Imani’s POV
The moment I stepped out of Dean Martin’s office, the hallway felt too bright, too loud, too exposed. My pulse was still hammering from what Nicolas had said, from the smug twist of his mouth when he repeated my own drunken confession back to me like it was a joke.
God. I wanted to disappear.
My fingers tightened around my books as I marched down the hallway, each step echoing louder than the last. My chest burned with anger. Embarrassment. Shame. All tangled into one humiliating knot.
The air in the academic wing felt thick, like it stuck to my ribs. I swallowed hard, trying to steady my breathing when...
“Imani!”
June’s voice cut through the haze.
I froze halfway down the stairs as she hurried toward me, curls bouncing, her bag slung lopsidedly across one shoulder. The
