The Professor's Pet

12. Cracking Foundations

Orion sits beside me with an intense expression on his face, his eyes dark and conveying everything and nothing at the same time. He looks at me like he's staring into my soul, like he wants to possess me.

Something in his eyes makes my spine straighten, and I'm awash with the realization that he's figured something out. His eyes are so singularly focused on me; the way he refuses to even acknowledge my husbands existence makes me want to commit sins with him right here on the table, damned who's watching.

But the look in his eyes tells me that the jig is up.

My marriage clearly isn't sunshine and rainbows and he's telling me – no words needed – that he fucking knows it.

I look over at the man of the hour, taking him in.

My husband, Dr. Andrew Hawke is a Grade-A narcissist. He plays people like a fiddle, so skilled at manipulating people and situations to get what he wants. It's how he graduated top of his class at Bertram, it's how he opened his own practice while solidifying tenure, and it's how he's one of the best paid plastic surgeons in California. You don't get to where he is in life without either talent or greed, and Andrew is definitely not the most talented. So he's secured his position at the top by stepping on necks and destroying lives until he remained the only viable option. And once he gets what he wants it's still never enough.

So why would I stay with a man so cruel, selfish, and self-obsessed?

Because I owe my life to Andrew. If not for him I wouldn't be where I am today; I would probably be six feet under.

When he asked me to marry him I said yes. I was young and impressionable and he had already proven himself to be my hero. At the time I was 18 and madly in love with the man who saved me from a fate worse than death. It just made sense to commit; I couldn't envision anyone else going to the lengths that he did to make me safe and happy.

At first everything was perfect and I was on cloud nine. Our honeymoon phase lasted for years. Andrew came from old money – he was the product of generational wealth while I was raised barely scraping by. He paid for the portion of my tuition not covered by grants without the bat of an eye, and he helped me secure one of the best fellowships in the state of California. I came out of 8 years of school completely debt free which is incredibly rare for people with doctorates.

For years Andrew played my hero. He gave me everything I needed, he was so charming and composed, a vision of suburban bliss. He was a man on top of the world, constantly surrounded by people who loved and admired him, and countless women chasing him. But he paid them no mind and I loved being the center of his world, loved that I managed to capture his attention.

He made me feel special.

But over the years his mask of chivalry began to slip. More and more he tried to control me.

At first I didn't notice; he showered me with gifts – earrings, clothes, shoes and everything else under the sun. But then when it came time to go out, if I wore something of my own, he'd insist I change into something he bought. At first it was subtle, but then he started blatantly saying he didn't approve of my clothes, calling them too revealing and hinting that it made me look loose. For a long time I brushed it off, refusing to do anything but what I wanted and calling him out on being judgmental. Then he'd stop and apologize and I'd forget until our next big event. Eventually he gave up when he realized I was going to do what I wanted whether he liked it or not.