The university was already buzzing with life when he arrived. Dick slipped into the crowd, moving through the sea of faces with ease.
His first class, psychology, was in one of the older buildings on campus. The room was half full when he got there, mostly freshmen like him, nervously chatting amongst themselves. Dick found a seat near the back, away from the eager beavers up front.
The door swung open, and the conversation dropped to a murmur. Professor Wilkes strutted in, dressed in a sharp suit that looked out of place on his wiry frame. His gray hair was combed back, too slick, like he was trying to hold on to an image that had long since faded. Wilkes carried himself with the smug confidence of someone who thought they were smarter than everyone in the room. He didn't bother greeting the class. Just dropped his briefcase onto the desk with a thud. No-nonsense. Condescending. The kind of man who probably enjoyed hearing himself talk more than anything.
Behind him trailed his assistant—a young woman, barely older than most of the students. She wore a tight black pencil skirt and a crisp white blouse, the kind of outfit that looked professional but was clearly tailored to show off her figure. She had dark hair pulled into a high ponytail, eyes sharp behind thin-rimmed glasses. The way she moved—calculated, confident, with just the right amount of sway in her hips—made it obvious she knew exactly what kind of attention she drew.
Her name, the professor announced in a disinterested tone, was Lisa. He didn't even look at her as he said it, like she was a prop, there to manage the slides and handle the grunt work. And maybe that was all she was to him.
Wilkes droned on, launching into a speech about the course structure, his voice dripping with arrogance. "This is not high school. I will not hold your hand. If you fail here, it is because you are not smart enough." His eyes swept over the room as if daring someone to argue. Dick's lip curled slightly. The guy was a cliché—a bitter, old academic who got off on making students feel small.
Lisa stood to the side, watching the professor with a polite, almost blank expression, her hands clasped in front of her. But every now and then, her gaze flicked to the students, scanning the room like she was sizing everyone up.
The lecture itself was dry—an introduction to psychological theories that Dick had already skimmed over in his own time. Wilkes talked at them, not to them, throwing out terms like cognitive dissonance and operant conditioning without much care for whether anyone was keeping up. He clearly thought most of them were monkeys with IQs for a room temperature.
Midway through the lecture, Dick's eyes slid to Lisa. She stood near the podium, still flipping through the slides without expression. Every now and then, she'd glance at Wilkes, that blank stare hiding something sharper. Dick noticed it right away—the slight tension in her posture, the way her fingers drummed lightly on the table as Wilkes droned on, oblivious.
Dick smirked. 'Ah, seems like the old professor is fucking the young assistant. How cliché.'
His mind wandered, and he casually flipped his phone under the desk. A few taps, and he was digging into Wilkes' personal life. It didn't take long—most people didn't bother hiding their dirty laundry as well as they thought. 'Naughty, naughty,' he thought as the screen loaded. 'Aren't you married, Wilkes?'
The information confirmed his suspicion. Mrs. Wilkes was no average woman. She came from a well-connected, old-money family, a name that carried weight. That explained a lot. Wilkes didn't have the charm or the presence to land a job at this university on merit alone. His ties to Mrs. Wilkes' family were probably his lifeline—without her, he'd be teaching at some second-rate school, not strutting around with this faux intellectual superiority.
The crux was, Wilkes wasn't the professor's real last name. It was Mrs. Wilkes'—he'd adopted it, not the other way around. That detail told Dick everything he needed to know. Mrs. Wilkes wasn't just some trophy wife; she was the power behind Wilkes' entire façade. Without her, he was a nobody, just another academic clinging to relevance in a system that didn't give a damn about his supposed genius.
Dick's gaze shifted back to Lisa. 'What's your angle?' Dick thought, watching her. Was she just here for the academic grind, or was she after the Wilkes family's connections? Someone like her wouldn't settle for being a glorified assistant forever, especially when she was forced to suck that wrinkly cock.
He leaned back in his chair, eyes flicking from Wilkes to Lisa and back. It was always the quiet ones you had to watch. Lisa was too polished, too restrained, like she'd trained herself to be invisible until she needed to strike. Dick had seen it before—Emily.
His stepsister Emily was similar in nature. That's why, among all of them, Dick was afraid of her the most. Jessica was predictable—a typical bully, flaunting her looks like a weapon and enjoying the attention. A showy slut, no real depth. Melissa? She was a wolf in sheep's clothing, pretending to be the kind, supportive sister until it suited her to stab someone in the back. The pleasure she got from fooling people into thinking she was safe, only to rip that security away, was what made her dangerous.
But Emily... Emily was different. She didn't flaunt, didn't mock, didn't play into the games. She stayed quiet, removed from the family chaos, but her silence was anything but passive. It was deliberate. Calculating. While Jessica and Melissa made their moves with flare, Emily operated in the shadows. There was no telling what was going on in her head, and that's what unnerved him.
Dick had caught her watching him once—just for a moment—when she thought no one was paying attention. Her expression had been unreadable, cold even. It wasn't the look of someone who wanted to toy with him. It was something else. He couldn't figure her out, and that made her dangerous in ways the others weren't.
Sitting in that psychology class, Dick realized Lisa reminded him of Emily. Not in appearance, but in demeanor. The way she stood quietly, letting the professor drone on, was an act. She wasn't submissive; she was waiting. And Wilkes was too arrogant to notice.
The rest of the lecture passed without much incident, Wilkes pontificating while the students either scribbled notes or zoned out. When class ended, Dick stayed back, watching Lisa as she gathered the papers from Wilkes' desk.
He filed it away for later. There was no rush. He'd find out her angle soon enough. For now, he had other things to focus on.
Dick left the building, the buzz of the university fading as he made his way toward the gym. Luckily, he had a few hours before his next class, which meant plenty of time to handle Paige's session, squeeze in a workout, and get back before anyone noticed.
When he arrived at Iron Core, the place was already humming with activity. Early risers and die-hard gym rats filled the space, clanging weights and the thud of feet hitting the treadmills creating a steady background noise. Karen, the gym manager, was at the front desk, her sharp green eyes scanning the floor as she handled paperwork.
"You're here," she said without looking up, flipping through some forms. "Good. Paige is in the back, waiting for you."
Dick nodded, walked back after greeting her. He knew the drill by now. Paige liked to show up early, eager to test herself and, in her own way, push him. She hated waiting, but he never gave her the satisfaction of complaining.
As he walked through the gym, he spotted Paige near the squat rack, her arms crossed, ponytail swaying as she impatiently shifted her weight from one leg to the other. There was no denying the strength in her movements. She was here to work, not just to pose.
"You're late," she said as he approached, her voice carrying that familiar edge of annoyance.
"Not even close," Dick replied smoothly, adjusting the weight on the bar. He didn't rise to her bait. "Warm up?"
"Already did," she said, her eyes narrowing slightly.
He shook his head, watching Paige as she adjusted the bar. He didn't need to activate any special skill to know her warm-up hadn't been enough. She was testing him again, pushing boundaries like she always did. Ever since that first session, where he'd rattled off observations about her with near-perfect accuracy, she made it her mission to see if he'd slip up. So far, he hadn't.
"What if one day I just let you do it without stopping you? You'll hurt yourself," Dick said with a tired sigh as he adjusted the bar. He knew she wouldn't, not really. Paige knew her limits better than anyone else, but she pushed them just to get a reaction out of him.
She smirked, starting to warm up, her eyes meeting his in the mirror. "Maybe I like the idea of you having to save me."
Dick rolled his eyes, stepping behind her to spot. "You're not that reckless."
Paige snorted but didn't argue. She knew her form was nearly flawless—years of training made sure of that. But she wasn't after good. She wanted perfection, always nitpicking at the smallest flaws. Dick couldn't deny that part of him admired it. The drive. The hunger for more. But it was exhausting sometimes, the way she pushed, always demanding more from herself—and from him.
"Just focus," he muttered after they warmed up, his hands hovering near the bar as she lowered herself into the squat.
The bar dipped slightly as she powered through the rep, the weight almost nothing to her. "How was the first day at school?" Paige asked, not winded at all.
Dick stayed silent for a second, eyes on her form. "Standard bullshit. Professors love hearing themselves talk. Had Psychology 101."
She smirked, adjusting her stance for another rep. "Wilkes, right? Total prick."
Dick raised an eyebrow. "You know him?"
"Had him last year. He's all talk—thinks he's untouchable because of his wife's money." Paige's voice held that usual sarcasm, but there was a trace of something else too, something more personal.
"You sound like you've got some experience with that family."
She smiled, a sly twist of her lips, promising a juicy gossip. "My Aunt and Mrs. Wilkes are close friends. I've known her since I was little." Paige's voice carried a smug undercurrent, the kind that came from someone used to having insider knowledge.
Dick almost chuckled, but he kept his expression neutral. This was perfect. "That so?" He adjusted his stance, keeping his hands ready in case her form slipped. "Small world."
Paige stood up, setting the bar back on the rack with a soft clank. She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, her eyes glinting with amusement. "Yeah, Mrs. Wilkes throws those ridiculous charity dinners, the kind where everyone's trying to outdo each other. Bunch of old-money snobs pretending to care about the 'less fortunate.'" She air-quoted the last part, her disdain clear.
"Let me guess," Dick said, stepping aside as Paige moved to the bench press, "you were dragged along to these things."
Paige snorted, lying back and positioning herself under the bar. "You have no idea. The only good thing about them was the food—catered, five-star stuff." She reached up, gripping the bar. "But Wilkes? Total creep. Every time he spoke to me, I felt like I needed to shower afterward." Her tone was casual, but the tightness around her eyes betrayed the discomfort the memory stirred.
Dick's grip on the bar tightened slightly as he leaned over to spot her. "Did he try anything?"
Paige shook her head, pushing up the bar with controlled effort. "Nothing blatant. He's too smart for that. But the way he looks at girls... it's like he's already got them undressed in his head." Her voice dripped with disgust as she pushed through the set. "Pretty sure half the girls in his classes feel the same."
As she finished the set and racked the bar, Dick couldn't help but feel like he'd just been handed a gift. "Sounds like a guy who thinks he's untouchable," he said, his tone casual, but his mind already working. Wilkes was exactly the kind of person he could use—someone with too many skeletons in the closet and a fragile facade to protect.
Paige sat up, grabbing her towel and wiping the sweat from her neck. "He is. His wife practically owns him. Without her money and connections, he'd be nowhere." She glanced at Dick, a knowing look in her eyes. "Oh, for your information, she knows he's fucking those young college girls. He's not really smart enough to hide things from her."
Dick frowned. This was unexpected. He'd been planning to use that leverage, maybe drive a wedge between Wilkes and his wife, or even turn Mrs. Wilkes against him. Maybe even cuckolding the professor just for the satisfaction. This twisted dynamic threw a wrench into that plan.
"As in 'She knows his secret' or 'He's acting under her command?'" Dick asked, narrowing his eyes. He had to clarify just how deep this mess ran.
Paige almost snorted in disgust, wiping the sweat off her brow. "She likes to watch him fuck those innocent college girls. It's their twisted bed game. Oh, and they often invite 'handsome, big guys' to their bedroom to fuck her as well, so be prepared. You might just get an invite." Her tone dripped with sarcasm, but the revulsion was real.
Dick raised an eyebrow, but didn't let his expression falter. "You serious?"
Paige nodded, sitting back on the bench, crossing her arms over her chest. "Dead serious. It's an open secret among the upper-class creeps. Mrs. Wilkes gets off on it. Loves having power over her little pet professor and his 'affairs.' She's just as sick as he is, maybe worse."
"Interesting," Dick said, leaning against the squat rack, watching Paige wipe down the bench. The Wilkes' twisted dynamic wasn't something he'd expected to uncover, but it was useful. The power structure, the secrets—they all had potential.