Trapped By My Possessive Billionaire Ex

Keeley sprinted across the Columbia campus, running as fast as she could toward the computer science building. The old professor for this advanced algorithms class was notoriously strict. Being five minutes late meant an automatic deduction of participation points. Panting heavily, she ran up to the third floor and stopped outside the heavy back doors of the lecture hall to catch her breath. Through the thick wood, she vaguely heard a low male voice. She assumed the professor was taking attendance. Terrified of being marked absent, she shoved the back doors open and yelled a very loud, "Here!" Hundreds of heads snapped around. Every single student in the room stared at her. Keeley stood frozen in the doorway, her hand still pushing the door, her cheeks flushed bright red from running. She instinctively looked down toward the front podium, ready to apologize to the old professor. The moment her eyes hit the podium, her stomach dropped. Standing there wasn't the white-haired professor. It was Holland, dressed in a dark gray bespoke suit. Right, she thought bitterly. He's the new TA. Of course. She had known this since the first class. But knowing it intellectually and being ambushed by it—after this morning's scene at the café, after his threat—were two very different things. Holland had one hand tucked casually into his trouser pocket. In the other, he was spinning a red laser pointer. He looked down the tiered seating at Keeley standing in the doorway. A dark, mocking smirk curled his lips. He leaned toward the microphone and spoke in a slow, deliberate drawl. "It seems Ms. Jackson got plenty of rest this morning. Very energetic." The double meaning in his taunt instantly triggered a roar of laughter from the hundreds of students. Keeley's face burned so hot it felt like it was on fire. She wished she could evaporate into thin air. Keeping her head down to avoid the stares, she practically ran to the back corner and dropped into the empty seat next to her friend, Jasmine. Jasmine immediately leaned over, whispering excitedly about how insanely hot the new guest teaching assistant was. Keeley's mind was in total chaos. She couldn't hear a word Jasmine was saying. Her scalp went numb. She knew exactly what this was. This was Holland's revenge for her breaking the rules this morning. He had reached his hands right into her classroom. And now he was using his TA position—a legitimate, semester-long role—to humiliate her in front of hundreds of people. Fury simmered in her chest. She wanted to text Jasmine, to vent, to call him every name in the book. But her fingers froze over her phone, hidden in her pocket. No. He's already watching. She remembered the threat from this morning. The way his voice had gone cold and soft. The man had a control freak's instincts and the platform to act on them. Pulling out her phone now would be suicidal. So she forced herself to keep her hands on the desk, empty and innocent. She stared at the chalkboard, at the complex dynamic programming algorithm scrawled there, and tried to focus on the lecture. But Holland's deep, pleasant voice lecturing at the front suddenly stopped. An unsettling silence fell over the classroom. Keeley kept her head down, her jaw clenched. Until the steady sound of leather dress shoes stopped right next to her desk. A large, long-fingered hand reached out, his towering frame leaning down so closely that his shadow entirely swallowed her desk. A knuckle rapped violently against the hard surface right beside her elbow. Keeley jumped in her seat. She snapped her head up and crashed straight into Holland's oppressive, furious eyes. "Ms. Jackson," he said, his tone terrifyingly cold and professional. "Since you seem to have so much free time that you can't even be bothered to arrive on time." He straightened his back, turned, and pointed the red laser at the algorithm on the chalkboard. "Why don't you come up and solve this for us? Let's see if your energy this morning translates to actual competence." Every eye in the room was focused on them again. The tension was suffocating. Keeley's heart hammered. She hadn't even touched her phone. He was doing this purely because of her entrance—because of this morning. But there was no point in arguing. Not here. She rose from her seat, keeping her face carefully blank, and walked down the aisle toward the chalkboard. Fine, she thought. You want to play this game? She picked up the chalk. Her hand didn't tremble.