Page 21 of Breaking Ophelia
“Do you?” Ms. Valence rasps. She slides a crystal glass of water across the table. “This is not a place for those who wish to challenge hierarchy. We are all here for a purpose.”
I nod, taking the water. My fingers tremble on the glass, so I grip harder, turning them white.
“Good,” says Abelard, closing the file with a snap. He looks up, eyes sharp and black as a fresh bruise. “You are on a debt repayment. Your tuition and board are covered. However, your continued enrollment is contingent upon proper conduct and… respect for authority.”
“Understood,” I say, again. My tongue tastes metal.
Ms. Valence leans closer, her lips barely moving. “The other students are from families who have supported this Academy for centuries. Legacies. Heirs. You, on the other hand, are here for a… special circumstance.”
The shadow-man picks up. “Your father’s arrangement is highly irregular. It was not our preference to accept a debt transfer, but the Board is—how shall we say—magnanimous in its judgment.”
I bite the inside of my cheek until I taste blood. “Is this a disciplinary meeting?”
Abelard’s smile is pure bone. “No, Ms. Morrow. This is a courtesy.”
His tone makes the word sound like a threat.
The next ten minutes are a blur of questions and thinly veiled warnings. Abelard’s words are always measured, never raising his voice, but every statement feels like a verdict. Ms. Valence punctuates each point with a tap of her ink-dusted bell, as if tolling the seconds until I’m found wanting.
When they ask about last night’s incident in the dining hall, I answer honestly. “I followed the ritual as instructed.”
Ms. Valence tips her head, eyes narrowing. “You understand that refusal is not tolerated?”
“Yes.”
“Good,” says Abelard. “Then we will have no issues moving forward.”
The second shadow speaks. “Your sponsor will ensure your compliance. You will report to him weekly. If there are any lapses, they will be addressed.”
They do not say how.
I grip the armrest so tight the wood creaks under my nails.
A pause. Then, the door opens.
I twist to look, and my stomach drops.
Caius Montgomery enters, his hair slicked back and a smile splitting his face. He sits across from me, draping his arm along the back of the chair like it’s a throne. His eyes meet mine, and I feel a flush creep up my face, heat and shame crawling up my neck like I’ve just been doused in gasoline.
He says nothing, just studies me with a cocky boredom. Then, with a subtle lift of his hand, he brings his fingers to his nose, and inhales.
The world tilts.
I cross my legs under the table, thighs clenched, refusing to fidget even as the memory of his touch sears my skin. I will not look away.
Abelard continues. “Mr. Montgomery is your sponsor, and he says you have been less than impressed with your attitude. He is well-versed in our traditions and expectations. He has expressed… interest in your successful transition. Your attendance at your classes is mandatory and thus far you’ve managed to miss every one except your very first. This is not acceptable. Mr. Montgomery will ensure your attendance, or there will be repercussions.”
The other members of the Board exchange glances, and I realize—too late—that this meeting is not about my education. It’s about ownership.
Ms. Valence taps the bell, softer this time. “Do you have questions for your sponsor?”
I drag my gaze from Caius’s eyes to the table, then back again. He’s still smiling, lips parted just enough to show the threat in his teeth.
I clear my throat. “No questions.”
He grins wider. “She learns fast.”
I think about stabbing him in the thigh with my pen, then about the way his fingers had made me shake, and hate myself for the way my heartbeat hitches at the memory.
