Chapter 2

I stayed in the lab and opened our chat history again.

I did not want to suspect Dr. Ford, but the matte black fountain pen would not leave my mind.

Last month, my anonymous boyfriend had sent me photos from a stationery store.

Help me choose one, sweetheart. I need something that makes me look like a serious academic, not a sleep-deprived disaster.

I had picked a matte black fountain pen with a silver clip and told him to buy blue-black ink with it.

This one. Low-key, but not boring. Blue-black ink too. It’ll make your comments look less like death threats.

He had replied almost instantly.

Whatever you choose is perfect.

I stared at the old messages for a few seconds, then sent:

Are you using that pen?

His answer came at once.

Using it right now. It writes really well.

A photo followed.

The black pen lay across a stack of printed pages. The angle avoided most of the room, but a corner of red handwriting showed near the edge.

The handwriting looked familiar.

Too familiar.

Before I could zoom in, the department system refreshed with a message from Dr. Ford.

Maya, if you’re still in the building, send me the revised framework. We need it before tomorrow’s review.

I stared at the screen.

Any other professor sending thesis comments at one in the morning would have sounded insane. With Dr. Ford, it was normal. As long as a draft still had a pulse, he believed it could be revived.

I sent the file, then grabbed my laptop and walked down the hall. I told myself I was only going to ask whether he had received it.

When I reached his office, the door was half open. Dr. Ford was on the phone, and I was about to knock when I heard his voice.

It was low, almost gentle.

“Yes, I miss you too.”

I froze.

“No, don’t drive this late. Professor Reed is coming to Westbridge tomorrow. I’ll ask him to pick you up.”

Professor Reed.

The visiting professor from the joint lab next door.

Dr. Ford’s voice softened again. “I’m not trying to control you. I just don’t want you tired on the road. Fine. I’ll see you tomorrow. Good night, love.”

I turned slightly toward the window and pretended I had heard nothing.

So Dr. Ford had someone.

That should have cleared him.

Then he hung up, cleared his throat, and became my terrifying adviser again.

“You sent the file?”

“Yes, Professor.”

He looked over the draft on his screen. “Your research question is still too broad. The methods section improved, but the framework cannot support your sample design. Fix that before the review.”

“Understood.”

I was about to leave when I saw the corner of his desk.

The pen was there.

Matte black body. Silver clip. Beside it sat a bottle of blue-black ink.

Dr. Ford noticed me staring. “Is there a problem?”

I forced myself to sound normal.

“That pen is nice. Where did you buy it?”

“Cambridge Stationers.”

My stomach dropped.

That was the store from my anonymous boyfriend’s photos.

Dr. Ford looked at me. “Do you want one?”

“No. I was just asking.”

I left his office almost immediately.

By the time I returned to the lab, one thought had taken over.

Ethan Ford was my anonymous boyfriend.

But if I was the girl he called baby on NearU, who was the woman he had just called love?

Apparently, I had fallen for a cheater.

Worse, the cheater was my thesis adviser.