Juliette’s thighs still ached as she climbed the stairs.
Her skin wore secrets l—raw, sore, and soaked from what he’d done to her in that gallery.
But her face stayed calm.
Until she turned the hallway corner—and ran into her.
Isla.
The girl who’d sneered at her lateness.
Pretty. Loud. Always watching.
“Rough night?” Isla said, voice smooth and sharp.
Then she leaned in closer. “Was it you this time? Did he pick you?”
Juliette froze. “What are you talking about?”
Isla’s smile didn’t reach her eyes.
“Don’t play dumb. Wolfe always finds a favorite. I was last semester’s sketch subject. Late nights. Locked studios. The usual.”
She leaned closer. “He’ll tire of you too. Or maybe I’ll report it before he gets the chance.”
Juliette’s heart slammed.
Isla’s smile didn’t reach her eye
