Page 83 of The Ring
I stand up to leave like all the other students.
“The one who arrived late and interrupted the class, can you come down here for a minute?” the professor calls out. It’s a rhetorical question—clearly, he isn’t asking.
I spoke too soon.
I could make a run for it, but some of the students are watching—probably eager for the gossip—and the professor’s eyes are locked on me. There’s no escaping this.
I sigh and reluctantly make my way down the stairs.
I reach the bottom of the classroom where the professor is standing and position myself in front of him, arms crossed, bracing for what I imagine will be a sermon about how rude it is to interrupt a class. I’ve had my fair share of those in the past.
The professor turns to look at me. “You don’t go to this class, do you?” he asks, though the tone of his voice makes it clear he already knows the answer.
Even though I wonder if I should lie.
Can you get in trouble for being in a class you don’t belong to?
I don’t think so. People audit classes all the time, but usually, they ask for permission first, don’t they?
“No, I don’t.” I drop my arms to my sides, letting out a small breath as I do.
He nods, but again, it feels like he’s doing it more to himself than to me. “And yet, you were one of the few who didn’t bat an eye the whole lesson.”
“Thanks,” I say, though it comes out more like a question. Iwasn’t expecting this—I was bracing for a scolding, not… whatever this is. It’s not exactly a compliment, but somehow it feels like, with him, this might be the closest thing to praise you’d ever get.
“What are you doing with your life?” he asks abruptly, and it takes me back a little. When my father says it, it sounds like an insult, but with him, somehow it doesn’t. He seems genuinely curious.
I think about it for a moment.
Spending my trust fund.
Messing around with a girl I don’t care about.
Dwelling on the fact that my girl is with a B-lister actor.
I won’t answer with any of those—he’s asking what productive thing I’m doing, not that.
“Not much,” I finally say.
He looks at me thoughtfully. “Have you ever thought about studying architecture?”
Chapter 50
Cornelia
The Grand Prix of Monaco—I’ve never understood the allure of watching cars running around in a big circle. But then again, here I am, for the fifth year in a row. We’ve all been coming here every year since I was sixteen.
At least the race went by extremely fast, or I slept through part of it (highly possible), because it felt like I went straight from my house to the after-party.
After the race, we went to the after-party at Amber Lounge, and then we hit an even more exclusive after-after-party on one of the mega yachts. That’s where we are now.
I’m sitting on a couch in one of the living room areas, talking to a guy named Alejandro, who claims to be one of the owners of a car team called Alp… something. I don’t remember.
I prefer this party to the one at Amber Lounge. It’s less crowded, and while there’s music, you can actually talk. Plus, there are far more drivers here.
The party is exactly what’s rumoured about the F1 parties—debauchery everywhere. I’ve seen plenty of drugs being passed around, married people kissing others who aren’t theirspouses, and underwear scattered on the floor. And this is actually the calm floor. The ones below are even crazier, which is why I’m staying up here. But it doesn’t shock me. It’s exactly what I thought it would be, and I’ve been to parties where far worse things happened. It kind of reminds me of a few parties at boarding school.
I look up and see Annabelle making her way over.
