The moot court chamber smelled of polished wood, old paper, and nervous ambition.
By 10:00 a.m. the next morning, I stood at the podium in a crisp black suit I’d chosen deliberately — armor, not seduction. My thesis slides glowed behind me on the large screen. The title still felt like a weapon I was no longer sure I controlled.
Coercive Leverage in Modern Contract Structures: Consent Under Economic Pressure
The room was smaller than the defense hall but no less intimidating. A panel of three professors. A handful of fellow students. And two men who should not have been there.
Shawn sat in the back row, arms crossed, eyes locked on me with a hunger so intense it felt like a physical touch. He hadn’t come closer than the three-foot boundary he’d imposed on himself, but his gaze stripped
