"Your analysis of NovaShop's supply chain completely missed their partnership with third-party logistics providers. That's not thorough. That's careless."
It's a low blow. Ethan hates being called careless. Hates any implication that he's not the smartest person in the room.
"I'll revise it."
"Good. Because I'm not letting this project fail because you can't be bothered to do proper research."
"I'm doing proper research?—"
"Are you? Or are you too busy stalking me to actually work?"
The accusation hangs between us. His eyes flash dangerously.
"Stalking you? You think very highly of yourself, don't you?"
"You show up everywhere I am. Coffee shop, library, random places on campus. That's not a coincidence."
"Maybe you're just not as interesting as you think. Maybe I have my own life and our paths cross because we go to the same school."
"Then stop taking my seats. Stop stealing my coffee orders. Stop undermining me in class." I lean forward. "Stop pretending this is about the project when we both know it's about control."
"Control." He laughs. "You're projecting. You're the one who needs everything organized, scheduled, controlled?—"
"Because you destroyed my ability to trust anything spontaneous!" The words come out louder than I intended. "You want to know why I'm rigid? Why I plan everything? Because the one time I didn't, the one time I was honest and vulnerable and real, you used it to humiliate me in front of everyone I knew!"
The study room goes silent. Through the glass walls, I can see people looking.
Ethan's face has gone pale. "Ivy?—"
"We're done for today. I'll email you the revised timeline." I pack up my laptop with shaking hands. "And Ethan? If you keep trying to sabotage me, I'll go to Professor Hendricks. Parents' donations or not, I'll report every instance of your harassment. Try me."
I leave before he can respond. Before I can see whatever emotion is playing across his face. Before I can care about the fact that I just publicly called him out.
In the bathroom, I lock myself in a stall and let myself shake.
That was stupid. Reckless. Exactly the kind of reaction he wanted, but it also felt good. Necessary. Like I finally said something that's been building for three years.
My phone buzzes. Text from an unknown number.
Unknown:I saw what happened in the study room. Zhang looked wrecked. Good for you for finally standing up to him. -Dylan
Then another text. This one from Marcus.
Marcus:Hey, Ethan's roommate here. Not sure what's going on with you two, but he's currently punching his pillow and looks miserable. Just thought you should know.
I stare at both messages. Why does he think I care?
I should feel victorious. I should be glad that I finally got to him.
Instead, I just feel exhausted.
Saturday morning, there's an envelope slipped under my door.
No name. No return address. Just thick, expensive paper.
I open it carefully.
Inside is a single page, handwritten in Ethan's distinctive scrawl.