Chapter 147
A 200
Beside me, Rebecca stitted in her sleep, turning to nestle against my side. I wrapped my arm around her, polling her closer, and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. Whatever came next, whatever challenges we faced, I would protect her–even if that meant protecting her from the full truth until she was ready to hear it.
Rebecca’s POV
One Week Later
I struggled to keep my eyes open as Professor Lane explained the influence of post–modernism on contemporary fashion design. The lecture hall felt unusually warm, and despite having slept nearly nine hours last night, fatigue weighed on me like a physical presence.
After spending several days at the mountain resort with Sofia–days filled with unexpected reconciliation when Dominic appeared in wolf form and our subsequent heart–to–heart–I thought I’d be rejuvenated. Instead, I felt Increasingly exhausted.
1 stifled another yawn, forcing myself to focus on Professor Lane’s animated gestures as he compared different design philosophies. My pencil moved sluggishly across the page, my notes becoming increasingly illegible.
The revolutionary approach to silhouette during this period…” Professor Lane’s voice seemed to fade in and out as I fought to stay awake.
The student beside me–Mia, I thought her name was–slid a water bottle toward me with a concerned glance. I smiled gratefully and took a sip, hoping the cold liquid might shock me back to alertness.
“Ms. Brown?”
I jerked upright, realizing with horror that Professor Lane was looking directly at me, eyebrows raised expectantly.
silent. The classroom had gone s
“I’m sorry, could you repeat the question?” I asked, heat rushing to my face as a few students snickered.
Professor Lane’s expression was more concerned than annoyed. “I asked if you could elaborate on how Yamamoto’s deconstruction techniques related to the concept we just discussed.”
uch guess
at an answer. “I… I’m not sure,”
My mind went completely blank. I hadn’t heard enough of the lecture to even I admitted, mortification washing over me.
He studied me for a moment longer before mercifully turning to another student. “Mr. White, perhaps you could share your thoughts?”
As attention shifted away from me, I slumped in my seat, wondering what was wrong with me. I’d spent a week
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relaxing at a luxury resort, reconciled with Dominic, and things between us were better than ever. So why did I feel like I could barely function?
When class finally ended, I gathered my things slowly, still feeling lightheaded. I needed to return Professor Lane’s suit. I’d finally remembered to bring it back after having it dry–cleaned.
“Professor Lane?” I knocked softly on his office door after most students had cleared out.
“Come in, Rebecca.” He looked up from his desk, his expression warming. “I was hoping to speak with class.”
you after
I stepped into his office, the familiar scent of old books and coffee creating a comfortable atmosphere. I pulled the dry–cleaned coat from my bag and held it out.
“Thank you for lending me this. I’m sorry it took so long to return it.”
He smiled, taking the coat from me. “Not at all necessary, but I appreciate the thoughtfulness.”
As he hung the coat on a rack behind his desk, he continued, “Your design talent shouldn’t be dampened by a sudden storm, literal or figurative.” He turned back to me, his expression shifting to concern. “Are you feeling alright, Rebecca? You seemed distracted in class today.”
“I’m fine,” I started to say, but suddenly, a powerful wave of nausea rolled through me. My face must have paled because Professor Lane’s expression immediately turned alarmed.
“Rebecca?”
“I’m sorry,” I managed to gasp before clapping a hand over my mouth and rushing from his office toward the nearest bathroom, barely registering his concerned call after me.
I barely made it into a stall before violent retching overtook me. After several miserable minutes, I leaned weakly against the wall, trembling. This was the second time this week this had happened. What was wrong with me?
I heard the bathroom door open and Professor Lane’s hesitant voice called out, “Rebecca? Do you need help?”
Embarrassment flooded through me. Great. Now one of my professors had heard me throwing up.
“I’m…” I tried to respond, but another wave of nausea cut me off.
A few moments later, when I emerged from the stall, pale and shaky, Professor Lane was waiting outside the bathroom with a bottle of water and concerned eyes.
“This isn’t just fatigue, is it?” he asked gently, handing me the water.
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I took a small sip, trying to settle my stomach. I think I might have caught something at the resort last week, said weakly, though that didn’t explain why I’d felt tired even before that.
Professor Lane’s expression was firm but kind. “You need to see a doctor. This isn’t normal, especially combined with- your inability to focus in class,”
I started to protest, but he shook his head. I’m driving you to the hospital myself. After your recent concussion, these symptoms could be serious.”
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