Chapter 9
Finley's lungs burned as she sprinted through the heavy oak doors of the main academic building. Her sneakers squeaked violently against the polished marble floor of the grand foyer. She didn't stop running until she reached the far end of the eastern corridor, diving into the dark, cramped space beneath the main sweeping staircase.
It was a dead zone, a triangle of shadows hidden behind a heavy marble pillar.
Finley hit the wall and slid down until her skirt bunched up around her knees. She pulled her legs tight to her chest, wrapped her arms around her shins, and buried her face in her knees.
The tears came in a violent flood. Her shoulders shook with heavy, ragged sobs. The pain in her chest wasn't from Ricky pushing her; it was the crushing, suffocating weight of Hartley's betrayal.
"Mean," she choked out, her voice muffled by her wool blazer. "Control freak. I hate him."
She sat there for five minutes, the cold seeping through her clothes, her throat raw from crying.
Then, the sound started.
Click. Clack. Click. Clack.
The slow, measured, heavy sound of leather-soled shoes striking the marble floor. The footsteps were moving down the eastern corridor. They weren't rushed. They were deliberate, tracking a target.
Finley's breath hitched. She instantly stopped crying. She pressed her back harder against the wall, trying to melt into the plaster, holding her breath until her lungs ached.
The footsteps stopped exactly at the edge of the marble pillar.
A tall, dark shadow stretched across the floor, creeping into her hiding spot.
Hartley stood at the entrance of the alcove. He had taken off his peacoat. He stood with his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his tailored uniform trousers. He looked down at the small, trembling ball of girl huddled in the dark. His chest tightened painfully, a phantom hand squeezing his heart.
He didn't speak. He let the silence hang in the cramped space, thick and heavy.
Finley refused to look up. She kept her face buried in her knees, turning her head slightly so only the back of her blonde head was visible to him. She was a fortress of stubbornness.
Hartley let out a slow, nearly silent exhale. He pulled his hands out of his pockets. He stepped into the shadows, the fabric of his trousers rustling, and dropped down onto one knee right in front of her.
He reached into his breast pocket. He pulled out a long, thin stick. At the end of it was a large, artisanal strawberry lollipop, wrapped in clear cellophane. It was from a boutique candy shop in lower Manhattan. He had specifically ordered the driver to make a forty-minute detour that morning just to secure it, slipping it into his coat pocket before he even stepped out of the car, keeping it hidden all day for exactly this kind of emergency. It was her absolute favorite.
He held the lollipop exactly three inches from her nose.
The sharp, sweet, artificial scent of strawberry cut through the smell of dust and floor wax.
Finley's stomach gave a loud, treacherous rumble. She swallowed hard, the lump in her throat bobbing. She peeked out from behind her knees, her red, swollen eyes fixing on the candy. But her pride was a physical barrier. She didn't reach for it. She bit her bottom lip so hard it turned white.
"Are you done being angry?" Hartley's voice was completely different from the cold judge on the playground. It was low, rough, and laced with a heavy, exhausting resignation.
Finley's head snapped up. "You yelled at me in front of him!" she accused, her voice cracking. "You didn't even care that he pushed me! You just wanted to punish me!"
Hartley moved his free hand. He didn't use a handkerchief this time. He pressed his bare thumb against her cheek, dragging the rough pad of his skin across her wet face, wiping away the tear tracks with a pressure that bordered on painful.
"If I don't make you remember the consequences," Hartley said, his eyes locking onto hers with a terrifying, obsessive intensity, "the next time you kick something in anger, it might not be a rock. You might step into traffic. You might put yourself in a situation where I cannot reach you in time to stop it."
He leaned in closer, his breath ghosting over her face. "I will not allow you to be in danger. Even if the danger is yourself."
Finley stared at him. The sheer, crushing weight of his logic pressed down on her anger, suffocating it. She didn't fully understand the dark, twisted possessiveness behind his words, but she felt the absolute, unyielding wall of his protection.
Hartley didn't give her time to argue. He used his thumb to flick the cellophane wrapper off the lollipop. He pressed the sticky red candy directly against her lips.
Finley opened her mouth. The intense, sugary strawberry flavor exploded on her tongue, sending a massive rush of dopamine straight to her brain. The physical tension in her shoulders instantly melted. She sucked on the candy, her eyes fluttering shut for a second.
She pulled the lollipop out of her mouth with a loud pop. "So," she mumbled, her voice thick with sugar and exhaustion. "I don't have to copy the rulebook, right?"
Hartley's face went deadpan. He raised a single, dark eyebrow. "The lollipop is because you were sad. The punishment is because you broke a rule. You still have to do it. Three times. Before dinner."
Finley gasped. She glared at him, her teeth grinding together. She wanted to spit the candy out, to throw it at his perfect face. But the strawberry taste was too good, and her body was too tired from the adrenaline crash. She shoved the lollipop back into her mouth, biting down hard on the edge of the hard candy with a loud crunch.
Watching her puff her cheeks out like an angry squirrel, a genuine, microscopic smile finally broke through the ice in Hartley's eyes.
He stood up. He held out his large, pale hand. "Get up. The floor is dirty. Go wash your face. It's time for lunch."
Finley stared at his hand for a long moment. She hated that he always won. She hated that he was always right. But the cold floor was seeping into her bones.
Slowly, she uncurled her legs. She placed her small, sticky hand into his palm.
Hartley's fingers instantly snapped shut around hers, locking her in. He pulled her up with effortless strength. He used his other hand to brush the dust off the back of her wool skirt, the gesture entirely possessive.
They walked out from under the stairs, stepping back into the bright light of the corridor. Finley licked her lollipop, her steps matching his rhythm. The war was over.
But as Hartley looked straight ahead, his jaw clenched tight. He knew this peace was bought with sugar. The rebellion was growing, and he would have to tighten the leash.
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