AMARA POV

The moment I stepped into the living room, the air shifted.

The room fell quiet. Too quiet. And all three heads turned to me at once..Mom, Dad, and Nina. Their eyes fixed on me like I was a puzzle they had already solved. My skin prickled, I felt goosebumps.

I knew that look.

It was the same look they always wore before something terrible was about to be asked of me. Something that had nothing to do with love and everything to do with blood.

"Sweetie, you're back," Mom said, her voice unusually soft.

She walked over and took my hand. "I made your favorite. It's on the table," she added with a smile that didn't reach her eyes.

Behind her, the maids were setting the table like we were some happy, peaceful family. Like I hadn't just walked into a silent war disguised as kindness.

I could feel Dad's eyes on me, cold, quiet, unreadable.

I swallowed hard. My stomach twisted, and not because I was hungry. I sat at the table, picked at the food, and kept glancing at them. Their gaze flickered, their mouths moved in small whispers. Mom forced small smiles. Dad stayed quiet, firm. Nina sat there, eyes lowered like she already knew.

Then Dad spoke.

"She needs a kidney transplant," he said flatly.

His voice was like stone. No warmth. Just fact. Just expectation.

I froze.

Of course.

Of course, it was something like this.

The food in my mouth turned to dust. I stared at them, hoping I had heard wrong. But I hadn't.

This was it. Again.

Tears welled in my eyes, burning. I stood quickly, my chair scraping loudly against the floor. I grabbed my backpack and ran upstairs, the sound of my footsteps too loud in the silent house.

Once in my room, I slammed the door shut and locked it. My chest was tight, my breath coming in sharp, shallow gasps.

This was it. This was my life.

I was the mirror child. That's what I called myself, anyway. Not a daughter. Not a sister. A spare. A copy. A reflection of someone more important.

Nina had always been sick, ever since we were little. And I... I was the backup plan. The donor. The piece of her they kept ready.

Blood? I gave it.

Bone marrow? They took it.

Skin grafts? Yes, they did that too.

Platelet transfusion? Done.

Always me. Always my body.

And never once did I get to say no.

I buried my face in my pillow, squeezing it until my arms ached. The tears came fast, soaking the fabric. My chest heaved as I cried, not just for now but for every single time they did this to me.

When I was seven, Nina had a rare infection. I gave blood, twice in one week. I was too weak to even walk properly afterward, but they said I was "brave."

When I was nine, she needed a marrow match. They told me it would just be "a little sting." I screamed and cried, begged them not to do it, clung to Mom's dress, shaking.

She peeled me off and said, "If you don't do it, your sister could die."

That was always the line. Always.

If you don't, she'll die.

If you don't, it'll be your fault.

If you don't, you're selfish.

I pressed the pillow harder against my face, trying to smother the sound of my own sobs. But they wouldn't stop. The memories were endless. The pain, the guilt they fed me like breakfast. And I... I swallowed it. Every time.

They made me believe Nina's life was more valuable than mine.

And maybe that's how they always saw it. She was the miracle child, the one they prayed for. The precious gem. I was the "lucky coincidence," born as a perfect genetic match. A living donor in the shape of a daughter.

I threw the pillow across the room.

It hit the wall and fell with a soft thud.

I grabbed my teddy bear from the shelf and hugged it tightly. The last gift I got before my childhood disappeared.

"You were six," they said.

"You set the kitchen on fire," they said.

"You fainted. Nina ran in to save you. She breathed in so much smoke that it damaged her lungs."

And just like that, her sickness became my fault. That one moment I don't even remember. They told me I had memory loss. That I owe her this life.

So I started owing.

And never stopped.

I sniffled, rocking back and forth on the floor.

I don't even know who I am anymore. I don't have friends. I don't go out. I can't even have hobbies or plans because at any moment, Nina could fall sick again, and I'd be called in like a machine part. Like a tool.

And now they want my kidney.

My kidney.

My body isn't even fully grown yet, and they want to take a part of it again. And for what?

To save someone who never looked at me as a sister, only as her personal healer.

Nina never thanks me. She never even talks to me unless she's in pain. Then she cries and says she doesn't want to die, and everyone turns to me like I'm supposed to fix it. Like I created the mess.

I'm not a person to them.

I'm a solution.

A living sacrifice.

I curled into a ball on the floor, clutching the bear tighter, my nails digging into its soft fur. My chest felt like it would explode from the weight pressing down on it.

I didn't ask to be born for this.

I didn't ask to be her savior.

I want a life of my own. I want to be loved for who I am, not for what I can give. I want someone to look at me and not see a donor card.

I want out.

A soft knock came at the door.

I didn't answer.

"Amara?" It was Mom's voice.

I stayed quiet.

Another knock.

"We didn't mean to upset you. We just, We're desperate. Your sister I'"

I covered my ears.

No. Not this time.

I won't be guilted again. I can't.

If I say yes again, I might never find the strength to say no.

I squeezed my eyes shut, whispering to myself, "This is my body. This is my life."

And for once in my life, I wanted to mean it.

AMARA POV

The morning started like every other, loud, annoying, and unfair.

I sat on the edge of my bed, arms wrapped tightly around my knees, staring at the sunlight bleeding through the curtains. I could already hear her laugh echoing down the hall. Nina. My perfect little sister.

The knock on my door came soft and slow, like always. I didn't answer. Of course, she didn't wait.

"Are you done sulking?" she asked, stepping in with her signature fake concern.

I didn't look up. "Get out."

She gasped. "I was just checking on you, Amara. You've been so moody lately."

I scoffed. "Yeah? Maybe if you and your crew didn't treat me like trash every day, I'd be a little happier."

Nina blinked, her lips trembling just slightly. "I didn't mean.."

I stood up. "Don't pretend with me. You laugh with them. You watch them mock me. And then you sit here and act like a saint."

Her voice rose in defense, "I just want peace in this house.."

"Then stop being a two-faced snake!" I snapped.

Right on cue, our mother appeared at the door, arms crossed, brows pinched with frustration. "What's going on in here?"

Nina turned, face crumpling, tears welling like magic. "She's always yelling at me. I try to be nice, but she's just so mean, Mom"

My mother's eyes shifted to me, colder than ever. "Amara. Again?"

My stomach sank. "She's lying. I didn't..."

"I'm tired of this, Amara," she cut in. "Always so bitter, always bullying your younger sister. What did she ever do to you?"

"I..." My throat burned. "Forget it."

I didn't wait for her to finish. I grabbed my bag and stormed out. I didn't care if I skipped breakfast or if my shoes didn't match. I just had to get out of that house.

As I walked toward the school, cars zoomed by, horns honking. The usual. Then I saw the sleek black Benz rolling past. The window slid down, revealing Nina smiling and waving at me like some damn beauty queen.

Their driver, Mike, nodded politely as she got into the car, her expensive perfume lingering in the air even from that far away. I looked down at my worn sneakers, my secondhand jeans. I was the older sister, but somehow, I was always in her shadow.

I swallowed the bitterness and forced my legs forward.

All that kept me going... was him.

Professor Black.

His name made something burn in me. I didn't know what it was..maybe obsession. Maybe madness. But I needed it. Smile creeping to my cheek with just the thought of him.

He made me feel seen.

So when I got to class and didn't see him, my whole body went cold.

"Where's Professor Black?" I asked a girl next to me.

She shrugged. "Some emergency. Class is canceled."

The words hit me like a punch. My throat tightened, heart pounding with disappointment and rage.

No. No. No.

He was the only good thing in my life.

I couldn't go back home. Not yet. Not with all this inside me. I needed to breathe, to escape, to feel something, anything but this emptiness.

By the time the sun went down, I was back in my tiny room, staring at myself in the mirror. My hands shook as I pulled out the dress I kept hidden in the back of my closet, short, black, tight. Something I'd never worn before.

I didn't care.

I wanted to feel alive tonight.

I smeared on red lipstick, curled my lashes, and left through the window like a thief. The street lights flickered above me as I headed toward the club I'd only ever passed by..Heat.

Inside, the music slammed into my chest like thunder. Lights flashed. Bodies moved. I was one of them now. I was part of something chaotic, wild, free.

I drank something sweet and burning. Then another. I lost count. The music became my heartbeat. I swayed, lifting my hands, closing my elyes. My tiny hips moved to the rhythm, and for the first time, I didn't feel small. I felt... powerful.

A hand slid around my waist. Some guy I didn't know pressed against me from behind, his breath hot near my ear.

I let it happen for a second.

But then

I felt it.

Him.

Before I even saw him, I knew.

The guy behind me was yanked away with force. I turned, breath hitching and there he was.

Professor Black.

No. Not Professor. Not here.

Here, he was something else. Bigger. Darker. Dangerous and most especially Smoking hot.

His hand wrapped around my wrist as he dragged me away from the dance floor, past the sweaty crowd, into a dimly lit corner behind a curtain.

I didn't speak.

Couldn't.

He stood over me, tall and furious, breathing hard. "What the hell are you doing here, Amara?"

My name on his lips made me tremble.

"I..." My voice was barely a whisper.

His eyes flicked down my body, over the clingy dress, my bare thighs, my trembling legs. His hand rose, slow, knuckles brushing the hem of my dress. I shivered.

He didn't touch me yet not really. But I felt him everywhere.

He leaned in, his face inches from mine. His breath hot on my cheek. "You have no idea what you're doing," he growled.

I tilted my head up to look at him....really look at him.

His eyes burned through me.

My lips parted. My legs unsteady.

There was a strange wet heat between them, I felt a drip down there.

What was this feeling?

My heart beat so loud, I was sure he could hear it.

Then I whispered it.

A name I didn't even realize I'd made up for him in my mind.

"PROFESSOR SIN ?"

AMARA POV

The music was too loud, the lights too bright, yet all I felt was him.

His body pressed close enough to remind me of who he was, but not enough to claim me...not yet. His hand that had brushed mine before was now firmer, steadying me as if he could sense I might fall, not just from the alcohol but from the way my knees weakened at his nearness.

I tilted my head back, blinking through my drowsy haze, and whispered, "Professor Sin?" My voice cracked between disbelief and longing.

He leaned closer, his breath fanning my ear, warm and sharp, sending shivers down my neck. "What are you doing here, Amara?" His tone was low, dangerous, like velvet covering a blade.

I should have pulled away. I should have remembered my mother's warnings, Nina's sneers, the way I was already drowning in chaos at home. But instead, I swayed against him, leaning closer, caught between the pulsing bass of the club and the steady thrum of his presence.

"I wanted to forget," I murmured, my words clumsy from drink.

He chuckled, but it wasn't kind. It was dark, edged with disapproval. "And you thought this,his fingers brushed the hem of my tiny dress, making me gasp as fire sparked across my skin, "was the answer?"

I froze, breath caught in my throat. His touch wasn't indecent, not fully, but it was enough to make every nerve in my body scream awake. My thighs clenched, a wetness pooling inside me that I had never felt this strong before.

"I..." My voice failed me.

He tilted my chin upward with two fingers, forcing me to look at him. His eyes were sharper here, away from the classroom, more sinful, more real. "Do you know what you're doing, Amara?"

"I don't care," I whispered, the words falling out before I could stop them.

His jaw tightened, his body towering over me like a wall I couldn't escape from, even if I wanted to. Around us, people danced, laughed, drank, but it was like the world had vanished, leaving only me and him in this corner of shadows.

"You should care," he muttered, and his fingers traced along my jawline, down to the hollow of my throat. My pulse hammered so loud I swore he could feel it beneath his touch. "You don't belong here. You don't belong with them." His eyes flicked to the crowd, then back to me. "But you keep testing me, don't you?"

My lips parted, but no words came. His touch burned through me, restrained yet deliberate, as if he wanted me to remember every inch of where his fingers had been.

When his hand slid from my chin to hover just at the curve of my waist, I shivered. "Professor..."

The way the word fell off my tongue sounded nothing like school. Nothing like innocence.

Something flickered in his eyes, something raw. He leaned closer, his lips so close to mine that if I moved even a fraction, they'd meet. "If you knew the things I think about when you say that..." His whisper trailed off, hot against my mouth.

My breath hitched. Heat swarmed through my body, every inch aching for him to close the distance.

But then, as if he read my mind, he pulled back suddenly. His grip on my waist tightened just enough to steady me, but his gaze turned cold. "You're drunk. This isn't happening."

The rejection stung sharper than I expected. "Why?" The word slipped out, fragile.

"Because," he said, his voice rough, "you have no idea what you're asking for."

And before I could argue, he dragged me away from the dance floor. People glanced at us, but no one stopped him. No one ever stopped him. He had that presence, commanding, untouchable.

Outside, the air was cooler, sobering me a little. He guided me to his car, opening the door with a sigh that sounded more like frustration than pity.

"Get in."

I obeyed, sliding into the leather seat, my heart still racing. He closed the door behind me and went around to the driver's side. When he sat down, the silence was heavier than the music had been inside.

We didn't move. Not at first. He gripped the steering wheel like it was the only thing keeping him from reaching for me again.

"Why are you doing this to yourself?" he finally asked, his voice low but fierce.

"Because nothing makes sense anymore," I said, my throat tight. "At home, I'm the villain. Nina plays the angel, and I'm the monster. My mom believes her. Everyone sees me as the problem. But with you..." I trailed off, unsure if I had gone too far.

His hands tightened on the wheel. "With me?"

I swallowed hard. "With you, I feel... like I can breathe."

The air shifted. I felt his eyes on me, burning, searching. For a moment, I thought he'd reach for me again. My body leaned toward him without permission, desperate for more of his touch, his warmth, his sin.

But he only exhaled sharply, starting the engine. "You shouldn't say things like that, Amara."

"Why not?"

"Because one day," he muttered, pulling onto the road, "I might not be able to stop myself."

The car ride was silent after that, but inside me everything screamed. Every second, I replayed the ghost of his touch, the heat of his breath on my skin, the words he'd left hanging in the air.

When we reached my street, he parked a few houses away. "Go inside quietly. Don't let anyone see you like this."

I nodded, fumbling with the handle, but before I could step out, his hand shot out and caught my wrist.

I froze.

He leaned closer, his eyes dark and unreadable. His voice dropped to a whisper that wrapped around my soul. "You don't know it yet, Amara, but you're playing with fire. And fire always burns."

Then he let go. Just like that.

I stumbled out, my legs weak, sneaking back into my room through the window. My heart was still pounding as I collapsed on the bed, dress still clinging to me, his touch still lingering like a brand on my skin.

Sleep didn't come easy. When it did, it was filled with him..his hands, his voice, his almost-kiss.

And when I finally woke, sunlight streaming into my room, my phone buzzed on the nightstand.

A message.

From an unknown number.

I blinked, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, and read the words.

"YOU'RE MINE NOW, MY LITTLE DOVE.

My breath caught. My body shivered. And I knew exactly who it was.