Chapter 4: Tunnel of Regret

The courier envelope hits my desk at nine sharp the next morning, thick cream stock sealed with the academy crest. My stomach knots as I read the elegant script. Private dinner with the board. Mandatory. Guest of honor: Professor Nadia Castellano.

I almost laugh at the word honor. They want to carve me up over mahogany and candlelight while rain hammers the tall windows like it knows what's coming. My fingers find the gold cross at my throat and twist until the chain bites skin. The sealed envelope I stole from Lorenzo's office still sits unopened in my locked drawer. His order to return it at ten burns in my head, but this summons trumps everything.

I wear the only dress that doesn't scream Brooklyn adjunct, deep green silk that hugs too much and whispers too little. It matches my eyes, the ones that always give me away. Elena's texts light up my phone on the walk over. I ignore them both. Telling her now would only drag her down with me.

The dining hall in the old legacy wing glows like a trap. Silverware laid out in perfect rows, crystal catching the firelight. Victor Langford rises first, silver-streaked hair gleaming, that warm brown gaze masking the calculation I feel crawling over my skin. He touches my elbow as he guides me to my seat. The contact makes my skin crawl.

"Nadia, my dear. So good of you to join us on short notice." His voice wraps like aged bourbon, smooth and poisonous. "We've been discussing your recent publication. Bold work. Perhaps a touch too bold for these halls, old friend."

I force a smile that feels like broken glass in my jaw. Around the table sit four other board members, all legacy names I've researched until my eyes bled. They watch me like I'm an exhibit. Or prey.

"Bold is how change happens, Mr. Langford." My Italian lilt thickens under stress. I reach for the water glass to steady my hand. "Or does Ashworth Academy prefer its faculty silent and grateful?"

Victor chuckles, the sound paternal until you catch the edges. He leans in, voice dropping so only I can hear. "Careful, girl. Some truths cost more than tenure. Your mother learned that lesson once. I'd hate for history to repeat itself."

The words land like ice water down my spine. My mother's name in his mouth feels profane. I grip the stem of the glass until it creaks. Before I can snap back, the heavy door at the far end opens.

Lorenzo enters like he owns the oxygen in the room. Dark suit tailored to sharp perfection, ice-blue eyes scanning once before locking on me. His jaw tightens at the sight of Victor's hand still hovering near my shoulder. The signet ring catches the light as he traces it once, unconsciously.

"Uncle." The greeting comes clipped. He takes the empty seat directly across from me without being invited. The tension ratchets so tight I can barely breathe.

Dinner crawls. Courses arrive in silent waves, seared duck, root vegetables roasted to velvet, wine older than my grandmother. Every bite tastes like ash. Victor steers the conversation toward enrollment numbers, donor satisfaction. But his eyes keep sliding to me with that false warmth.

"The morality clauses are essential," he says at one point, cutting into his steak with deliberate strokes. "We can't have faculty undermining the very foundations that built this place. Wouldn't you agree, Professor?"

I set my fork down. The clink echoes too loud. "I agree that foundations built on payoffs and erased scandals tend to crumble eventually."

Dead silence. Victor's smile doesn't reach his eyes. Lorenzo's hand stills on his glass. I feel the collective intake of breath from the others, the way power shifts like tectonic plates beneath us.

"Nadia." Lorenzo's voice cuts through, low and commanding. "A word. Outside."

It isn't a request. I stand so fast my chair scrapes. Victor watches us both with something like satisfaction mixed with warning. My pulse hammers in my ears as Lorenzo's fingers brush the small of my back, possessive, protective, infuriating, guiding me from the room.

The hallway stretches long and shadowed. He doesn't speak until we've turned a corner. Then his hand closes around my wrist, firm enough to bruise, and pulls me toward a narrow door hidden behind a tapestry. A faculty tunnel. I'd heard rumors but never seen one.

The door clicks shut behind us. Darkness swallows everything except the faint emergency strip lighting along the floor. Stone walls press close, damp with centuries of Pacific Northwest moisture. The air smells of earth and old secrets.

"What the hell was that?" His words come out rough, closer than they should be. I can feel the heat of him in the confined space, the way his chest rises and falls too fast.

I spin on him, back hitting cold stone. "Your uncle just threatened me with my dead mother's mistakes. And you sat there like it was nothing. Like I'm nothing."

His breath comes sharp. "You think I sat there for fun? Every second of that dinner was damage control. Victor wants you gone, Nadia. Erased like the rest."

The tunnel feels smaller with every word. Water drips somewhere distant, a steady rhythm that matches my frantic heartbeat. His face hovers inches from mine, those ice-blue eyes almost black in the low light. The silk of my dress suddenly feels too thin, the air between us charged enough to spark.

I should push him away. Instead my hands fist in his lapels, dragging him closer. "Then why bring me here? To warn me? Or to finish what we started last night?"

His breath hitches. One hand braces on the wall beside my head, the other sliding up my arm, slow and deliberate. Skin to skin where my sleeve has ridden up. The contact sends fire racing through me, pooling low in my belly.

"This can't happen." But even as he says it, his thumb traces the line of my collarbone. His tie hangs loose again, that rare tell. I want to bury my face in the exposed skin at his throat and never come up for air.

"Then stop touching me like you own me." My voice cracks on the last word. Hate and need twist so tight I can't tell which is winning. His body crowds mine against the wall, hard lines pressing into soft curves, and it feels like coming home and falling apart in the same breath.

Lorenzo's forehead drops to mine. Our breaths mingle, hot and desperate. "I should destroy you. For the legacy. For everything you could take from us." His fingers find the zipper at my back, tugging it down inch by torturous inch. Cool air kisses my spine. "But all I can think about is how you tasted last night."

The confession hits me hard. I arch into him without meaning to, my dress slipping off one shoulder. His mouth follows the path, open and warm against the curve where neck meets shoulder. A sound tears from me before I can swallow it. The tunnel amplifies everything, turning it filthy and real.

My hands work at his shirt buttons, clumsy with want. When my palms meet the heat of his chest, the groan he gives is pure sin. We are a mess of half-undressed desperation in a tunnel that could expose us both. His fingers dig into my hip, pulling me flush against him.

"Lorenzo..." His name feels like a prayer and a curse. I hate how much I need him to keep going. Hate more that some broken part of me is already mourning what we'll lose when the truth drops.

He kisses me then, deep and claiming, nothing like the angry clash from his office. This is slower, more devastating. Like he is memorizing the shape of my surrender. My leg hooks around his thigh on instinct, silk riding high. The friction draws a ragged sound from both of us.

We move together in the dark, hands learning secrets the light would never allow. Every gasp, every whispered curse echoes off the stone. It feels sacred and profane all at once.

But the sealed envelope waits in my drawer. The paternity reference. The payoffs. Victor's threat still rings in my ears.

I shove him back with both hands. Hard. He stumbles, chest heaving, lips swollen and eyes wild. My dress hangs open, one strap fallen, skin flushed from his mouth. We stare at each other across two feet of charged air.

"This is insane," I whisper. My voice shakes. "We're insane."

He drags a hand through his perfect hair, leaving it wrecked. The vulnerability in that small gesture nearly undoes me again. "Go back to the dinner. Tell them you felt ill. I'll handle Victor."

I fix my dress with trembling fingers, the zipper loud in the sudden quiet. Part of me wants to stay. The rest knows staying would destroy us faster. I slip past him toward the tunnel's other exit, legs unsteady, heart in ruins.

"Nadia." His voice stops me at the bend. Low. Raw. "Whatever you think you know... it isn't the whole story. Be careful who you trust with it."

I don't answer. I just keep walking, the taste of him still on my tongue and the weight of everything unsaid crushing my chest.

---

I don't sleep. At dawn I burst into Elena's office with the still-sealed envelope clutched in my fist. Her face is priceless, dark circles under her eyes, oversized glasses askew, a half-knitted scarf dangling from her needles like evidence of a sleepless night. She'd clearly been waiting.

"You look like you got fucked in a crypt," she says without preamble, shoving a steaming mug of coffee into my hands. "And not in the fun way. Spill."

I sink into her visitor chair, the leather creaking under me. The tunnel still clings to my skin, stone chill, Lorenzo's cologne, the ghost of his hands. I hadn't slept. Couldn't. Every time I closed my eyes I felt him against me in the dark.

"I haven't even opened this yet." The words scrape out. I set the stolen envelope on her desk between us. "But after last night, I know it's bad. Victor basically admitted they buried my mother's mistakes to protect the name. And Lorenzo... we were in one of the faculty tunnels after the board dinner."

She scans the sealed edge, lips parting. Her usual sarcasm vanishes, replaced by something sharper. Fear. "Jesus, Nadia. You let him touch you again? After he ordered you to return this at ten? Babe, this isn't hate-fucking anymore. This is career suicide with extra steps."

The shame hits fresh, hot across my cheeks. I remember the way I'd arched into his mouth, the desperate sounds I'd made against damp stone. How good it felt to let the hate burn into need. "I know. God, I know. But when he's close... it's like the rest stops existing. Like I was made to ruin him. Or he's made to ruin me."

She pushes her glasses up, the gesture sharp. "While you were getting ruined in tunnels, I stayed up running basic searches on that reference number you mentioned before. There's an illegitimate line clause in the family trusts. If an heir surfaces..."

I swallow hard. The coffee burns my tongue but does nothing for the ice in my veins. "Lorenzo knows something. He warned me not to trust anyone with it."

Elena's head snaps up. Her eyes search mine, a flicker of something ugly crossing her face before she schools it. Jealousy? Disappointment? Both? "You need to open that envelope now. Before this gets any worse."

My hands shake as I break the seal. The paper inside is stiff, official. My name. My mother's. And a father's surname that makes my stomach lurch: Ashworth. A reference to a paternity test and trust payout. Nothing more. No names. No half-sister. Just the edge of the bomb I've been carrying.

The room tilts. This isn't just some affair anymore. It's me. The payoff. The dirty secret that could topple his entire legacy.

Nausea rises sharp and sudden. I press a hand to my mouth, the coffee threatening to come back up. Elena reaches for me but I jerk back. Her touch feels like judgment now.

"Nadia, wait—"

I stand so fast the chair topples. The birth certificate stares up at me, proof that everything between us is worse than forbidden. It is grotesque. And still, God help me, some traitorous part of me remembers his mouth on my skin and doesn't care.

"I have to go." My voice sounds foreign. Detached. "Before he finds out how much I know."

But as I flee her office into the gray dawn light, one thought cuts sharper than the rest. Lorenzo isn't just the enemy anymore.

He is the only person in the world who might understand exactly how broken this makes us both.

And that terrifies me more than Victor's threats ever could.