Chapter 2
I pulled my phone from my bag, staring at the number on the screen.
In my previous life, this was a call I never had the courage to make until the very end.
Memories of my death flooded back unbidden—Vincent in a black suit, standing at my funeral. Later, the small urn containing my ashes became the sole companion of his lonely years.
Even in this second life, the pain of watching his heart break for me remained sharp and clear.
I pressed dial. The phone rang three times in the rain.
"Wright speaking." Deep. Cold.
"Professor Wright, this is Amanda."
Dead silence on the other end.
"I just left Julian," I said, rain streaming down my face. "Burned his credit card and apartment keys. I'm broke and have nowhere to go. Come get me, please."
After a full five seconds of silence, his strained voice came through: "Where."
"Outside the fraternity house."
"Wait there." He hung up, clean and decisive.
I shoved the phone back into my bag. This was a gamble—betting that deep down, he was still the man who would burn his remaining years for me.
I didn't retreat to the awning. Instead, I stood my ground in the downpour, letting the rain soak through me.
I was trembling, half from the cold, half from crushing self-doubt.
If the butterfly effect of my rebirth had erased his obsession with me, if he truly didn't care... then this test would be nothing more than pathetic humiliation.
Twenty minutes exactly. A black Bentley sliced through the rain curtain, screeching to a stop at the curb.
The door swung open. Vincent stepped out with a black umbrella. Charcoal suit, tie perfectly straight.
When his gaze swept over my shivering body, his eyes turned to ice.
"Are you out of your mind?" He strode over, the umbrella frame creaking under his grip. He held the umbrella over me entirely, rain already soaking into his shoulder and sleeve. He stared hard at my purple-tinged lips, voice barely containing rage. "You're willing to risk your life just to dump some guy?"
I wiped the water from my face and looked up with a small smile. "Thanks for coming, Vincent."
Not pleading. Just stating.
His jaw clenched hard, muscle twitching visibly. The next second, he grabbed my arm. The burning heat of his palm seared through the cold water on my skin, grip almost punishing in its force.
He practically shoved me into the back seat, half his suit drenched from shielding me. He threw a cashmere blanket at me without a word. His voice was ice-cold: "Dry off. Don't do this to yourself."
"Don't worry, I know my limits." I wrapped the blanket tight. On my pale wrist, red marks had already formed where he'd grabbed me.
"Where to? The Hilton nearby?" He pulled up the navigation with an expressionless face.
"Not a hotel. Not the dorm either." I met those deep eyes in the rearview mirror. "Your apartment, Vincent."
Screech—!
The tires shrieked against the wet pavement as the car jerked to a stop at the curb.
Vincent turned around, half his body swallowed by shadow in the cabin. Those eyes bore into me, cold enough to freeze bone, yet harboring a thread of offended anger.
"Julian's partying at the frat tonight. He's not at my place." His jawline was taut, words sharp as blades. "If this is some revenge play against him, or if you're planning to use me to get to him, you've got the wrong person."
"I know he's not there." I gripped the blanket's edge. "And that's not why I want to go."
The air in the car seemed to vanish in an instant.
Vincent stared at me for several seconds, the restraint in his eyes nearly fracturing. He suddenly pulled out his phone. "I'll call you a car, book you a room—"
"Vincent!"
I leaned over the center console and pressed my hand down on his. The instant we touched, the muscles in his forearm turned to stone.
"Amanda, let go." He looked at me, gray-blue eyes holding back a storm with everything he had. "I don't care what happened tonight to upset you. Don't use a professor—especially his brother—as a tool to vent your emotions."
He paused, a barely perceptible hurt and sternness seeping into his tone. "And you shouldn't turn yourself into bait either."
I didn't let go. Instead, I held his fingers tighter. "Going back to the dorm means becoming a joke. A hotel means Julian will corner me tomorrow morning. I can't go home, and I don't even have money for a room. I'm not playing games, and I'm not using you."
I slowly released his hand and retreated to the back seat. "But if you really think I'm just manipulating you... then I apologize for bothering you."
I turned and reached for the door handle.
Click. The central lock engaged, the sound jarring in the silence.
I froze, then turned back.
Vincent wasn't looking at me. He tossed his phone aside, gripped the steering wheel with both hands, veins bulging on the backs.
With one press of the gas pedal, he gunned the car into the rain, heading straight for the quiet faculty housing deep in campus.
His place was exactly like him—air thick with scholarly rigor and austerity. Towering dark wood bookshelves dominated an entire wall, every object in its designated place, the whole space devoid of any casual warmth.
"Bathroom's down the hall on the left." He pulled off his damp tie and draped it carelessly over a chair, water still beading on his shoulder. He handed me a clean black T-shirt and sweatpants. Thoroughly businesslike distance.
I walked into the bathroom and let hot water wash away the cold. There were unopened guest toiletries on the vanity. I didn't touch them. Instead, I reached for the shower gel on his shelf.
Cedarwood mixed with crisp citrus. Vincent's scent.
After drying off, I put on only the black T-shirt, tossing the sweatpants into the hamper.
Vincent was tall. On me, this shirt hung like a short dress, the hem barely covering mid-thigh, the neckline so wide it slipped off one shoulder with any movement.
I walked out barefoot, damp hair draped over my shoulders.
Only a dim brass floor lamp lit the living room. Vincent stood by the bar cart near the bookshelf, pouring a drink.
He'd changed into sweatpants and a black tee, shedding his classroom asceticism to reveal taut muscle radiating dangerous intensity.
At the sound of footsteps, he turned.
The motion of pouring froze. His gaze slid uncontrollably from my dripping hair down to my bare legs.
"Where are the pants?" His voice went hoarse immediately.
"Too long. I'd trip." I held his stare calmly and crossed the boundary, settling onto his dark leather reading chair. Damp patches from my wet hair quickly darkened the expensive surface.
Vincent's brow twitched, but he didn't stop me.
In this rigidly academic space, with my approach, the cool cedarwood scent layered through the air—his scent, now emanating from my skin.
The overlapping fragrance tore open a suffocating, forbidden crack in this monochrome domain.
He stared at me hard, undercurrents roiling in his eyes. After a full three seconds, he jerked his gaze away and drained half a glass of whiskey in one gulp.
"Stay put." He grabbed the cigarette pack from his desk, voice stretched tight. "I'm going for a smoke."
Watching his near-escape toward the balcony, I was about to look down when my phone on the walnut coffee table suddenly vibrated violently.
Cold screen light sliced through the dim air. I didn't move. Vincent stopped at the balcony door.
Across those few steps, we both looked at the coffee table. The name flashing on the screen brutally shattered this secret stillness:
Julian.
