"You've got this completely wrong! I have a boyfriend—why would I ever do something like that?"

"And you're my student. How dare you be so out of line, making these vile accusations about your own boyfriend?"

Outside the door she kept apologizing to Oliver—telling him she'd failed as a teacher, that she shouldn't have let me turn out so unhinged.

I had no intention of engaging.

But her voice kept rising, louder and louder, as though she were the one who'd been wronged beyond all bearing.

If I hadn't heard those sounds with my own ears earlier,

I might actually have believed I'd misunderstood everything.

I still remembered exactly how Oliver had used me as a cover to help Davina deceive her boyfriend.

The call on the other end had barely been answered before the room behind me filled with ragged breath and stifled moans.

"Thrilling, isn't it?"

She probably hadn't expected me to open the door.

Oliver's shirt was soaked through at the chest. His arm was still around her waist, not yet pulled back.

"You... why did you open the door?"

Davina instinctively looked at Oliver, reaching to hold on tighter, but he shoved her away fast.

I looked at the two of them and raised an eyebrow.

"Showing up at someone's door in the middle of the night to cry. Swearing you're innocent with one breath and crawling into a man's arms with the next."

"Weren't you the one with all the rules? What happened—those only apply to other people? You don't follow a single one yourself, and somehow that's not a joke?"

Oliver's brow was knotted tight, his voice raw with a fatigue he couldn't mask.

"Maddie, I don't know how things got to this point."

"But it's a misunderstanding. You believe me, don't you?"

He glanced toward Butler Whitmore, signaling him to take Davina back first.

I turned to go back to my room, and he caught my arm.

His voice was low, threaded with impatience. "You haven't answered me."

I pried his fingers off. "The answer doesn't matter anymore."

"My sincerity doesn't come around twice for the same person."

The color drained from Oliver's face. His hand locked around the door handle, knuckles white.

"I won't let you talk like that."

A scream came from downstairs.

"Sir, Ms. Henson's twisted her ankle."

Oliver looked at me, one hand already loosening his tie, voice thick and low.

"I wasn't going to deal with her, but…"

His eyes darkened, as if he were waiting for something from me.

"That's your business."