Page 64 of Marrying My Professor

Or true stupidity. Or true desperation. Or a combination of all three.

"I'm very fortunate," I manage, trying to extract my hand without being obvious about it.

"Indeed you are," Nathaniel says, and there's something in his tone that makes it clear he's not talking about love. "Alexander's protection is not something granted lightly. I hope you understand the value of what you've been given."

Oh, I understand. I understand that my life is worth exactly one man's freedom. I understand that I'm a debt he's paying, a burden he's carrying, a problem he solved by making himself a bigger problem.

Before anyone can say anything else—before I can say something sarcastic and get myself killed—Nathaniel moves toward the center of the room, and I watch in a kind of horrified fascination as the crowd parts for him like the Red Sea, everyone instinctively making space for the man who holds all the power.

The orchestra quiets. Conversation dies. All eyes turn toward the Praefectus Maximus as he raises his glass—crystal, probably antique, definitely expensive.

"Good evening," he begins, his voice carrying effortlessly across the ballroom without needing a microphone, the kind of practiced projection that comes from years of commanding rooms full of powerful people. "Thank you all for joining us for this year's Spring Ball. As many of you know, this event marks the beginning of the final trials for our initiates."

My stomach drops.

No. No no no.

"This year's games," Nathaniel continues, and the room is so quiet I can hear my own heartbeat, "will take the form of a scavenger hunt. Over the course of one week, initiates will search for items of significance to the Veritas Order. Items that test their intelligence, their resourcefulness, their dedication to our cause."

Around the room, I see them—the initiates. Young men in tuxedos, standing at attention along the walls like soldiers, their expressions a mixture of excitement and terror and desperate hope.

And there, in the second row near the far wall, is Taylor Jackson.

His eyes find mine across the room, narrowing with an accusation I can feel from here, and my chest tightens because he's back, because somehow he got back into the initiation despite dropping out, despite everything.

What did I do? What the fuck did I do?

"Alexander," I whisper urgently, my hand finding his arm. "What's going on? Why is Taylor⁠—"

"I don't know," he murmurs back, his own expression tightening with concern, with confusion. "He shouldn't be here. If he dropped out, they shouldn't have let him back in."

"The games will culminate," Nathaniel says, and the pride in his voice makes me nauseous, "in a final challenge. A maze, constructed specifically for this purpose in the woods north of campus. Only those who successfully navigate both the scavenger hunt and the maze will be granted entry into our brotherhood."

Cheers erupt from the crowd—genuine excitement, like this is a sporting event and not a series of trials that could get people killed. The initiates look simultaneously thrilled and terrified, and I want to scream at them, want to grab them all and shake them and tell them to run, to get as far away from this place as possible.

But I don't. I stand there in my expensive dress with my husband's hand on my back and I watch history repeat itself.

"The games begin tomorrow morning at dawn," Nathaniel announces, and the cheers get louder. "And I'm pleased to inform our initiates that they've already been given their first item to find. Check your phones, gentlemen."

As one, the initiates reach for their devices. I watch Taylor's face as he reads whatever message was sent, watch the color drain from his cheeks, watch his hands start to shake.

What did they send him? What could be bad enough to make him look like that?

"I know this is a difficult week ahead," Nathaniel continues, his voice taking on a paternal quality that makes my skin crawl. "I know the trials will test you in ways you cannot yet imagine. But remember—those who survive, those who prove themselves worthy, will be welcomed into a brotherhood that spans generations. You will have power. You will have protection. You will have a family that will never abandon you."

Lies. All lies. They'll use you up and spit you out and if you're unlucky enough to be too good at their games, they'll kill you before you become a threat.

"So to our initiates," Nathaniel raises his glass higher, "I say: may the best among you rise. May the worthy prevail. May the truth guide your path. Lucem video."

"Veritas videt tenebras!" the crowd roars back in unison, glasses raised, voices echoing off the ornate ceiling.

I see the light. The truth sees the dark.

The phrase that's haunted me since the first night Alexander took me to a Veritas club, since I first discovered this world exists beneath the surface of normal life like rot beneath beautiful wallpaper.

I look at the initiates again—really look at them. At their hopeful faces and desperate eyes and the way they're trying so hard to look confident, to look worthy, to look like they belong.

And I see it.