Chapter 2

Rowan's POV

I listen to the voice messages. My face doesn't move.

Belated devotion is worth less than dirt, and anyway, what he's feeling isn't devotion. It's just a powerless rage from having control ripped away.

I don't reply. I turn off the old phone and toss it in the back of a drawer.

Three years pass in a blur.

The lab in Europe has no day or night. Just endless data, petri dishes, and dry research papers. With hard work and talent, I blast through my master's and PhD faster than anyone expected.

I become Dr. Margaret Fletcher's final doctoral student. The only one. After publishing three groundbreaking first-author papers in top journals, people in the field start calling me "Fletcher's miracle."

Early this year, Dr. Fletcher decides to build a federally funded research lab at Harrington. She's tied up with projects overseas, so she hands the whole thing to me. Hundreds of millions in funding. All eyes on it.

"Rowan, politics in American academia can get ugly," Dr. Fletcher says before I leave, hand on my shoulder. "You need to build the lab and deal with the old guard. Think you can handle it?"

I push my glasses up. "Don't worry. Real talent shuts people up pretty fast."

The plane touches down at Boston International.

Three years later, the air here feels the same. I walk out of the terminal in my coat.

I didn't tell anyone I was coming. The university's sending someone to meet me tomorrow. For now, I want to check out Harrington, find a quiet hotel.

Evening hits. I walk through the streets outside campus. Not much has changed. Still crowded, still loud.

I'm looking down at my phone, typing a reply to the lab, when someone speaks up ahead.

"Rowan?"

I look up. A woman in a bodycon skirt and heavy makeup stands in front of me. Takes me a second to place her. Brittany Walsh. Used to live in the dorm next to mine. One of Gemma's groupies.

"Oh my god, it really is you!" Brittany covers her mouth, looking me up and down.

"Can I help you?" My voice is flat.

"Wow, so cold. We're old classmates, aren't we?" Brittany moves closer, eyes shining with gossip. "Where'd you disappear to for three years? You and Wyatt breaking up was huge drama. I heard you didn't even graduate before you bailed?"

Talking to people like this is a waste of time.

"I've got things to do. See you." I start to walk around her.

"Wait, don't go!" Brittany grabs my arm. "We're having a reunion at the club down the street. Everyone's there! You should come!"

"Not interested." I pull my arm back.

"Come on! Everyone would love to see you!" She puts weight on the word "love," smirking. Obviously, she wants to watch me squirm. Back in school, I was the butt of every joke. Wyatt's pathetic lapdog. The whole department laughed at me. Now that I'm back looking like I've got nothing, she's not about to pass up a chance to kick me while I'm down.

I'm about to say no when my phone buzzes. Text from the department chair at Harrington. "Dr. Spencer, tomorrow at 10 a.m. we'll meet in the office to discuss lab site selection and staffing."

I text back. "Sounds good."

I look at Brittany's scheming face. Something shifts in my head.

If I'm taking over the lab tomorrow, might as well see what these "classmates" are up to now. Get a sense of the landscape.

"Sure," I say. "Why not."

Brittany blinks. She didn't expect me to say yes. Then her eyes light up. "Great! Let's go, it's on the third floor!"

The club is one of those expensive places in Boston. One night here costs what most people make in a year. Someone dropped serious cash on this reunion.

I push open the door. Music blasts. The smell of perfume, smoke, and alcohol hits me all at once.

Twenty or thirty people inside, drinking and talking.

"Everyone, stop! Look who I found!" Brittany grabs a mic, voice loud.

The music cuts. Every head turns toward the door.

The noise, the sneers, everything freezes for a second when they see me.

"Rowan?"

"Holy shit, is that really her? She actually came back?"

"Look at her. Not even carrying a bag. Think she's broke and came crawling home?"

Whispers spread through the room. No one bothers hiding the contempt.

I walk in like I own the place. Find a corner seat. Pour myself some water.

"Rowan, what's been keeping you busy these past few years?" A guy in a suit walks over with a drink. I remember him. Derek Foster. Laughed at me plenty back when Wyatt was around.

"Nothing," I say, looking at my glass.

"Oh, come on, don't be modest." Brittany walks up, voice loud enough for everyone to hear. "I saw her wandering around outside. Doesn't even look like she has a job. Guess it's hard to find work when you didn't finish your degree, huh?"