Master Class: An Alpha Billionaire Romance (+ Bonus Book 'Silent Daughter 1') Read Free Page B

sure what you are trying to tell us with this confession. Are you saying that there is no point for us to sit here in class, listen to lectures, earn a degree in the first place, because we won't take anything from it, unless we fail?"
    I know that I have a tendency to be impertinent, and this is no exception. I don't want to cause any trouble or to get on his bad side, but I want him to know that there is someone in this hall who is not meek and mild about everything he says.
    Yet, I'm thankful that he doesn't notice the tremble that takes a hold of my entire body after I'm done speaking. I'm sure my voice would have creaked if I had said one more word.
    Most of the other students don't react to my little disturbance, but some start whispering, and I notice the girl to my left casting me an annoyed look.
    But it's not their reaction that unsettles me - it's him. He looks at me with that observant stare, his eyes narrowing only the slightest bit without losing their focus on me. It feels as if he is leaching right into my bones, releasing a chill that makes its way through my insides. I'm shivering, sucking in air as if I just stepped out into the Arctic.
    Why the hell is he looking at me like that? Why is he not saying anything? Is he trying to stare me down or something? His silence is causing a surreal tension that even the other students must have noticed.
    "In a way, I am," Mr. Portland says, finally replying to my question. "Yes. I think most of you are wasting your time here. And yes, most of what you have learned at High School, during your undergraduate program and even in the graduate classes you're taking now, has probably destroyed more than it helped nourish."
    The auditorium is dead silent and even I am speechless at his words. This, I did not expect. He has got to be joking.
    "Don't get me wrong," he says, raising his hand in defense – and then finally withdrawing his eyes from mine. "I still think you're doing something right by sitting here and earning a degree from one of the best colleges in this country. But this is not about learning valuable things, about learning who you are or what you are capable of, about receiving what they call 'the best education'. No, it's not. Do you know what it is about?"
    He starts scanning the auditorium again.
    "This is a question," he clarifies. "What is school about? What is this degree about?"
    For a few moments, he gets nothing but silence in return. People are exchanging looks of confusion, shrugging, whispering, shaking their heads. Until one of them dares to raise their hand.
    "Yes," he says, pointing at the brave girl at the far back.
    "Growing?" she suggests.
    "Growing?"
    "Yes," the girl adds, clearing her throat. "About... you know, growing to your full potential."
    Mr. Portland hesitates for a moment, while all eyes rest on him, eagerly awaiting a reply.
    "That sounds lovely," he says eventually. "And it may be true. But it's not what I am looking for. Any other suggestions?"
    His direct way of countering the student doesn't really help in encouraging others to try. No one dares to speak up after this. Mr. Portland spends a painfully long time waiting for a response that doesn't come.
    Even I feel too intimidated to say anything. Also, I'm angry at him. He enjoys this confusion and attention whoring a little too much.
    Why doesn't he just tell us? Just share your priceless wisdom with us, you arrogant bastard !
    As if he heard my thoughts, he now turns his head back toward me. Our eyes meet and before I can look away, he directs his voice at me.
    "You asked me whether there is any point in sitting in this class," he says. "So clearly, you must have an idea about why you're doing this?"
    My heart almost stops. The entire auditorium's attention is now on me. I'm sure some of them feel that I am getting what I deserve, as I am clearly not capable of giving a response and struggling with this unwanted attention.
    "Why don't you just tell us, Mr. Portland," I bark at