"Ah, that is why you are disrupting my class, pulling the focus from the lesson. You're looking for attention. Do that on your own time."
Heat flared in my cheeks. I wanted to tell him exactly where he could shove his misogynistic bullshit.
All that would do would be to draw more attention to me. That was the last thing I needed.
Artem may have allowed me to come to school, and even covered my tuition, but I doubted he would do it all again when I was kicked out of this one for shattering a professor's fragile masculinity.
The professor gave me a satisfied smirk as I shrank down in my seat.
He interpreted it as my being embarrassed, and if that was what it took for him to move on, that was fine.
The truth was, I wasn't embarrassed; I was pissed.
Pissed that even though I was free from my father's control, I didn't actually have my freedom.
I was still being controlled by arrogant men.
By the teacher who could only make himself feel powerful by putting down women, and by the mafia boss who seemed to think that paying my tuition meant he owned me.
Mostly, I was pissed at myself for allowing it all.
The teacher went back to his lecture.
A few students were still staring at me, the men with interest, wondering if I was vulnerable enough for them to make a move on. The women with disdain, as if somehow the professor's accusations reflected badly on them, too.,
After he gave us our assignments and dismissed the class, I wanted to run and hide somewhere. Just pretend this day had never happened and maybe drown my frustrations in a pint of ice cream.
I refused to do that. If I did, then it meant they won. I would be damned if I was going to let that asshole win or give him an excuse to fail me.
We had been assigned study groups, and mine was meeting in the library right after class. I made my way there, being sure to hold my head high as I pushed through the masses of students.
The men stayed behind me. Following at what they seem to have assumed was a respectable distance. They should have been double that if they hadn't wanted people to notice, triple if they hadn't wanted me to notice.
As it was, people stared.
I was the Russian girl no one knew. The one who had two men in suits wearing guns always following her.
It didn't matter that I dressed like everyone else, in well-fitting, comfortable clothing in neutral colors. My wardrobe was casual; smart, but plain. I shouldn't have stood out. Yet still, their eyes were on me.
Panic fluttered in my chest with each step. Every gaze felt like a physical touch, every whisper a threat. My skin crawled with awareness that I was being watched, always watched. I couldn't breathe without someone tracking the rise and fall of my chest.
The library was a five-minute walk, but I was tired of the stares, tired of the accusatory looks, just tired of hearing the whispers around me.
People who had watched Anastasia one too many times wondered if I was some kind of lost Russian princess. Others who preferred spy movies assumed I was the daughter of some KGB agent.
Then there were the ones who looked at me more nervously.
The ones whose families probably had connections or knew someone who knew someone. They looked at me in fear and whispered the wordmafia.
I hated them the most because they were right.
When my father died, I thought maybe I could shed that life entirely, but it looked like it wasn't going to be that easy.
I turned a quick left into the science building; it was filled with students that were being let out of their class. I ran down that hallway, dodging around the groups of students, until I burst through a back service entrance.
My heart pounded in my ears, my breath coming in short gasps.
The thrill of potential escape sent adrenaline surging through my veins.
