CHAPTER 1: WET WITH RAGE

SIENNA’S POVThe air in the lecture hall was thick enough to choke on—a stale cocktail of ambition, cheap coffee, and the quiet desperation of academics trying to sound smarter than they are.

I stood at the podium, my knuckles white as I gripped the edges, nails digging into the wood like I could splinter it.

This was my moment.

Three months of sleepless nights, of living on cold brew and pure spite, all leading to this: the public execution of Vance Whitmore’s career, the man who’d stolen my grant, my credibility, my fucking sanity with one smug email.

My opening salvo was a thing of...