Late yesterday afternoon, Holland's driver had dropped Keeley back at her Columbia dorm after her IV finished.

The second she pushed the car door open, her phone buzzed. It was a direct order from HK.

The message stated that her first task as his assistant was to send a photo checking in at a specific coffee shop at exactly 8:00 AM tomorrow.

At the end of the text was a link to a highly precise countdown timer app.

Staring at the ticking numbers on the screen, Keeley felt a suffocating sense of surveillance. It was exactly like four years ago.

She clenched her jaw, didn't reply, shoved the phone into her coat pocket, and practically ran into her dorm.

When she opened the door, Anjelica and her friends were still making maddening amounts of noise.

Keeley didn't have the energy to fight. She dug out her noise-canceling headphones, put them on, and climbed into bed to sleep.

The next morning at 7:30 AM, Keeley's alarm went off right on time.

She groggily opened her eyes and reached for the phone on her nightstand.

The countdown timer HK sent was glaring on the screen. She only had thirty minutes left to make the check-in.

Looking at those bleeding red numbers, the rebellion and resistance inside Keeley reached a boiling point.

Holland's arrogant, threatening face from the hospital room flashed in her mind.

She took a deep breath. She decided right then that she would never again become a puppet on his strings.

Keeley's thumb swiped aggressively across the screen, shutting off the loud alarm.

To make sure she wasn't disturbed, she flipped the physical switch on the side of the phone to silent mode.

She tossed the phone to the foot of her bed like it was a burning piece of coal.

Then, she pulled the heavy wool blanket over her head, closed her eyes, and went back to sleep.

She was going to tear a hole in his rules. Sleeping in was her ultimate display of contempt.

Because her body was still recovering, and the headphones blocked out the world, Keeley actually fell into a deep sleep.

When she woke up naturally, the sunlight streaming through the gap in the curtains was blindingly bright.

Keeley rubbed her sleepy eyes, crawled to the end of the bed, and grabbed her cold phone.

The second she pressed the power button, the lock screen exploded with notifications.

There were exactly twenty-seven missed audio calls from HK, and over a dozen text messages that grew increasingly violent in tone.

The final message was sent at 9:30 AM. It contained only two short, freezing words: Consequences await.

Keeley looked at the clock at the top of the screen. It was 10:15 AM.

She hadn't just missed the check-in; she had slept through her first, unimportant elective class.

Looking at Holland's furious digital footprint, a cold smile touched Keeley's lips. She felt a sharp thrill of revenge.

She slowly kicked off the blanket, got out of bed, and walked to the bathroom to wash her face.

She tied her long hair into a messy ponytail, grabbed her backpack, and headed out for her 11:00 AM core advanced computer science class.

Keeley sprinted across the Columbia campus, running as fast as she could toward the computer science building.

The old professor for this advanced algorithms class was notoriously strict. Being five minutes late meant an automatic deduction of participation points.

Panting heavily, she ran up to the third floor and stopped outside the heavy back doors of the lecture hall to catch her breath.

Through the thick wood, she vaguely heard a low male voice. She assumed the professor was taking attendance.

Terrified of being marked absent, she shoved the back doors open and yelled a very loud, "Here!"

Hundreds of heads snapped around. Every single student in the room stared at her.

Keeley stood frozen in the doorway, her hand still pushing the door, her cheeks flushed bright red from running.

She instinctively looked down toward the front podium, ready to apologize to the old professor.

The moment her eyes hit the podium, her stomach dropped.

Standing there wasn't the white-haired professor. It was Holland, dressed in a dark gray bespoke suit.

Right, she thought bitterly. He's the new TA. Of course.

She had known this since the first class. But knowing it intellectually and being ambushed by it—after this morning's scene at the café, after his threat—were two very different things.

Holland had one hand tucked casually into his trouser pocket. In the other, he was spinning a red laser pointer.

He looked down the tiered seating at Keeley standing in the doorway. A dark, mocking smirk curled his lips.

He leaned toward the microphone and spoke in a slow, deliberate drawl. "It seems Ms. Jackson got plenty of rest this morning. Very energetic."

The double meaning in his taunt instantly triggered a roar of laughter from the hundreds of students.

Keeley's face burned so hot it felt like it was on fire. She wished she could evaporate into thin air.

Keeping her head down to avoid the stares, she practically ran to the back corner and dropped into the empty seat next to her friend, Jasmine.

Jasmine immediately leaned over, whispering excitedly about how insanely hot the new guest teaching assistant was.

Keeley's mind was in total chaos. She couldn't hear a word Jasmine was saying. Her scalp went numb.

She knew exactly what this was. This was Holland's revenge for her breaking the rules this morning. He had reached his hands right into her classroom. And now he was using his TA position—a legitimate, semester-long role—to humiliate her in front of hundreds of people.

Fury simmered in her chest. She wanted to text Jasmine, to vent, to call him every name in the book. But her fingers froze over her phone, hidden in her pocket.

No. He's already watching.

She remembered the threat from this morning. The way his voice had gone cold and soft. The man had a control freak's instincts and the platform to act on them. Pulling out her phone now would be suicidal.

So she forced herself to keep her hands on the desk, empty and innocent. She stared at the chalkboard, at the complex dynamic programming algorithm scrawled there, and tried to focus on the lecture.

But Holland's deep, pleasant voice lecturing at the front suddenly stopped.

An unsettling silence fell over the classroom. Keeley kept her head down, her jaw clenched.

Until the steady sound of leather dress shoes stopped right next to her desk. A large, long-fingered hand reached out, his towering frame leaning down so closely that his shadow entirely swallowed her desk. A knuckle rapped violently against the hard surface right beside her elbow.

Keeley jumped in her seat. She snapped her head up and crashed straight into Holland's oppressive, furious eyes.

"Ms. Jackson," he said, his tone terrifyingly cold and professional. "Since you seem to have so much free time that you can't even be bothered to arrive on time."

He straightened his back, turned, and pointed the red laser at the algorithm on the chalkboard. "Why don't you come up and solve this for us? Let's see if your energy this morning translates to actual competence."

Every eye in the room was focused on them again. The tension was suffocating.

Keeley's heart hammered. She hadn't even touched her phone. He was doing this purely because of her entrance—because of this morning. But there was no point in arguing. Not here.

She rose from her seat, keeping her face carefully blank, and walked down the aisle toward the chalkboard.

Fine, she thought. You want to play this game?

She picked up the chalk. Her hand didn't tremble.

Keeley stood up from her seat. She took a deep breath, her brain working in overdrive, and managed to stumble through the correct logic for the algorithm.

A flash of genuine appreciation crossed Holland's eyes, but his face remained a mask of ice. "Barely a passing grade," he said coldly.

The bell finally rang. The entire class let out a collective sigh of relief and began packing their bags.

Holland stood at the podium, leaned into the microphone, and calmly announced, "Ms. Jackson, come to the TA's office after class."

The students around Keeley shot her looks of deep pity, silently wishing her luck.

Keeley clenched her jaw. She forced herself to walk through the crowded hallway toward the isolated office at the very end.

She raised her hand, hesitated for a second, and pushed open the frosted glass door.

Holland had already taken off his suit jacket. Wearing only a tailored vest over his shirt, he sat behind a cramped, standard-issue metal desk inside the small, shared teaching assistant cubicle. Yet, despite the incredibly modest surroundings, his overwhelming presence made the tiny room feel like a suffocating interrogation chamber.

He lifted his chin, gesturing to the leather guest chair opposite him, telling her to sit.

Keeley coldly refused. Standing her ground like a hedgehog with all its spikes raised, she maintained a defensive posture, her arms crossed tightly over her chest.

Holland didn't push it. He suddenly pulled open a drawer and took out a sleek, temperature-controlled container.

He pushed it to the edge of the desk and popped the lid open with a sharp click.

Inside was the signature sandwich and black coffee from the exact cafe she was supposed to check in at this morning.

The smell of food instantly filled the room. Keeley's starving stomach gave a pathetic, involuntary clench.

Holland leaned back in his chair. He coldly pointed out her blatant violation of their agreement this morning.

Keeley's eyes turned red. She snapped back that he had absolutely no right to interfere with her private life like she was his prisoner.

Holland's eyes went pitch black. He suddenly stood up, his massive frame easily bypassing the small metal desk, and took large, predatory steps toward her.

Keeley instinctively backed up, but he kept coming until her back slammed hard against the cold wall.

Holland planted both hands on the wall beside her head, caging her in. He lowered his head until his nose was almost touching hers.

"Since you can't even take care of yourself," he whispered, his voice dropping an octave, "I have no choice but to supervise you personally."

The overwhelming scent of male pheromones made Keeley's heart hammer against her ribs. She turned her head away, desperate to escape his gravity.

Holland suddenly took a step back, ending the suffocating physical pressure.

His demeanor shifted instantly. He walked back to the desk, picked up a thick, heavy manila envelope stamped with a 'CONFIDENTIAL' seal, and returned to her.

He shoved the envelope forcefully into Keeley's chest, his tone returning to a cold, businesslike edge.

He announced that this was the unreleased core data sets and internal materials for the upcoming national top-tier programming competition.

Keeley stared at the envelope in shock. She knew exactly how fatal this material was—it was the golden ticket to her grad school application and her dream internship.

Using the flawless excuse of "academic guidance," Holland was forcing this priceless resource into her hands.

He looked down at her with cold eyes. "If you want to get rid of me, use your skills to prove you don't need anyone's help."

Clutching the heavy envelope, Keeley's mind was torn apart by the violent struggle between her pride and her desperate reality.

Watching her conflicted, wavering eyes, the corner of Holland's mouth curled into the satisfied smile of a hunter who had just closed the trap.