Elizabeth's pov

I couldn't forget that night either, how he felt....how he made me feel. But I couldn't tell him that.

"Professor Gray, I am sorry but we have to, you're basically my step father and....I can't do this with you."

"Elizabeth...."

I didn't let him finish, I was already turning away, he didn't seem like he would transfer me....so I would do it myself.

____

Bullshit.

The departmental head was even more frustrating, according to them, student reassignment to professor Gordon, the other professor was full, and so....I was stuck with Sebastian.

And looking at my program slip, I had his class in few minutes.

"Attendance streak," I murmured, I couldn't miss his class even if I wanted to.

I found myself sitting in the back of his class, my notebook in front of me, his eyes locked with mine for a brief moment, a sinful smirk stretching on his lips.

But he turned to the white board and taught like I wasn't even there. And yet subconsciously I found myself leaning in.

A cough snapped me out of it,

Ethan.

His arm around Jennifer, his fingers tracing her thighs, his eyes smiling mockingly at me. In the past year I had ignored his existence, the rumours had died down but some people just couldn't help using it to get to me.

I looked away quickly, heart thudding, not because of Ethan, but because of how easy it had been to forget where I was.

For a moment, I had been leaning forward, my lips parted, legs crossed a little too tightly. All because of the way Sebastian...Professor Gray, how he spoke when he lectured. Controlled and firm. His voice like a slow pour of whiskey over ice. Dangerous and addictive.

And I hated that about myself. Hated how, despite everything, my body still remembered him.

Ethan chuckled lowly beside Jennifer, loud enough for me to hear. I didn't look his way, but I could feel it. The pointed stares. The smug little grins. Jennifer's high-pitched whisper followed:

"She's still obsessed with you Ethan. It's kinda sad."

I clenched my pen so tightly the plastic creaked. But I kept my eyes on the board, where Sebastian was scribbling a quote.

"Hey, lil b*tch..." Ethan whispered.

Professor Gray turned slowly and faced the class. "Thoughts?"

Hands shot up, discussions broke out. But his eyes drifted back to me.

I didn't speak. I didn't trust my voice to be steady, not when the memory of his breath on my neck still haunted me.

Class ended twenty minutes later. The room emptied slowly, students laughing and stretching, the usual post-lecture buzz. I packed my things carefully, trying not to rush, trying not to look like I was avoiding him, even though I absolutely was.

As I slung my bag over my shoulder, his voice stopped me.

"Miss Walters, a moment."

I froze. So did half the class. Eyes flicked toward me.

"Everything alright?" Ethan called from the door, mock concern in his voice. "You look pale. Should I walk you to the nurse?"

Jennifer giggled.

I didn't answer. I didn't even blink in his direction. I walked to the front of the room and waited until the door clicked shut behind the last student.

We were alone.

Sebastian leaned against the edge of his desk, arms crossed, the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled neatly to his elbows.

"That little stunt he pulled," he said, voice low and even, "will not happen again."

"I don't need you to protect me," I said sharply.

"I am not protecting you," he replied. "I'm protecting my classroom."

I let out a dry laugh. "Of course. Professionalism."

His eyes darkened. "If I wanted to be unprofessional, Elizabeth, I would've taken you apart with my mouth right there in the back row."

My breath caught.

His voice had dropped an octave.

I hated that he still had that effect on me.

"Please Mr Gray, be appropriate," I whispered.

"Then stop looking at me like that," he said.

"Like what.....I'm not looking at you anyway."

He smiled a bit, then reached his hands out, a strand of my hair curling around his smooth thick fingers.

"Your shampoo smells amazing."

I didn't flinch when he touched my hair. Maybe I should have. Maybe I should've stepped back, scolded him, reminded him for the hundredth time that this wasn't right.

But I didn't.

Instead, I stood there, frozen, while my skin burned where his fingers brushed the strands beside my cheek. He leaned in just slightly, his voice barely above a breath.

"Your perfume smells amazing too. Your scent is intoxicating, Elizabeth."

I blinked slowly. "You shouldn't be saying things like that."

"And yet," he murmured, "you're not stopping me."

He was right.

God, I hated that he was right.

My heart hammered in my chest, the air between us thick and charged, and I couldn't help but meet his eyes. His thumb brushed the edge of my jaw gently, deliberately.

"This isn't fair," I whispered.

"It never was," he replied.

We stood like that for a moment, tethered by silence and memories neither of us wanted to speak out loud. His head dipped slightly, and mine tilted, just a little, an involuntary lean. His lips were a breath away from mine,

Knock knock.

A sharp rap at the door.

"Professor Gray? The 602B section is waiting outside. You're past the bell," someone called from the hallway.

Just like that, the tension snapped.

He pulled back instantly, the mask of professionalism sliding back over his face with seamless precision. I blinked twice, heart still racing, and stepped away.

"You should go," he said quietly, straightening his shirt cuffs.

I didn't say anything. I just nodded, adjusted the strap of my bag, and headed for the door.

But before I opened it, I turned slightly. "You said we shouldn't look at each other like that."

"I did."

"Then stop looking at me like you're still thinking about that night."

This was his game, quiet seduction.

He didn't have respect for my mother, I do not know why they married but he was hers now, not mine. He could never be.

Elizabeth's pov

Was it me or were his classes on my program list more frequent?.

It had been a hectic temptation with Sebastian being my professor. And it was harder when Mom called every two days and I would hear him in the kitchen, cooking for her, while he would be here, throwing subtle glances my way.

My interactions with him were often, which made it hard for me.

So as the last sets of students left the classroom, I came to a resolve to nib this bud for good.

"We need to talk," I said again, quieter this time, as the door clicked shut behind the last student.

Sebastian turned slowly from where he stood by the window, arms folding as he leaned back against the desk. His gaze settled on me.

I didn't stop walking until I was a safe few feet away, then exhaled. "I'm here to make something very clear."

He waited.

"I need things between us to be strictly platonic. Nothing more. Nothing suggestive. No looks, no subtle comments, no moments in empty hallways." My voice was firmer than I expected. "If you don't keep it platonic, I will ignore you with everything I have. I mean it."

A faint smile tugged at his lips. "I haven't touched you. I haven't even looked at you."

I narrowed my eyes. "You've looked."

His smile deepened, but he raised both hands in surrender. "Maybe once. Or twice. Accidentally."

I rolled my eyes and turned toward the door.

"Elizabeth."

I paused.

"If it's just about the classroom, I'll back off. But if it's something else, if it's something more, what exactly is the main problem?"

I closed my eyes, fingers tightening around my bag strap.

"My mom," I said finally. "It feels wrong doing this to her. She is happy. Or at least she thinks she is. And you're her husband. I can't....i won't, be part of something that makes me look like the villain."

Silence stretched between us. And then he spoke.

"She's not my wife. Not in the way you're thinking."

I turned slowly.

He straightened, arms unfolding. "It's a marriage of agreement. Not love. Not affection. Not even intimacy."

I stared at him, confused. "What?"

He nodded once. "May owes my family. A large sum. A mistake from years ago, something that could've destroyed her reputation if it got out. My parents made a choice, one I wasn't even part of, at first. I was getting older. She needed protection. They brokered a deal."

I felt my throat dry. "A deal?"

"She agreed to the marriage to cancel the debt," he said simply. "It wasn't romantic. It was calculated. We share a name and a roof when necessary. But I've never touched her. Not once."

I didn't know what to say. The walls I had built around myself started to splinter. Slowly.

"So if you're carrying guilt for something that doesn't exist," he continued, stepping closer, "you can put it down now."

"You're saying it's not real."

"I'm saying.......it's nothing compared to what is real between us."

My heartbeat echoed in my ears.

"Think about it," he said. "And if you still want distance after that......I'll give it."

I awkwardly thumped the strap of my bag pack. Did I even know what I wanted?

____

I tried to get a taxi, it was raining cats and dogs. I had checked the weather forecast earlier and they had informed me of a slight drizzle.

Slight drizzle indeed, I rolled my eyes as the rain soaked me thoroughly. I was desperately trying to flag down a cab to head back to my apartment.

"Fuck,"

I fucked my phone back into my pocket, zero service, zero chances of ordering Uber. I couldn't even talk to the shelter anyway and my books were probably soaked all through.

Not even an umbrella.

Heavens, why did it have to be me?

Just as I was about to fall to the curb on my knees in frustration. A luxury car pulled up.

Jennifer,

By her side was Ethan.

Just perfect.

Jennifer's window rolled down. Her hair was still dry, makeup still flawless, her lips curved in that vicious smile she wore like perfume.

"Need a ride?" she asked sweetly.

Next to her, Ethan leaned toward the window, arm draped over the seat. "You look like a drowned rat, Liz."

I didn't answer. My bag was heavy with water, my clothes clinging to my skin like second thoughts. I was cold. Wet. And standing there in the street, humiliated under the blinking street lamp.

"You good?" Jennifer asked again, fake concern dripping from her voice.

I nodded stiffly. "I'm fine."

"Suit yourself," she shrugged, rolling the window up.

The car began to inch forward, the tires splashing water as it moved.

But before it could fully pull away, another car stopped just behind it. It was black and amazingly sleek.

The back door opened.

"Elizabeth."

Sebastian.

I blinked, caught between shock and relief, but too stubborn to admit either.

"You'll catch hypothermia," he said simply, like it was the most practical observation in the world.

"I'm fine," I mumbled.

"Your lips are blue."

I didn't argue.

The other car ahead of us paused for a second, Jennifer watching in the mirror, Ethan's face barely turning, then it sped off, tires screeching just enough to show their spite.

I slid into the back seat without another word. The door closed behind me with a soft click. Warmth swallowed me instantly.

He handed me a towel.

"You always keep towels in your car?" I asked flatly, wiping my soaked face.

"I had a feeling."

"I'll take you home," he said.

I gave him my address, eyes fixed out the window. The city lights blurred behind the water sliding across the glass.

We drove in silence. But as we neared my apartment, he spoke again.

"You didn't ask how I knew where you were."

I glanced at him.

"You always walk this route after your last class," he said simply. "And you forgot your umbrella on Monday."

I stared at him, unsure of how I felt about that.

"It's not an obsession," he added. "It's an observation. You matter enough to me...to be noticed."

Sebastian's pov

She dropped the towel on my car seat instantly and slid out, walking briskly to her apartment door.

I didn't call after her.

Because even without words, I could feel the war brewing inside her. Elizabeth Walters didn't slam doors or throw tantrums. No, she hid behind sharp remarks and tighter ponytails. But tonight, she was quiet.

She paused at the door, fumbling with her keys, her shoulders rigid beneath that soaked blouse. Her bag looked like it had absorbed half the rain in the city.

The keys dropped from her hand and hit the pavement. I saw it, the brief shake of her head, the quiet curse. She picked them up quickly and disappeared inside before I could get out of the car.

I didn't move. I stayed parked out front for another full minute, watching the faint silhouette of her light switch on behind the sheer curtain. Her figure moved past the window.

Then vanished.

I ran a hand down my face, letting my head fall back against the seat. What the hell was I doing?

She wasn't just another student. She was May's daughter. Complicated. Off-limits. But somehow, that night, our night, had ruined the logic I built my world around. And now, here I was, like a man begging to be burned all over again.

My phone buzzed.

May

"Are you home yet? I've made ginger tea. It's storming out. Drive safe."

I didn't reply. I didn't know what to type, I had told her that I was out getting a drink, she didn't know that I was right in front of her daughter's apartment.

When my parents brought up May's name in one of those 'family obligation' meetings, I didn't even recognize it at first. Not until they mentioned her debt.

Back then, I had barely even known her daughter existed.

They said I needed a stable front. That May needed protection. It was mutually beneficial. Legal. Clean.

No one said anything about the daughter. No one said she'd walk into my summer seminar last year, late on the first day, with messy hair and red ink on her fingers. That her eyes would make my entire world tilt and never quite settle back.

No one said she'd wreck my focus with one smile.

My phone buzzed again, May.

"Heavens, what does she-"

Elizabeth came out of her apartment, running, her eyes wide in fright.

"Did you see the text?"

I scrolled up and that was when I realized that the message I had read from May was sent hours earlier and another one sent thirty minutes from my house cleaner had been delivered.

May had fallen unconscious.

____

I had to drive there at the speed of light, Elizabeth sat in the front of the car seat, her left leg vibrating with anxiety, I kept glancing from my steering wheel to it.

I gripped the wheel tighter, the traffic inching forward at an agonizing pace. The wipers squeaked rhythmically, pushing the rain aside, but all I could hear was her breathing.

Elizabeth hadn't said much since she read the message, but her knee was bouncing relentlessly, her hand wringing her damp shirt like it owed her something.

"Elizabeth," I said gently, "breathe."

She didn't.

I glanced at her, then spoke more clearly. "If it were something serious....really serious...the cleaner would have said more than just 'May fell unconscious.' That message was vague. Which probably means she is stable now. She's been taken care of. Don't let your mind spiral."

She didn't respond at first, then finally muttered, "I got the same message. Word for word."

That surprised me. I thought she wasn't close to May. But now? She looked shattered.

"You're really worried about her?" I asked.

Her lips parted. "Yes. She's my mom. I have to be."

It wasn't said with warmth or affection. It was said to be like duty. Like a box she was taught to tick.

Without thinking, my hand left the steering wheel and moved to her thigh. I tapped it lightly. "You're shaking. Try to relax."

She flinched slightly at first, but didn't push me away. Just stared ahead, breathing harder.

"I don't know much about you," I admitted. "But my family did a background check before the.....match. Some details came up."

Her jaw tensed. I continued anyway.

"Your father left when you were what, fifteen?"

"thirteen," she corrected.

"Right. The report said he became an alcoholic."

I saw her hand curl into a fist on her lap.

"After he left," I continued carefully, "he was caught in a crossfire. A stray bullet. It wasn't targeted."

"Wasn't it?" she whispered bitterly.

I waited.

She turned toward me, slowly, like every word was sand in her mouth. "He wasn't always like that. He was warm. He laughed a lot. He made me pancakes every Saturday. And then.....she happened."

"Your mom?"

She nodded.

"She did something. I don't know what, exactly. But I heard them fighting. I heard him crying. The man who never cried. He started drinking after that. Got reckless. The night he died, he was drunk out of his mind. And she didn't even cry. Didn't even flinch."

I said nothing. I didn't want to interrupt the storm.

"Barely two months later, she had men coming over. Loud ones. Creepy ones. One of them, Joshua......" her voice broke, "He was fifty-two."

I froze. My fingers tightened against the leather steering wheel. I didn't want to ask, but I did.

"Did he...?"

She didn't answer. But the way her hands trembled was enough.

"I was fourteen," she whispered. "He didn't touch me. But he looked. Made disgusting comments. Stayed too long in the hallway when I walked to the bathroom. My mom.......she ignored it, told me I was being dramatic."

"She only cared about her beauty lines, her spa routines, and the men who bought her perfumes. So I studied. Hard. Earned my way out. Got scholarships. Paid my way. I stopped asking for hugs the day Dad died."

There was no tear in her eyes now.

"That's why I don't forgive her," she added quietly. "Because she never once asked me to."

We were quiet again. Traffic began to break up ahead.

I kept my hand on her thigh, firmer now. For support.

"You don't have to explain yourself to me," I said finally. "But thank you for doing it anyway."

She said nothing.

But for the first time all night, her knee stopped shaking.