Page 8 of Stranger to Love

I released a low chuckle, idly flicking my pen, ecstatic over the absolute plot twist life had just thrown at me.

A sudden chill ran down my spine. I looked up and found Dr. Carter staring directly at me. Her eyes were slightly narrowed, her head tilted, and her jaw was locked as if she was minutely assessing every inch of my composure. Her eyebrow raised, barely perceptible, then she pivoted back to her laptop.

I immediately dropped my gaze and tried to focus on the table discussion. I wasn’t sure what that was. She probably saw me brazenly checking out Ms. Davies and clearly thought I was out of line. Which, yeah, I guessed I technically was. Fair enough.

The remaining forty-five minutes of the seminar passed under a thick layer of tension. Dr. Carter paced the room like a hawk, and though I forced my eyes onto my notebook, I could feel the occasional weight of her gaze passing over our table. When the clock finally hit ten and the class was dismissed, a collective, silent sigh of relief rippled through the room.

As I walked past Dr. Carter's desk on the way out, there was a definite, glacial chill in the air. She didn't look up from her laptop, but I stole a glance anyway. How could I not? She was the most striking woman I’d ever seen—sharp, immaculate, and entirely dangerous. I made sure to exit the room before my jaw entirely slackened.

Urgh. Now I had a massive gap until my 2:00 p.m. lecture. Time for the library.

I’d already powered through the initial textbooks they had told us to order. I was going to get this degree and pass with freaking honours if it was the last thing I did. I didn’t work my arse off for years just to sail by. No, I was going to ace every class, and I wasn’t wasting money on an unnecessary round-trip bus fare. These interim hours would be spent head down, getting a serious jump start on the coursework due in four weeks.

I quickly located a free computer in the business section—perfect, no need to wander far for source texts. I staked my claim immediately, dropping my backpack by my feet, opening my physical textbook, and setting my water bottle on the side. Logging in, I opened the university portal and began scanning the details for the first piece of coursework.

Chapter 3

Alex

Sweet fuck, why did I do this to myself.

I thought the jet lag of early mornings would start to fade, but instead, I felt just as bad as I had on Monday. It was only Wednesday, and I truly thought I’d be past this phase. But no—I felt like I’d been pulling all-nighters for a week straight, when in reality, I’d been getting more sleep than usual because I just got home and basically passed out. Still, I kept moving.

I stood in front of my mirror, tilting my head. I’d layered my jeans with a simple white T-shirt and thrown on one of the few blazers I owned. It struck the perfect balance—both casual, yet put-together. I was starting to weirdly enjoy feeling a bit more dressed up; I had gotten far too accustomed to living in joggers or my Dam uniform. I felt like an adult. Nice.

Today was a brutal block: Business Management Seminar, International Business Lecture, and Economics Seminar—all back-to-back, all before noon.

My Business Management teacher was a young guy who instantly gave me the ick. Not like most men did, who just reminded me every day why I’m a lesbian. No, I meant he had a creepy, self-satisfied smirk. He was the type of guy who thought he was a billionaire entrepreneur but was just 'Mr. Hubbard'—not even a PhD, which every other lecturer I’d encountered had. He had zero reason to be this smug.

His seminars were far worse than his lectures. In the latter, he mostly just droned on, reading off a PowerPoint, so I could tune him out. But his seminars were pure self-absorption, where he used management theories exclusively to inflate his own ego. Just... ew.

When I got to Business Management, I slouched down next to Holly. I’d actually been grateful for her presence that week so far. She was nice. Not overly talkative unless I seemed in the mood, she didn’t pry, and she’d groaned far less about her tiny accommodation than I had expected—which I was secretly grateful for. I’d kill just to be in a simple flat share, not surrounded by fairies and glittery stickers.

The moment Mr. Hubbard walked in, I suppressed a deep groan. He beamed at us all, clapping his hands together with forced, corporate excitement as he began to dive into the next mind-numbing management theory.

Mr. Hubbard launched himself into the presentation with an almost offensive enthusiasm. He bounced on the balls of his feet, his arms slicing the air with overly dramatic gestures. Within seconds, the seminar had completely devolved into an ego-boosting monologue about his own "successes."

He was talking about some management principle—Synergy, maybe?—but every example was immediately filtered through the golden sieve of his self-proclaimed brilliance. “I remember when I implemented this model at that startup I consulted for…” He had barely finished a sentence before interrupting himself with a new, equally pompous anecdote.

A couple of keen students tried to join the discussion, genuinely attempting to add their own observations or questions, but he steamrolled them instantly, using their input as a springboard to talk about himself even louder.

I did my absolute best. I really did. My attention snapped to only two things: the key terms displayed on the slide and the specific management theories he explicitly named. Those were the nuggets I needed to mine for the coursework. Everything else was a bunch of shit. I tuned out every other word he used, especially those used just to talk about himself. I let his voice become a dull, irritating buzz in the background, focusing instead on formulating a concise, theory-heavy paragraph in my head that would earn me top marks, far away from his smug, self-satisfied smirk.

I whispered to Holly, “Do you reckon we could just stop showing up? We’d probably get the same marks either way.” Clearly, he wasn’t actually teaching us anything useful.

Holly smirked, then sighed. “I wish, but the thought of skipping makes me feel physically sick.”

I groaned. Yeah, fine, I wasn’t the type to skip either, but this was bloody torture.

Or, maybe not.

The door swung open and Blondie walked in. She was extra distracting that day, wearing a pencil skirt paired with a soft, ruffled blouse tucked in, and her hair even had a bit of a wave. Every time I saw her, I got a little thrill. This had never happened to me before—running into someone from the club, especially not one I then saw almost every day.

She avoided my gaze at all costs, and it thoroughly entertained me. She hadn’t even attempted to speak to me or give any indication that we’d met before. But there was nothing she could do to stop the immediate blush that crept up her neck when she caught me looking at her, or what flashed through my mind when my eyes scanned her curves.

Mr. Hubbard, oblivious to the fact that my passing interest in his seminar had been completely hijacked by the sudden appearance of a beautiful woman, immediately cornered Ms. Davies. He leaned in far too close, invading her personal space while presumably droning on about his "management style." I watched him, and a low, simmering annoyance started to burn in my chest. I genuinely hated the casual, proprietary way some men treated women they found attractive.

When Ms. Davies finally pulled away from the conversation, she turned—and her eyes landed directly on me. For once, she didn't flinch away. I was still shooting a fierce, concentrated glare right past her shoulder, aimed squarely at Mr. Hubbard's smug face, who remained none the wiser as he adjusted his tie.