THIRD PERSON’S OMNISCIENT POV
The marble-tiled corridor of the north arts wing was completely deserted during the middle hours of the afternoon seminar blocks, leaving the air heavy, cool, and silent.
Benedicta Moore stood pressed against the cold stone of a recessed window alcove, her fingers clutching her leather portfolio so hard the stitching groaned under the strain. Her chest was heaving with short, jagged breaths, her perfectly made-up face ruined by thick, ugly streaks of running mascara. The sharp, echoey slam of the corporate finance lecture hall doors still rang in her ears like a physical blow.
Get out of my sight.
Gabriel’s voice—cold, level, and utterly disgusted—repeated on a terrifying loop in her brain. She had never seen him look at her like that. He hadn't just dismi
