Emilia's POV

The word replayed in my head as I left the lecture hall.

We shouldn't have met last night.

His voice was low, final, almost like a warning. But why? Why would he say that all of a sudden? Why did it feel like he meant something bigger than what happened last night at the bar, in the corner of the shadows.

I barely slept that night because my brain was a mess of questions with no answers. I needed the truth about what happened and why would he say such.

The following morning, I got up as usual, dressed to school. The campus was buzzing as expected. Students laughed, gossipped, walked around with phones in their hands. But when I walked into the hallway toward my next lecture, the air shifted.

People turned their gaze towards me. Some begin to whisper, and some smirked in mockery. I begin to feel confused, did I do something wrong, have I committed an offense... I was feeling embarrassed.

But at first, I thought I was imagining things until I heard it.

"She looks just like him"

"My instincts were right, they both had this facial resemblance..."

"Don't say that out loud."

"Come on, everyone can see it, or can't you see."

"Yes, I also figured it out."

My stomach dropped, and I slowed my steps, still clutching my books tighter to my chest as if it could shield me.

Two girls by the lockers leaned close together, and their voices weren't exactly quiet.

"I'm telling you, it's true and it has been confirmed." One said.

"Shut up, shut that nonsense... You don't even know a thing," the other giggled.

"Yes, of course. Everyone knows now that she's his daughter. That's why he looked at her like that yesterday."

My chest went cold. I needed an explanation of everything that's going on. I can't even think, can't process anything. My brain was just a mess relaying what happened at the bar the other night, the shock yesterday and another rumor today.

I finally stopped walking, my feet felt glued to the floor after hearing that word.

Daughter?

My hands shook as I gripped my books tighter.

The girl noticed me standing there, and her eyes widened, as she pressed a hand over her mouth. "Oh my God, she heard us all."

The other girl whispered, "Run."

They both darted off, laughing nervously as they disappeared around the corner.

I stood frozen, my whole body was hot and cold at the same time.

His daughter?

Why would they even say that? Why would anyone—

A voice cut through my thoughts. It was Clara, my best friend. "Emilia, you okay?"

She came jogging up, her hair bouncing in its ponytail. She frowned at me. "What's wrong? You look like you just saw a ghost."

I swallowed hard. " Nothing much, I'm fine."

She tilted her head. "You don't look fine."

"I said I'm fine." I brushed past her quickly. "Come on, we'll be late for class."

But I knew I wasn't fine.

Not even close, not after everything.

By the time we reached the lecture hall, the whispers had already spread like wildfire.

I slide into my usual seat, trying to ignore the eyes on me. But that didn't help, I could still feel it—their stares, their smirks.

Clara leaned in, whispering. "Okay, spill the beans. What's going on, why are people starring?"

I shook my head quickly. "I don't know either, but don't ask."

Before she could even proceed to say more, the chatter in the room slowly died down and then, footsteps.

It was him, Adrian Blackwell. My professor, the stranger I had served the night at the bar before.

He walked into the room, tall, calm as usual. He was putting on a sharp suit, and his grey eyes were unreadable.

The moment he stepped in, silence swept through the class like a wave. He set his notes on the desk and scanned the room with those piercing grey eyes.

And then... As I'd processed it. They landed on me. It was only a second, but it felt like forever.

My breath hitched and his gaze was steady, and unreadable. Then, he looked away, like nothing happened at all.

"Open your books," he said, his voice calm. "Today, we continue our discussion on Byron."

Chairs shifted, pages flipped and everyone obeyed. But my hands were stiff, my notebook sat blank in front of me and all I could hear was the whisper from earlier.

She's his daughter.

The lecture went on. He spoke about poetry, about beauty, about darkness and light. His voice was calm, steady and deep.

But every time I heard him say a word, my chest tightened. I could still feel people staring and watching me. I was starting to feel embarrassed once more.

Clara nudged me. "What's wrong with you today?" She whispered.

"Nothing," I muttered.

"You're lying."

"Clara, please." My voice cracked.

She stared at me for a long moment, then nodded. "Okay. I won't push."

But the look in her eyes told me she wouldn't let go, not yet. Not after I owe her an explanation.

Halfway through the class, something happens that makes it worse.

Adrian asked a question, his eyes swept the room again. And then, just like yesterday. He called my name again.

"Emilia."

The sound of my name on his lips made my heart stop. The whole class then turned to look at me. I could feel their curiosity, their smirks.

But I swallowed hard, forcing my voice out. "I'm... yes. I think... Byron meant that beauty is not just about looks. It's about the soul. About innocence and mystery."

The class was silent. Then, Adrian gave a slow nod. "Correct."

His voice was calm, and professional. But the way he looked at me—steady, lingering—made the whispers rise again.

"She really is his favorite."

"Or something more."

My cheeks burned. I wanted to scream at them to shut up, but I couldn't.

When the lecture ended, I tried to escape quickly. But Clara followed me out, tucking my arm. "Okay, I've had enough. Now, can you explain to me what's going on between you and professor Blackwell?"

I froze, hoping she could only believe. "Nothing."

"Emilia, people are talking. I keep hearing things. Crazy things."

"Like what?" I asked, my voice shaking.

She hesitated, biting her lips. "Like... that he might be your father."

The word slammed into me like a blow.

I stopped walking. "What?"

"That's what people are saying," Clara said quickly. "I don't believe it, okay? But... I mean... Do you know who your father is?"

Her words are deep. My throat tightened, as I looked away, blinking fast. "I don't want to talk about this."

"Emilia—"

"I said I don't want to talk about it!" My voice was sharper than I meant.

Clara stepped back, hurt flashing in her eyes. "Okay, fine."

I stormed ahead, leaving her behind. But inside, I was breaking. I was really breaking, I wish she could understand. I wish I could wake up from this mess.

That evening, I couldn't take it anymore. I sat on my dorm bed, staring at my phone. My mother's number was on the screen.

I called, and she answered after a few rings. "Emi. How are you, sweetheart?"

Her voice was warm and familiar. I closed my eyes, my throat tight. "Mum... I need to ask you something."

"What is it?"

"Who is my father?"

Silence.

"Emi..." She said softly.

"Don't 'Emi' me, mum" I whispered, my hands trembling. "I need to know please. Just tell me."

Her breathing was shaky. "He doesn't matter who he is. What matters is you're here, you're safe, you're mine."

"That's not an answer, mum!" My voice cracked. " Why won't you tell me? I'm your daughter and I need to know, I have all the right to."

"Because some truths are better left buried, dear," she said quickly.

Tears stung my eyes. "Do I... do I look exactly like him?"

Her smile was louder than words. But I ended the call before she could say anything. And then, I broke.

The next day came faster, and it was worse than ever.

When I walked into the lecture hall, the board had words scrawled across it in big letters:

Daddy's Girl.

Then laughter filled the room the moment I entered. My heart sank, and I grabbed the eraser, scrubbing furiously, with my hands shaking.

Someone snickered behind me. "Careful, you will make Daddy mad."

The room erupted in quiet laughter again. And then, I spun around angrily. "Shut up!"

The laughter grew, and then there was silence. Followed by footsteps.

Adrian entered the lecture hall and his grey eyes went straight to me, then to the board, where smudges still lingered. But his expression didn't change.

But I could admit that I saw the flicker. And the tension in his jaw.

"Sit down," he said, his voice low.

The class went totally silent as I sat down at my usual place, my chest heavy and my heart still racing.

The lecture began but the whispers didn't stop. But they were quieter this time. Crueler, I guess.

"Incest."

The word reached my ears again, sharp, cutting, and unbearable. My whole body went cold. And I clenched my fist under the desk, fighting the urge to scream.

And then, I looked up slowly to find Adrian's grey eyes on me. This time, they were steady and heavy. As if he knew, as if the truth was about to break

Emilia's POV

The words still echoed in my head long after class ended.

Incest.

I hated it. I hated how it stuck to my skin like dirt I couldn't wash off. I hated how my course mates smirked, whispered, and stared at me like I was a show they couldn't stop watching.

I was feeling too embarrassed... I needed to come out of this mess I didn't even know how I got into.

I stuffed my books Into my bag quickly, desperate to escape the room. But Clara tried to catch my arm, then I shook her off and bolted out the door. Because I couldn't breath in there anymore, I was suffocating and needed to clear my head.

But I haven't made it far when I need my surname from a familiar voice.

"Miss Grant."

I froze in the hallway. My stomach twisted before I even turned to face the caller. Adrian Blackwell stood at the doorway of the lecture hall, tall and sharp in his suit as usual, his grey eyes fixed only on me.

"Yes sir?" My voice came out small.

"Come with me." His tone wasn't loud, but it carried something I couldn't really understand. Students still loitering nearby looked at both of us with wide eyes, then bent their heads to hide their grins.

Heat rushed to my face instantly. The whisper would grow more now. But still, I followed him because I didn't have a choice and I needed to find the root of all this.

His office was tucked at the far end of the faculty wing. He unlocked the door, held it open and I stepped inside after him.

It smelled faintly of books and cologne, dark wood shelves lined with old volumes, a large desk scattered with neat papers. Everything screamed order and control. Everything screamed at him, and at me.

He closed the door behind us. The sound was soft, but it felt final.

"Sit." His voice was clipped.

I obeyed and sat before him on a chair, clutching my bag in my lap like a shield. My heart was beating too fast.

He stayed standing, leaning back against his desk, with his arms folded. His eyes, I mean his grey eyes were locked on me with the same piercing stare.

"Do you know what they are saying about you?"

I flinched. "Yes, I heard some things."

His jaw clenched. "Some things?"

"They... they think..." I swallowed. "They think I'm your—" I couldn't even finish the sentence. The words burned my throat.

His face darkened suddenly. "Yes. They think I'm your father, and that you're my daughter."

The air between us grew heavier and I couldn't even look at him.

"Why?" I whispered. "Why would they even think so, why would they say such a thing ?”

He exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "Because gossip doesn't need truth, it only needs fire. It's because they see resemblance and that's why they invent scandal. And you know, once a scandal starts, it spreads like poison."

"But it's not true."

"No," he said firmly. "It's not true. But that doesn't matter, Emilia."

My chest tightened. "Then what matters?"

"What matters is that every glance, every word, every time I call your name—it feeds them. It gives them more reason to believe in their lies."

"So, what are you saying?"

His eyes locked on mine. "I'm saying that you need to stay away from me."

My heart cracked. "Stay away?"

"Yes."

"You can't mean that."

"I do." His voice was sharp, and final. "If you don't, you will destroy yourself. And I..." He stopped, pressing his lips tight. "And I can't protect you from that."

I shook my head, heat rushing to my eyes. "But I didn't do anything wrong.”

"That doesn't matter," he said harshly. "This isn't about right or wrong. This is about perception. And perceptions will ruin you."

Tears pricked at my lashes. "So what am I supposed to do? Pretend you don't exist."

"Yes."

I laughed bitterly. "That's impossible. You're my professor."

His jaw tightened. He looked away, running a hand through his dark hair. For a moment, I thought I saw something crack in him, something raw. But then it was gone.

"Then sit in the back. Don't speak unless spoken to. Don't look at me."

His words sliced through me. "You're serious?"

"Dead serious."

I stared at him, my chest heavy, and my throat was tight. "And what about you?" I asked softly. "Will you stop looking at me too?"

That made him still. His grey eyes flickered, just for a second. Then he looked away again.

"Emilia," he said, his voice lower now, rougher. "You don't understand how dangerous this is."

"Then help me understand," I whispered.

His breathing grew uneven. He pushed off the desk and stepped closer to me. Too close that my heart skipped a beat. My back pressed into the chair instinctively.

"You don't know the things I've done," he said quietly. "The things that follow me. If you stay away from me, you won't be dragged into them. If you don't stay away, you will be dragged into it.”

His nearness made my heart keep pounding so hard and I thought it might break free from my chest. "Then tell me." I whispered again.

"No." His eyes burned into mine. "You don't want to know."

I did. God, I did. But I couldn't force the words out.

For a long moment, the office was silent, the only sound was our breathing. His face was so close now that I could see the faint scar near his temple, the subtle along his jaw, the storm in his grey eyes.

And then, it happened. He lifted his hand slowly, hesitantly, as if it's fighting against some invisible chain. His fingertips hovered inches from my cheek. I held my breath, frozen.

The air between us burned and my skin tingled, aching for his touch.

But just as his hand trembled closer, almost brushing me, he stopped. His jaw clenched, and with visible effort, he snatched his hand back.

His voice was hoarse when he spoke. "Go."

I blinked. "What."

"Go," he said again, his voice sharper now. "Before I do something I shouldn't."

I rose shakily, clutching my bag. My knees wobbled. I turned for the door, my pulse racing, my chest aching.

But before I opened it, I heard him behind me.

"This can't happen, Emilia." His voice was low, almost a whisper, but it carried something I didn't understand. "Not again."

I froze as the words lodged in my chest. I turned to look back at him, but his eyes were closed, his hands gripping the edge of the desk like he was holding himself together.

I left the office immediately without another word, my heart was a storm of confusion. And as the door clicked shut behind me, one thought kept replaying in my mind. What did he mean... not again?