Page 36 of Gambit
“Of course,” he says. “Why aren’t we?”
Giggling as he pulls a face, I take a sip of coffee and then ditch it. I’m too nervous to consume anything right now.
Gathering the guys, we leave the house and cross over the wet grass, the cool autumn air, making me shiver despite my warm coat. Marching straight up to the Main Building, we linger, looking nervous as all fuck, probably. Well, me, definitely.
Leaning against a cold stone wall, Raphael stands close enough for me to feel the heat from his body, his arm brushing mine every so often. Tarquin’s eyes roam the crowd, missing nothing, while Oliver cracks a joke under his breath, earning a snort from James.
“Come on, come on,” I mutter. I couldn’t sleep last night waiting for the other shoe to drop, but now it’s morning, and things need to start happening one way or the other before I climb the walls.
“Looks like our little night time adventure paid off,” Raphael murmurs, watching as the Main Building’s doors swing open.
Vice Chancellor Peters steps out, flanked by two stern-faced guards who look more military than regular. His face is a mask of anger and disbelief.
A murmur ripples through the crowd of students gathered around us, their phones out, capturing every moment.
“Can’t believe that prick is finally getting what he deserves,” Oliver whispers.
“About time,” James adds, folding his arms across his chest as we watch Peters being led down the steps.
“Eliza,” Tarquin says, his voice low, “you okay?”
I nod, keeping my expression neutral. Inside, though, satisfaction courses through me. The evidence we planted in Harris’ office was the nail in Peters’ coffin. This is more than just a personal victory; it’s a message to anyone who dares cross us.
“Eliza Hughes, this isn’t over.” Vice Chancellor Peters’ voice snarls through the murmurs of the crowd like a knife. His eyeslock onto mine as the guards escort him past us. The satisfaction I feel wavers, uncertainty taking root. He’s got that look—like he’s holding a royal flush and can’t wait to lay it down.
“Looks like it to me,” I murmur.
He leans in, close enough for only me and my guys to hear. “I sent the paperwork for your expulsion last night. Enjoy your last moments here.” He straightens, almost regally, despite his downfall, and then he’s moving away again, leaving his threat hanging in the air like smoke.
“Shit,” Raphael mutters.
My heart kicks against my ribs, harder, faster. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He was going to do it anyway, no matter what I said. That prick!” I turn and kick the wall, terror coursing through me that I’m going to have to face my dad as a complete failure.
“Looks like Harris is heading this way,” Oliver whispers, his gaze tracking the Chairman’s approach.
“Shit.” My mind races, trying to predict Harris’ play. Will he side with Peters and kick me out, or will this all blow over and be a distant memory?
As he walks past us, Harris says, “Let’s get to class now; show’s over.”
I watch him for a beat, then two, searching for some sign, any clue. But there’s nothing, just the back of a man who might have just sealed my fate, and I’m left hanging, unsure if I’m still a student or a soon-to-be trespasser on this campus.
“Eliza?” Raphael’s voice is low, but I barely hear him over the rush of blood in my ears.
“Give me a sec,” I say, already moving. My feet carry me forward before I’ve even made the conscious decision to confront Harris. The guys hang back, a silent support network I can’t afford to lean on—not yet.
“Chairman Harris!” I call out.
He stops, turns, and looks at me with those shrewd eyes that miss nothing. “Ms Hughes?”
“Am I being expelled?” It’s blunt, direct, a bullet of a question with no room for dodging. I need to know one way or the other.
He gives me a searching stare. “The expulsion paperwork, it did land on my desk last night, along with another file that was very informative.”
My heart kicks up a notch, but I maintain a cool facade. “And?”
“Given who pushed for your exit from Castle...” Harris glances at the empty space where Peters had just been. “I’ve decided it’s not worth the paper it’s printed on.”
Relief floods me, sudden and sweet, but I mask it with a nod. “Thank you,” I reply, my voice steady.
