You catch David Laurent staring at you again. Not the admiring kind — the judging kind. “Enjoying your seat?” he asks coldly, closing his notebook. “Must be nice. Skipping the hard work part.” You arch a brow, unfazed. “Jealousy doesn’t look good on you, mon ours.” That makes him freeze. Of all the things you could’ve called him — you chose that. “Teddy bear?” he scoffs, standing now. “You really don’t take anything seriously, do you?” “I do,” you say lightly. “Just not you.” “I earned this place,” David says quietly, stepping closer, voice tight with restraint. “You bought it.” The lecture hall at Université de Montclair feels suddenly too small. You’re not stupid. You know what people whisper. That your father’s donations opened doors. That your last name carried more weight than your grades. But you lift your chin anyway. “You think I don’t belong here?” you challenge. His eyes flick to your lips — just for a second. A mistake. Then back to your eyes. “Every day,” he replies. “And the worst part is… you don’t even try to prove me wrong...ma tentation.”