes narrowed slightly, but she says nothing. I make my way to the door, feeling her gaze on my back the entire time. Taking a deep breath, I step out of the house and head towards my car, my mind still clouded with the remnants of my hangover. The crisp, fresh air outside is a welcome change from the stifling tension inside. I slide into the driver’s seat and start the engine, the familiar purr of the car giving me a small sense of comfort.

13

Johan

After spendingthe afternoon at my parents’ estate horseback riding with Dad, who was fortunately home and ready to partake in the charade, I walk back through the familiar cobblestone streets of Cambridge. The afternoon sunlight casts long shadows, creating a patchwork of light and dark. Each step feels heavier than the last, the weight of the afternoon still pressing on my mind. Home always has a way of grounding me, but the responsibilities and expectations that come with it are ever-present, gnawing at the edges of my thoughts. Now, though, I have a more immediate concern: Conrad.

Conrad’s penthouse is on Trumpington Street, one of the most exclusive streets in Cambridge. The street itself is lined with a mix of historic and modern buildings and elegant townhouses next to sleek, contemporary structures. Tall trees cast dappled shadows on the pristine pavement, adding to the atmosphere of understated affluence. His building stands out with its clean lines and modern design, a striking contrast to the surrounding architecture's traditional charm. The exterior is ablend of glass, steel, and polished stone, giving it a sophisticated yet welcoming appearance. Large windows reflect sunlight, creating a shimmering effect.

Inside, the lobby is a masterpiece of contemporary design—marble floors, chic furniture, and tasteful artwork. On the elevator ride up to Conrad's floor, I briefly check myself out in the mirror. I look tired and miserable. Oh well, I guess that’s the result of living a lie.

As I reach the top floor, the doors open to reveal a private hallway leading to his penthouse. The exclusivity of the residence is emphasized by the quiet, almost serene atmosphere.

I pause for a moment, taking in the surroundings, and then I knock on the door, my heart pounding in my chest. The door swings open before I have a chance to knock again.

“Johan,” he greets me, his voice cool, his eyes wary.

“Conrad.” I nod, trying to gauge his mood. He steps aside, opening the door wider to let me in. I step inside, the tension between us almost tangible. As I pass him, I can feel the weight of his scrutiny. He closes the door behind me, and for a moment, we stand in an uncomfortable silence.

Conrad moves towards the living area, and I follow, noting how the setting sun casts long shadows across the room, creating a stark contrast with the sleek, modern furnishings.

“Do you want something to drink?” he asks, the politeness in his voice strained.

“Whatever you’re having,” I reply, trying to keep my tone casual, though I know he senses the unease in me. He heads towards the kitchen area, and I trail behind him, the silence between us growing heavier with each step.

“Tea it is, then,” he says, filling the kettle with water. The sound of the water running is loud in the quiet room. I stand beside him, watching as he moves with practiced precision, each movement deliberate and controlled.

“Are you still mad at me for yesterday?” I finally ask, my voice barely above a whisper, cutting through the thick silence.

He doesn’t look at me as he sets the kettle on the stove. “No, I’m mad at you for not trusting me enough to tell me the truth about Hannah.”

I frown, a knot of anxiety tightening in my chest. “What did she tell you exactly?”

Conrad turns to face me, leaning against the counter, his arms crossed. His gaze is sharp, piercing. “I figured it out myself. The cover-ups, the weekend in Portmeirion, your behavior yesterday, your attitude every time I tried to date her…” His words hang in the air, and I feel a pang of guilt but push it aside. “What I don’t understand, though, is why you’re engaged to Astrid if Hannah is your girl. I know your parents insisted, but still, why go through with it?”

I take a long, deep breath, the truth weighing heavily on me. “It’s complicated.”

“Is this just because of the money your dad owes to Ludovic?”

“No, it’s something else. It’s about Hannah. She did something that’s being used against me, and if I don’t comply, she can get expelled from Cambridge.”

Conrad’s eyes widen in shock, and he sets down the tea mug he’s holding. “What? So you’re being blackmailed or something?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

He shakes his head, disbelief and frustration mingling in his expression. “Why didn’t you tell me before? Jesus Christ, Johan, I’m your best friend. I could have helped you!”

“Because I can’t expose Hannah’s secret like that. It’s very private. And I’d like to keep it that way.”

Conrad nods slowly, piecing together the puzzle. “So Hannah did something bad enough to get her expelled. Astrid knows about it, and she’s using it against her if she doesn’t marry you?

I shrug, feeling the gravity of the situation. “She also intends to use the fact that I had an affair with a student to ruin my academic career. So there’s that.”

Conrad’s face goes through a range of emotions—shock, anger, sadness. He finally settles on a look of determination. “Jesus, Johan… Why didn’t you trust me with this?”

“I wanted to protect Hannah. I still do. But I also didn’t want to drag you into this mess.”

“You’re my best friend. I’m already in it.”

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