The following week passed in a tense, fragile balance.
Emma sat in the front row every lecture, taking notes while trying not to watch Kane too obviously. Jessica sat three rows behind her, smiling sweetly whenever their eyes met, a smile that now felt like a knife pressed against Emma’s throat.
Kane kept his promise. He met Jessica twice that week for “mentoring sessions.” Each time he returned to the apartment, he held Emma a little tighter, kissed her a little longer, as if trying to erase the hours he had spent pretending.
On Thursday night, after one of those meetings, Kane came home quieter than usual.
Emma was waiting on the couch with takeout. “How was it today?”
Kane loosened his tie and dropped onto the couch beside her. “She’s pushing harder. Asked if I could write her a pe
