For three days straight, I'd perfected the art of academic avoidance.
The moment Adrian's lecture ended, I was out of that classroom like the building was on fire.
Books shoved into my bag before he could finish his last sentence, feet already moving toward the door while other students were still processing whatever literary torture he'd just inflicted on us.
I couldn't face him. Not after everything Vaughn had told me, not after seeing her drop to her knees like some kind of Pavlovian response.
My head was a fucking mess of conflicting information, and I needed time to sort through the wreckage before I could look him in the eyes again.
But today, my escape route was blocked.
"Miss Hale," his voice cut through the classroom chatter like a scalpel. "A word about your latest essay, if you please."
I froze halfway to the door, my blood turning to ice water. Around me, students filed out in their usual post-lecture daze, but I might as well have been chained to the floor.
"I actually have another class…" I started, not turning around.
"No, you don't." His voice was calm, matter-of-fact. "Your next class is in two hours. I checked your schedule."
Of course he fucking did.
I heard the door close behind the last student, sealing us in together. My shoulders tensed as I slowly turned to face him.
Adrian stood behind his desk, hands clasped behind his back, watching me with that predatory focus that used to make me melt and now made me want to run screaming.
"You've been avoiding me," he said without preamble.
"I haven't been avoiding anyone. I've just been busy."
"Sophie." The way he said my name was a warning. "Don't insult my intelligence. You've left my classroom exactly thirty-seven seconds after I've dismissed the class for three consecutive days. That's not a coincidence."
My mouth went dry. "You've been timing me?"
"I've been wondering what changed." He moved around the desk, each step deliberate and controlled. "Three days ago, you were mine. Completely, beautifully mine. Today, you can barely look at me. So I'll ask you again—what changed?"
I stared at him, my heart hammering against my ribs.
How could I explain without betraying Vaughn's confession? Without admitting I'd been eavesdropping on their private conversation? Without revealing the medication, the hospital, the way she'd described him as a monster who'd systematically destroyed her?
"I saw you," I said finally, my voice barely above a whisper. "With Dr. Vaughn. I heard your conversation."
His expression didn't change, but something flickered behind his eyes. "Which conversation?"
"The one where she told you not to find another victim. The one where you..." I swallowed hard. "The one where you made her kneel."
"Ah." He nodded slowly, like pieces were falling into place. "And what exactly did you hear?"
"Enough." I crossed my arms over my chest, trying to create some kind of barrier between us. "Enough to know that whatever you two had wasn't just some casual arrangement that ended amicably."
"It wasn't." His honesty surprised me. "Lisette and I had a complicated relationship that ended badly. I won't pretend otherwise."
"She said she loved you."
"She said a lot of things." He took another step closer, and I fought the urge to back away. "Tell me, what else did she say? Because I'm assuming you didn't just accidentally overhear one conversation and then spend three days avoiding me."
Panic fluttered in my chest. I couldn't tell him about her version of events, about the hospital, about the medication. Not without more proof, not without knowing for certain who was telling the truth.
"She warned me about you," I said carefully. "About what you do to women."
"And what exactly do I do to women, Sophie?"
The question was delivered with such calm curiosity that it made my skin crawl.
"You collect them. Break them down. Make them dependent on you and then discard them when you get bored."
"Is that what you think I'm doing to you?" He was close enough now that I could smell his cologne, feel the heat radiating from his body. "Collecting you?"
"I don't know what to think anymore." The admission came out broken, desperate. "Everything she said made sense, but then everything you've told me made sense too. I can't tell who's lying."
"What if we're both telling the truth?" His voice dropped to that register that made my knees weak despite everything. "What if the truth is more complicated than either version?"
"What…” I swallowed hard, trying to find words for questions I didn't know how to ask. “What are we?"
He tilted his head like I was speaking a foreign language. "You're my student, Sophie."
"I asked what am I to you." The question came out smaller than I'd intended.
His gaze darkened, pinning me in place. "You're mine."
The words hit somewhere low in my stomach, spreading heat through my entire nervous system.
"I didn't agree to that," I whispered, even though my body was already betraying me, responding to the possessive certainty in his voice.
"Yet you're still mine," he said, like my consent was a formality we'd already covered.
I stepped back, trying to create space to think. "So I'm not allowed to see anyone else? Is that how this works?"
He took a step forward, closing the distance I'd tried to create. "Is that what you want?"
I didn't answer because the thought of anyone else touching me now felt wrong in a way I couldn't explain.
He moved even closer, slow and deliberate, until I could feel the heat radiating off him.
"When I touch you," he said, voice dropping to barely above a whisper, "when I tell you what to do, when cum for me... does it feel like I'd ever let anyone else have that?"
A sound escaped my throat before I could swallow it. "No, sir."
He backed me up until I hit the edge of his desk, trapped between mahogany and muscle. His hands settled on either side of me, caging me in.
"Then stop running from what we both want."
His mouth crashed down on mine before I could respond, hungry and demanding. This wasn't the careful, controlled kisses from before—this was desperation wrapped in dominance, need disguised as conquest.
His tongue swept into my mouth, claiming every gasp, every moan. I melted into him despite everything, my hands fisting in his shirt as he devoured me.
"You taste like fear and arousal," he murmured against my lips, his hand sliding up to cup my breast through my shirt. "Like you're terrified of how much you want this."
I whimpered as his thumb found my nipple through the fabric, circling with just enough pressure to make me arch into his touch.
"Adrian," I breathed, and his name on my lips seemed to unleash something primal in him.
He lifted me onto the desk with effortless strength, stepping between my thighs and pressing his hardness against my core. Even through our clothes, the contact sent lightning straight through me.
His mouth found my throat, teeth grazing the sensitive skin as his hands worked at the buttons of my shirt. Each brush of his fingers against my skin made me shiver.
"I'm scared," I admitted against his shoulder as he pushed the shirt off, his lips trailing down to the swell of my breasts. "I'm scared of becoming like her."
He pulled back to look at me, his hands framing my face with surprising gentleness. "You won't," he said with absolute certainty.
"How can you be so sure?"
"Because you're not her." His thumb brushed over my swollen lips. "You will never be like her, Sophie."
The conviction in his voice should have been reassuring, but it only raised more questions. Because the truth was more terrifying, and it was too late.
I wasn’t afraid of turning into Dr.Vaughn. I was Dr.Vaughn.