Page 114 of Submission

It’s been a few weeks since the incident at the art show, and I haven’t spoken to anyone in the art department since my abduction. I didn’t really have to because Hunter spoke to everyone who mattered, letting them know I was safe and apologizing for any drama he may have indirectly caused at the event.

Now, things can get back to normal. Well, besides the fact that I’m pregnant and that I still have a security detail sitting in a black town car outside, looking conspicuous as hell.

There are just some things that are non-negotiable in Hunter Middleton’s world, and I’m just going to have to learn how to live with it.

So will Lena.

“Hi, Megan,” a girl from my sketch class approaches me as I take my normal seat, pulling out my supplies. “Glad to see you back.”

Marta Nunez is not someone who spoke much to me before I became the most famous student in the program for all the wrong reasons, but I don’t fault her for it. It’s just human nature for some.

“Hey, Marta. Thanks so much,” I reply, offering her a warm smile. I’m determined not to let this incident and people’s reactions because of it define me.

Marta hesitates for a moment, her dark eyes searching mine. “I know it might be... weird to talk about it. But I wanted you to know that we, the class, were really worried about you. Not just because of the drama at the show, but genuinely concerned for your well-being.”

A hint of tears gathers in the corners of my eyes, touched by what I believe is actual sincerity in her words. I hadn’t expected this level of compassion from someone I barely knew. Someone who has probably said only about five complete sentences to me since I joined this class.

“Thank you, Marta. That means a lot.”

She gives a nod, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. “You’re strong, Megan. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

Just then, our sketch instructor, Professor Whitman, enters the room, bringing with her a rush of cold air and a powerful aura of authority. She glances around, her sharp eyes eventually landing on me. “Megan,” she calls out in her firm tone. “A moment, please?”

I gulp, packing away the slight relief I’d felt just moments ago from Marta’s kind words. Rising from my seat, I approach the front of the class, and Marta sends me an encouraging nod as I pass her.

“I’m glad to see you back,” Professor Whitman starts, her tone softer than usual. “We’ve missed your talent in this room.”

“I appreciate that, Professor,” I say, taken aback.

“I’ve pulled you aside like this because the Dean asked me to. He’s on his way and wanted to speak with you privately before class starts.”

“Oh.”

Dean Darwin walks with purpose down the marbled hall in his off-the-rack tan suit and brown sensible shoes. Usually, when I’ve seen him in the past, he was busy talking to another professor or staff member, never having much time for us students–except for his favorites, of course. This time his gaze seems focused straight ahead and on me. I grow tense, wondering what he’s going to say.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Professor Whitman says. “Come back in when you’re ready.”

“Hello, Miss Taylor.” the Dean greets me cordially, although his posture looks slightly uncomfortable.

“Hello, Dean Darwin.”

“While I had a brief discussion with Mr. Middleton about your immediate welfare right after the incident at the showing, it’s good to actually see you in the flesh. You don’t look any worse for wear.”

What an odd thing to say to a woman who’s just been traumatized at a school-sponsored event.

“Yes, well, thanks to Mr. Middleton, I was found safe and sound.”

“Right.” He shuffles weight between both of his feet. “I just wanted to apologize for that. For not ensuring more security at the event. We never imagined something like that could happen, but nevertheless, we should have been more prepared.”

Something about his apology feels forced and disingenuous. A part of me wonders if Hunter put him up to it.

“It’s not your fault,” I assure him. “No one could have foreseen something like that happening. I just hope it didn’t ruin the showing for the rest of the students.”

I have to admit that I’m being a little disingenuous myself. I already knew that only a few people who were paying attention realized anything was going on that evening. For the most part, the drama unfolding was kept under wraps from the rest of the guests while Hunter’s security searched for me. No one was the wiser until someone reported the faint sound of gunshots, and soon after, they found me. By that time, most of the student pieces had been sold, including mine.

He nods, exhaling deeply. “I assure you it ruined nothing, and I want you to know that the college is here to support you in any way you need. Take things at your own pace.”

While the Dean’s sudden support of me is eyebrow-raising, it almost doesn’t matter why he’s doing it; I just accept that he is.

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