Page 74 of Heartless Sinner

I’d go to war if my grandfather paired me with someone I didn’t like.

I’d been adding to my Hubby-Must-Haves list since I was eight.

Must be a Night Son had been one of the items on that list, but I’d crossed that off years ago.

Blair was the only one who knew Brooks had followed me to Calira. I’d needed someone to bitch to about him, Vittoria, and his two murder attempts.

Even then, I hadn’t told her everything.

A princess needed her secrets.

“Do you have a wedding date yet?” Gemma asked.

Blair shook her head. “Enzo wanted to elope in Italy, but I told him it was too soon.”

“Are you waiting until after graduation?” I asked.

Blair shrugged. “Honestly, I’m not sure because what happens if we get married before? Do I move into his dorm? Does he move in here⁠—”

“Hell to the no,” I interrupted. “I’d have to sage this room hourly.”

I’d nearly burned through my entire sage stash trying to cleanse Brooks’s demonic energy from my bedroom at the castle.

I needed to double my stock here at Saint Vale because it’d be worse.

Here, Brooks wasn’t just a man.

He was an untouchable god with no consequences.

One thing working in favor of my Avoiding Brooks Plan?”

We didn’t share a single class.

I dragged myself into Women’s Studies, running on too little sleep and one too many drinks from last night. After the girls left, I’d spent half the night staring at the chandelier in my sleep alcove, wondering how Brooks planned to torture me next.

Vanilla latte in hand, I climbed to my usual seat and ignored Professor Sinclair watching me from his desk.

Professor Everett Sinclair taught Women’s Studies. Yes, a man.

Fitting for a university secretly run by a bunch of privileged assholes.

I set my latte on my desk and checked my phone before class. Sinclair was strict about them during his lectures.

Blair had tagged me in last night’s Instagram photos. The rest of my notifications were all about Brooks.

News sites, gossip blogs, and even dude-bro podcasters with too much time on their hands had posted about us. They hadn’t tagged me.

But their commenters didn’t fail to.

I shoved my phone into my bag and pulled out my MacBook.

Just as Sinclair glanced at the clock, the lecture hall door creaked open. Everyone’s head turned in that direction. Showing up late to class meant you became a public spectacle.

Someone in the row behind me gasped when Brooks came into view.

Brooks stopped at the bottom of the stairs. His blazer stretched across his broad shoulders, his hair somewhere between messy and slicked back. My traitorous brain immediately remembered how good his tongue had felt between my legs the other night.

It took him only a few seconds to find me. He climbed the stairs, passed two empty desks, passed mine, and stopped at the occupied seat to my right.