A WORTHY RIVAL

Meredith

The moment class ended, I bolted out the door. I didn’t care where I was going, I just needed to breathe.

Because what the hell was that?

One night ago, I was sitting next to that man in a bar, talking about hacking and security systems, feeling things I had never felt before.

And now? Now he was my professor. And acting like he’d never seen me in his life.

I didn’t know whether to be relieved or offended.

I exhaled sharply, pushing through the crowded hallway. Then I heard two girls talking about him as they walked before me. I slowed my walk.

"I heard he used to be some teenage billionaire genius," a voice said.

I paused.

"No way. Professor Sherwood?" another girl asked.

"Yeah. He was some kind of prodigy. His family owned a cybersecurity company or something, and he took over when he was, like, thirteen."

My stomach tightened.

They were talking about him.

"God, no wonder he’s such a robot," the first girl scoffed. "Probably spent his entire life behind a screen. Makes sense why he never talks to anyone."

"And never dates," someone else chimed in. "Have you noticed that? He’s, like, allergic to human interaction."

"He’s not allergic to it," a new voice said. "He just doesn’t care about people. At all."

I didn’t mean to listen. I should have walked away.

But instead, I stood there, gripping my bag as their voices swirled around me.

"They say he had a fiancée once."

"What? No way."

"Swear to God. But she disappeared. Like, completely off the grid."

"Okay, now you’re just making stuff up."

"I’m serious! Some guy last year swore he overheard another professor say that she was taken or something. I don’t know. Point is, whatever happened? It messed him up. That’s why he’s like this now. Cold. Unreachable."

My stomach flipped.

"Honestly, I don’t care if he’s emotionally dead. He’s still hot as hell."

"Right? If he ever looked at me the way I wish he would—"

I walked away before I could hear the rest.

My head was spinning.

A teenage billionaire? A fiancée who disappeared? A cold, unreachable man with no interest in romance? Why did I feel so... disappointed? Maybe because, for a second, I had let myself imagine something else. Something stupid. Like the idea that last night had meant something.

That the way he listened to me, the way his gaze had lingered, the way I had felt something undeniable—maybe it hadn’t just been in my head.

But of course, it had. Because he wasn’t that kind of man.

He was a genius with no interest in people. A man stuck in his own world.

And I was just another student. Nothing more.

I exhaled sharply, shaking off the ridiculous feeling curling in my chest. It’s fine. It’s better this way. Because the alternative would be even worse.

*****************************

I was supposed to be paying attention. I really was.

But that was hard to do when he was standing there, sleeves rolled up, talking in that low, steady voice that made my stomach feel weirdly tight.

Professor Sherwood paced in front of the class, explaining encryption methods with effortless confidence. His broad shoulders, the way his shirt stretched over his frame, the slow, precise way his fingers turned the pages of his notes, everything about him demanded attention.

And unfortunately, he had mine.

I swallowed, shifting in my seat. What the hell is wrong with me?

It had been days since that night at the club, and yet, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. About him. About the way he had listened, the way he had watched me, the way his fingers had tapped lazily against his glass as he spoke.

And now, sitting here, watching him talk about encryption like it was the most important thing in the world, my brain did something stupid.

I imagined him shirtless.

It just… happened.

One second, I was staring at his arms, his forearms, his strong hands, and the next, I was picturing them wrapped around my neck and what he looked like without the button-down.

Would his abs be as defined as his arms? Would his skin be warm under my fingertips if I ran my hands over him? Would his breathing change if I—

Oh my God. Stop.

My face burned.

I snapped my gaze to my laptop, fingers tightening around my pen, furious with myself.

Why was I thinking like this?

Why couldn’t I just be normal for five minutes?

I forced myself to focus on the lecture, blinking rapidly as if that would reset my brain. Symmetric encryption, asymmetric encryption, data security.

Right. Focus.

"Miss Keeler."

My stomach dropped. Slowly, I lifted my gaze. Professor Sherwood was staring directly at me, one eyebrow slightly raised, his expression unreadable.

Had he noticed? Had I been too obvious?

"Can you explain the main difference between symmetric and asymmetric encryption?"

My mind went completely blank.

Oh. Oh, shit.

I opened my mouth, but the words wouldn’t come. My thoughts were still somewhere else, tangled in things that had absolutely nothing to do with encryption keys and security algorithms.

I could feel every single set of eyes in the room turn toward me.

My chest tightened.

I swallowed. "Uh… symmetric encryption is… it’s…"

Nothing. I had nothing.

The silence stretched, thick and suffocating.

And then—

"Symmetric encryption uses the same key for both encryption and decryption," a smooth voice cut in from the side. "Asymmetric encryption uses a public key for encryption and a private key for decryption."

I turned my head sharply, my stomach twisting. Of course she answered.

A blonde girl sat with perfect posture, perfect confidence, her expression neutral but just smug enough to piss me off.

She was pretty in an effortless way, her curls falling perfectly over her shoulders, her lips slightly glossy, her entire existence radiating the kind of self-assuredness I would never have. She had a small round face and round blue eyes.

And she was smiling. Not at Sherwood. At me. Like she had been waiting for this moment.

"That’s correct, Miss Ava Reynolds," Sherwood said with a nod, his tone completely detached.

Ava Reynolds—because of course her name was something polished and elegant like that—tilted her head slightly, flashing him a bright, flirty smile as she twirled a strand of hair between her fingers.

And him? He didn’t react. Didn’t smirk. Didn’t acknowledge it. Nothing. Like he was completely, utterly unaffected. I should have been relieved.

Instead, my blood boiled.

Why did she answer for me? Why did she smile like that? Why did it feel like she had just won something?

I clenched my jaw, my grip tightening on my pen.

"Since we’re covering encryption methods," Sherwood continued, completely unfazed by the moment "you’ll need to study these concepts carefully. There will be a test next week."

A ripple of groans spread through the room. I barely heard them. Because I was still staring at Ava. And I already hated her.

I barely made it out of class before I heard the voice.

"Tough break, huh?"

I slowed my steps, fingers tightening around the strap of my bag. I turned my head, and there she was. Ava.

Standing just behind me, her blonde curls perfectly arranged over her shoulder, her lips curved in a way that wasn’t exactly a smile.

I forced my expression into something neutral. "Excuse me?"

She tilted her head slightly, like she was genuinely concerned. Like she wasn’t so obviously enjoying this.

"I just mean that must’ve been embarrassing," she said, her voice smooth, almost casual. "You looked like you were about to say something, and then… nothing."

My jaw tightened.

The way she said it. The way she let the silence stretch, just long enough to make sure I felt it.

I knew this game.

I had spent years watching people play it, the subtle way they disguised cruelty as politeness. The way they framed their words just right so they could tear you down without ever getting their hands dirty.

I inhaled slowly, forcing a shrug. "Yeah. Happens to some people. Just not you, right?"

She let out a small laugh, like we were just two friends talking. "Oh, I study really hard," she said. "I guess I just… retain information well."

Her voice was so light, so easy, like she wasn’t fully aware of how much she was grating on my nerves. Except she was. She definitely was.

I studied her, the way she stood, the way she held herself, the way she looked at me.

Girls like her had always been the same. The ones who belonged effortlessly in a way I never did. Who never second-guessed their words, never had to wonder if they were saying too much or too little, never had to analyze every damn thing before opening their mouths.

Girls like her always had the upper hand.

And they knew it.

I let my gaze drift, giving her a slow, deliberate once-over, until I saw it, that tiny flicker of discomfort.

Not much. Just a fraction of hesitation.

Then I smiled. "Yeah, I can tell you’re used to… being on your knees for knowledge."

Her expression froze. Just for a second.

Then her lips parted slightly, and her brows lifted, just enough to look offended but still composed.

Like she wasn’t sure if I had just insulted her, or if she was imagining it. I didn’t wait for her to figure it out. I turned and walked away, satisfaction curling in my chest.

Small victory. But it wasn’t enough.