The room was too quiet. I sat on the edge of the emerald velvet sofa, my head resting in my hands. The world was still spinning from the alcohol, but the cold air of the apartment was slowly bringing me back to reality.
I had made a fool of myself. I had danced like no one was watching, only to find out that the one person I was terrified of had been watching every move.
Why did I do it? I groaned, the guilt washing over me.
But beneath the guilt, a stranger, more dangerous feeling was brewing. Every time I closed my eyes, I didn't see the party lights. I saw him. I saw Alex in that black leather jacket, his eyes dark with a possessiveness that should have scared me. But it didn't.
Tonight, he hadn't looked like a professor. He looked like... a man. A dangerously attractive man.
No, Luna. Stop it, I scolded myself, rubbing my temples. He is eight years older than you. He is your teacher. He is the man who controls your scholarship. This is wrong. It's beyond wrong.
I tried to focus on his coldness, his strict rules, and the way he commanded the classroom. But all I could think about was the way he looked in that black t-shirt at the kitchen table. The way his muscles shifted under the fabric. The way he looked at me—like I was the only person in a room full of hundreds.
I didn't want to admit it, but I was losing the battle. The cage was closing, and for the first time, I wasn't sure if I wanted to break the bars.
Across the hall, behind the heavy mahogany door of the "North Hall" study, Professor Alex sat in the dark. The only light in the room came from the amber glow of a single glass of whiskey on his desk.
He wasn't grading papers. He wasn't preparing for tomorrow's lecture.
He was thinking about her. He was thinking about the way she looked tonight—wild, free, and beautiful—before he had stepped in to claim her.
Alex leaned back, closing his eyes, letting his mind drift back to the night he first saw her. It wasn't at the university. It wasn't three days ago.
It was the night Luna Jones arrived in the city.
He had been at The Obsidian, a high-end pub, with a few colleagues. He had been bored, staring at his drink, until the door opened and she walked in. She looked so out of place—fresh-faced, wide-eyed, and full of life. She was a butterfly that had accidentally flown into a spider's web.
He had watched her from the shadows of his booth. He watched as she ordered a drink she clearly couldn't handle. He watched as the alcohol took hold of her, making her laugh and sway to the music.
And then, he watched the wolves approach.
Three men had surrounded her, their intentions written clearly on their faces. They were touching her arm, whispering things that made her look uncomfortable, even in her drunken state.
Alex hadn't hesitated. He had stood up, his presence alone clearing a path through the crowded bar. When he reached her, he didn't say a word to the men. He just looked at them. One look from Professor Alex was enough to make most men run for cover.
"She's with me," he had growled.
Luna had looked up at him, her eyes unfocused and swimming with tears. She didn't know who he was. She didn't know he was the man who would soon hold her entire future in his hands.
"You're tall," she had giggled, stumbling into his chest.
He had caught her, the feel of her small body against his sending a shock through his system that he still felt weeks later. He had managed to get her out of the bar and into a taxi. He found her hotel key in her purse—the name Luna Jones printed clearly on the check-in slip.
He had carried her to her room, tucked her into bed, and watched her sleep for an hour. He had memorized every curve of her face, the way her hair spilled across the pillow, and the way she whispered in her sleep.
That was the night he decided. She wasn't just a student. She was his.
He had gone back to the university and pulled every string he had. He made sure she got the scholarship. He made sure the dorms were "full." He made sure she had nowhere else to go but his home.
Alex opened his eyes in the present, a slow, dark smirk spreading across his face. He took a sip of his whiskey, the burn matching the fire in his chest.
Luna thought it was a coincidence. She thought it was luck.
She didn't realize that her "Professor" had been her shadow long before she ever stepped into his classroom.