Chapter 6

One week later. The fluorescent lights of the university biology lab hummed loudly. Amy stared through the lenses of her microscope, adjusting the focus knob. The repetitive nature of the cell counting was the only thing keeping her mind from spiraling.

The heavy lab door swung open and banged against the wall. Chloe Nash, her coworker, stood there looking uncomfortable. "Amy, the Dean wants to see you in his office. Right now."

Amy pulled off her safety goggles. She rubbed her tired eyes and walked down the hall to the administrative building.

Dean Alistair Cromwell sat behind his massive mahogany desk. He had a wide, fake smile plastered on his face. He pushed a printed itinerary across the desk.

"Amy, I need you to act as the university's representative this afternoon. We are hosting a very important donor for a campus tour."

Amy glanced at the paper. The name at the top was printed in bold letters: Brigham Myers.

Her stomach dropped. She pushed the paper back. "I can't do this, Dean Cromwell. I have a critical deadline for the glacier ecology data tomorrow."

The Dean's smile vanished. His eyes turned cold and hard. "Mr. Myers just donated fifty million dollars for the new modern art wing. The board is giving the naming rights to a new trustee he recommended. This is a political necessity, Dr. Torres."

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. "If you refuse this assignment, I will personally see to it that your research funding for the next academic year is completely frozen. That includes your clearance for the Antarctica project."

Amy's jaw clenched. She bit the inside of her cheek. The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth. Her career, her escape plan to Antarctica, was entirely in this man's hands.

"Fine. I will do it."

At 2:00 PM, Amy stood on the concrete steps of the main administrative building. She wore a stiff, gray pencil skirt and a white button-down shirt.

Three black, armored SUVs rolled into the campus plaza. Students stopped walking. Media photographers, tipped off by the university PR team, raised their cameras. The flashes started popping like strobe lights.

The middle SUV stopped. The door opened. Brigham stepped out. He looked immaculate in a dark navy suit. He stood tall, exuding power and control.

He did not look at the crowd. He walked around to the other side of the vehicle and opened the door. He reached inside and carefully lifted a woman out, placing her gently into a sleek, custom wheelchair.

It was Giselle. She wore large dark sunglasses and a soft cashmere blanket draped over her legs. She looked incredibly fragile.

Amy watched them. A wave of nausea hit her stomach so hard she had to swallow back bile. She forced her facial muscles into a polite, professional smile and walked down the steps.

Dean Cromwell rushed forward. "Mr. Myers! Welcome. This is Dr. Torres, our top researcher. She will be leading your tour today."

Brigham looked up. His eyes locked onto Amy. A muscle in his jaw twitched violently. His fingers tightened on the handles of the wheelchair. He clearly had no idea she worked at this specific campus.

Giselle slowly pulled off her sunglasses. She looked up at Amy. A sweet, victorious smile spread across her face. "Hello, Amy."

The tour began. Amy held a small megaphone. She walked backward, reciting the history of the brick buildings and the library. Her voice was completely monotone.

Brigham pushed Giselle's wheelchair. He stayed right behind her, never leaving her side. He did not look at the buildings Amy pointed out.

Kade Vance walked next to them. He laughed loudly, pointing at a statue. "Hey Giselle, maybe they'll put a statue of you in front of the new art wing. The future Mrs. Myers deserves it, right?"

Kade completely ignored Amy's presence. He spoke as if she was invisible.

Brigham did not correct Kade. He did not tell him to shut up. Instead, he leaned down and asked Giselle if she needed a bottle of water.

The silence from Brigham was a public endorsement. He was letting his friend humiliate his legal wife in front of dozens of students and cameras.

The students walking by started whispering. Some pointed at Amy. The pity in their eyes was worse than the mockery.

Amy's knuckles turned stark white as she gripped the handle of the megaphone. Her fingernails dug into the plastic. She kept her back straight and continued walking.

Giselle watched Amy's rigid posture. Her eyes narrowed with malice. She let her hand drop casually to the side of the wheelchair. Her fingers brushed against the metal brake lever.