Three days.
Three days since I'd walked out of Adrian's office. Three days of jumping at every notification, every footstep in the hallway, every time someone from the English department so much as glanced in my direction.
Waiting for the bomb to drop.
Vaughn hadn't made her move yet. No public accusations, no formal complaints filed—at least none that had reached the rumor mill.
But the silence was almost worse. It felt like standing in the eye of a hurricane, knowing the second wall of destruction was coming but not knowing when.
"Okay, that's it." Cleo's voice snapped me out of my spiral. She was standing in front of me, arms crossed, blocking my path to the library like a particularly fashionable bouncer.
"What?" I blinked at her.
"You've been walking around campus like a ghost for three days. You're not eating, you're not sleeping—don't even try to deny it, I can hear you pacing at 3 AM through the walls." She tilted her head, eyes narrowing. "What did he do?"
"Who?"
"Don't play dumb with me, Sophie. Mystery Daddy. Professor Brooding Sex Dungeon. What did he do to you?"
"Nothing." The word came out too fast, too defensive. "He didn't do anything."
"Bullshit." She stepped closer, and her voice softened in a way that made my chest ache. "I've seen you after bad dates. I've seen you after exam failures. This is different. You look... haunted."
I opened my mouth to deflect, to make some joke about being dramatic, but nothing came out. Because she was right. I was haunted.
By the memory of his face when I'd kissed him goodbye. By the certainty that Vaughn was about to detonate something neither of us could survive. By the sick, twisted part of me that missed him even now.
"It's complicated," I finally managed.
"Then uncomplicate it for me."
Cleo grabbed my arm and steered me toward a bench, forcing me to sit.
"Did he hurt you? Like, actually hurt you? Because I swear to God, Sophie, I will march into that man's office and rearrange his face with a stapler. I'll drag him into the woods and leave him there. I'll—"
"Cleo." A laugh escaped me, watery and broken. "You're five-foot-four and afraid of moths."
"I contain multitudes," she said seriously. "And I will commit crimes for you. Felonies, even. Just say the word."
I leaned my head against her shoulder, suddenly exhausted. "He didn't hurt me. Not the way you're thinking."
"Then what happened?"
"I think..." I swallowed hard. "I think it's over. Or it's about to be. And there's nothing I can do to stop it."
She was quiet for a moment, processing. Then her arm wrapped around me, pulling me closer.
"Do you want it to be over?"
The question hit harder than it should have. Because the honest answer was no.
Despite everything, the warnings, the manipulation accusations, the impending disaster, some stupid, self-destructive part of me still wanted him. Still craved the way he made me feel seen in ways no one else ever had.
"I don't know what I want anymore," I whispered.
***
The campus bookstore was supposed to be safe.
I only needed a new highlighter pack and maybe some overpriced chocolate to numb the existential dread. A ten-minute errand. In and out.
I should've known better.
I was in the back corner, staring blankly at a wall of office supplies, when I felt it. That shift in the air. The way the temperature seemed to drop three degrees.
I turned, and there he was.
Adrian stood at the end of the aisle, frozen mid-step, a book in his hand. He looked like he'd been heading toward the register when he'd spotted me.
For a moment, neither of us moved.
The store was small, barely bigger than a large living room, with narrow aisles and only one exit. A cluster of students browsed near the front, blocking any hope of a subtle escape.
I turned back to the highlighters, pretending to compare shades of yellow like my life depended on it.
"You've been avoiding me," he said.
"Brilliant observation. Did your PhD help you figure that out?"
"Apparently the same thing that strengthened your wit."
"Let's leave the barbs to others, okay? I don't need any small talk."
"No, you need a reality check. Do you really believe running away solves everything?"
"I believe it's better to run from a storm than towards it."
"So that's it?" Something dark flickered in his eyes. "You didn’t want to become Lisette so bad you decided to go back being the good girl with the color-coded planner and the safe, boring life?"
The words stung more than they should have. Because he was right—part of me did want to retreat, to become invisible again, to pretend I'd never tasted what it felt like to surrender.
But another part of me, the part he'd awoken, knew I could never go back. Not completely. Not anymore.
"What if I told you," I said slowly, "that I've already become like Vaughn?"
He went still. "What?"
"You couldn't stop it."
My voice was steady, but my hands were shaking.
"All those warnings about not losing myself, about choosing this for the right reasons—and here I am. Obsessed. Paranoid. Checking my phone every five minutes. Losing sleep over someone who told me to my face that he can't give me what I need."
His expression shifted—something cracking beneath the surface. For the first time, he looked genuinely shaken.
"Sophie…"
"You said she lost her mind when she realized she didn't own you."
I stepped back, putting distance between us.
"What makes you think I'm any different? What makes you think I won't end up just as bitter, just as broken, just as desperate to destroy you when you inevitably leave?"
"You're nothing like her."
"You don't know that." My eyes burned, but I refused to cry. Not here, not in front of him. "And neither do I. Not anymore."
I turned and walked toward the register, my heart hammering so hard I could barely hear my own thoughts. The students at the front parted as I approached, oblivious to the emotional carnage happening three aisles away.
I was almost at the door when I heard his footsteps behind me.
"Sophie, wait."
I didn't stop.
"We're not done talking."
I pushed through the door into the afternoon sun, but he was right behind me, matching my pace.
"I told you to stop."
"Good try, Professor."
"One more step and—"
I spun around, and the word left my mouth before I could stop it. "Peaches."
He froze.
Completely, utterly froze—like someone had hit pause on his entire existence. His hand, which had been reaching toward my arm, dropped to his side. His face went blank, then confused, then something that looked almost like pain.
The safe word—our safe word. The one I'd never used, not once, through everything he'd done to me. Until now.
He stared at me like I'd just driven a knife through his chest. And maybe I had. Maybe this was the only way to make him understand that I wasn't playing games anymore.
That some things, once broken, couldn't be put back together.
I turned and walked away. My eyes burned with tears I refused to let fall, my chest ached with something that felt like grief, and my legs carried me forward even though every step felt like tearing myself in half.
He didn't follow. For the first time since I'd met him, Adrian Lewis did exactly what I asked.
And somehow, that hurt most of all.