Page 63 of Lessons in Cruelty

The further I look back, the harder I push forward.

But that’s my secret.

No one else needs to know how fucking desperate I am to succeed.

That I think about it night and day.

That I’ve done things—will continue doing things—I’m not proud of to keep this fucking ball rolling.

A rolling stone gathers no moss.

And wrecking balls gotta have a ton of momentum.

I’m still not sure what kind of snapshot I’m taking right now. Whether I’ll pore over it and smile, or glare at it when I’m in a spiteful mood.

The air inside Bastian’s home smells like a pine forest just after the rain. Crisp, clean, earthy. It’s as if he bottled the smell inside hidden fragrance diffusers.

Inhaling it makes me feel more alive than I have in a while. Painfully, achingly so.

But with clarity comes, well, clarity.

I suddenly feel dirty. Poor. Dumb. And so out of my depth, I’m gonna need scuba gear, or I’ll drown.

The man who invited me inside notices, of course. He notices everything.

I’ve just entered his domain, and predators are most dangerous in their own territory.

The thought should make me leave. Instead, I can’t wait to step deeper inside. Although this house belongs to Professor Rooke, I’m seeing strong evidence of someone else.

Off campus, in here, he’s Bastian…and it shows.

The hard, geometric lines outside the building are drawn inside too. Angular furniture. A massive central fireplace connects the flat, featureless ceiling to the poured concrete floor. But so many textures soften those harsh edges.

A mottled fur throw slung haphazardly over the sleek couch.

Velvet scatter cushions.

The cream-colored fibers of a thick rug.

And that’s just the living area. There’s a large kitchen to one side, a black stone island declaring its border.

On the other side, the fireplace creates a second border. I don’t see any other doors, so I assume that’s for the sleeping area?

It’s giving eccentric billionaire bachelor vibes, and I’m so here for it.

Bastian was already inside by the time I reached the door. He’s in the kitchen, and I stand in the doorway watching him stride over to the gas range to flick on the burner. Moving effortlessly to one of the frosted-glass cabinets to retrieve two mugs.

He pauses, as if feeling my eyes on him. Turns, one hand still on the cabinet’s handle.

“Kai knows where I stay, Haven. If you go missing, he’ll be the first to know.”

I cough as if I swallowed a fly.

Yeah, Bastian. If I went missing, Kai would be dancing on my empty grave.

I shake off the thought and step inside Professor Rooke’s house. But I don’t get far.

“Shoes,” he says, not looking up from the stove.