Sophie’s POV
It's been six days since I walked out of Adrian's house with his horrified expression burned into my memory, six days since I told him about the pregnancy and watched him retreat so fast he practically left skid marks on his hardwood floor.
Six days of Cassian checking on me every morning with coffee and gentle concern, never pushing, never demanding more than I'm ready to give.
Six days of him proving that not every man runs when life gets complicated, that some people actually show up when you need them most.
Yesterday, he brought me soup when the morning sickness was particularly brutal, holding my hair back while I threw up and never once making me feel like a burden.
"This is what partners do," he'd said simply when I tried to apologize for being a mess. "They take care of each other."
Partners. The word had settled into my chest with surprising warmth.
I'm finally starting to believe that maybe Cleo was right—maybe I deserve better than stolen moments and emotional scraps. Maybe I deserve someone who doesn't panic at the first sign of real intimacy, who doesn't treat a pregnancy like it's a terminal diagnosis.
This morning, for the first time in months, I'd woken up without that familiar ache in my chest where Adrian used to live.
Instead, I'd felt something I barely recognized: hope. Hope that I could build something real and healthy with someone who actually wants to be in my life.
I'd even started making plans—practical ones. Cassian and I had talked about the future, about what raising a child together might look like, about the possibility of something beautiful growing from this chaos.
For the first time since Adrian walked back into my life, I'd felt like I was moving forward instead of being trapped in his gravitational pull.
I'm halfway through transcribing Professor Morrison's lecture, actually focused instead of spiraling through memories, when the classroom door explodes inward with a bang that makes every pen freeze mid-sentence.
The sound echoes through the lecture hall like a gunshot, and my stomach drops through the floor before I even look up to see who's standing in the doorway like some kind of academic apocalypse.
Adrian Lewis strides into the room like he owns not just the building but the entire university system, his storm-gray eyes scanning the tiered rows of shocked faces with predatory precision.
Students whisper and shift in their seats, but his gaze doesn't pause until it locks onto mine with laser focus.
"Sophie," he says, his voice cutting through the stunned silence like a blade.
He completely ignores Professor Morrison's dropped jaw, ignores the hundred pairs of eyes tracking his every movement, ignores the fact that he's just invaded a classroom like some kind of literature-obsessed Viking.
"We need to talk. Now."
The lecture hall erupts in whispers that sound like static electricity crackling through the air.
I feel heat flood my face as phones appear like magic tricks, already angled to capture whatever disaster is about to unfold between the disgraced professor and his former student.
Not again, I think desperately, all my newfound peace crumbling like sand castles before a tsunami. Please, God, not again.
This is exactly what happened before—the viral videos, the scandal, the complete destruction of any privacy I had left.
And here he is, doing it again, turning my life into public entertainment because he can't handle a simple conversation like a normal human being.
He's destroying everything. The progress I've made, the healing I've started, the tentative hope I'd finally allowed myself to feel about the future.
"Mr. Lewis," Professor Morrison stammers, his usually confident voice pitched high with shock and indignation. "You cannot just burst into my classroom—this is highly inappropriate and—"
"Sophie," Adrian repeats, taking another measured step down the aisle toward my row. His eyes never leave mine, and there's something wild in them, something desperate and raw that makes my chest constrict with unwanted recognition. "Come with me."
The mortification hits me like a physical blow, hot and sharp and overwhelming.
Every single person in this room is watching, recording, probably already uploading to social media with captions about the continuing drama surrounding Adrian Lewis and his scandal-prone former student.
I can already see tomorrow's headlines: "Disgraced Professor Storms Classroom for Secret Meeting with Former Student." The gossip blogs will have a field day with this.
I shoot to my feet so fast my chair squeaks against the floor, adrenaline and fury propelling me upward.
"Are you completely insane?" I hiss, shoving my notebook into my bag and pushing past Jessica and Michael to reach the aisle. "Get out! What is wrong with you?"
When I reach him, I plant both hands against his chest and shove with every ounce of strength I possess. He actually moves backward—but only because he lets it happen. We both know I couldn't physically budge him if he decided to stand his ground.
The reminder of the power dynamic between us, even in this moment of public humiliation, sends anger shooting through my veins like poison.
"What the hell has gotten into you?" I demand as we spill into the hallway, my voice echoing off the polished walls. "Did you hit your head? Have you completely lost your mind? Why are you here?"
"Because you won't answer my calls," he says, and there's something raw in his voice that catches me off guard despite my fury. "Because you blocked my number. Because every time I try to approach you normally, you run."
"So you thought storming into my lecture like some kind of caveman was the solution?"
My voice climbs higher with each word, fueled by embarrassment and rage and the sick knowledge that he's just destroyed the peace I'd finally found.
"There are a hundred people in there with cameras, Adrian! Do you understand what you've just done?"
"I understand that I needed to see you."
He’s stepping closer until I can smell his cologne, until the familiar scent threatens to undermine my anger and drag me back into old patterns.
"I understand that we have things to discuss that can't wait for your convenience."
"There's nothing to discuss!" The words tear from my throat with desperate conviction. "I'm done, Adrian. I'm finally, actually done. I was moving on, I was happy, and you just—"
Heavy footsteps echo down the hallway, and I close my eyes in defeat as Dean Halbrook appears around the corner with two university security officers in tow.
His face carries the weary expression of someone who's dealt with too much Adrian Lewis drama for one lifetime.
"Adrian," the Dean says, his voice heavy with exhaustion and barely contained frustration. "Get out of here. Right now. You know you're not supposed to be on this campus."
"I'm not doing anything illegal," Adrian replies with that maddening calm that makes me want to shake him.
His posture straightens, shoulders squaring like he's preparing for battle. "I'm not threatening anyone, I'm not disrupting classes beyond walking into one, and you know you have no legal grounds to arrest me."
"If you don't leave voluntarily," Halbrook warns, his hand moving to his phone, "we'll be forced to call city police and have you detained for trespassing."
"Actually," Cassian's voice cuts through the tension like a knife, "he could be arrested."
I turn to see him approaching from the direction of the faculty offices, his usually warm brown eyes hard as they focus on Adrian.
He positions himself near me but maintains careful distance—acutely aware of the watching eyes, the phones that followed us from the classroom and are still recording every word.
The contrast between them hits me like a slap. Cassian, who'd spent the last six days showing me what healthy support looked like, respecting boundaries even in crisis, keeping space between us to protect my reputation.
Adrian, who just destroyed any remaining shred of privacy I had left because he couldn't handle being ignored.
Adrian's smile turns predatory as he steps closer to Cassian, closing the distance between them until they're almost chest to chest.
"Interesting," he murmurs, his voice pitched low enough that only Cassian and I can hear the words dripping with calculated malice. "You can't even hug her in public."
Cassian's eyes darken with fury, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. I watch his jaw work as he fights for control, and something dangerous flickers across his features.
The hallway feels charged with testosterone and barely leashed violence. Students have started gathering at a safe distance, phones raised like weapons, eager to capture whatever explosion is about to happen.
Dean Halbrook takes a step forward. "Gentlemen, I strongly suggest…"
"Go ahead," Adrian says to Cassian, completely ignoring the Dean's warning. His voice carries that silky challenge I know means trouble. "Show everyone how much you care about her. Put your arm around her. Kiss her. Prove you're not afraid."
The air between them crackles with menace, and I realize with sinking dread that Adrian isn't just being possessive—he's being strategic. He knows exactly what he's doing, knows that Cassian can't rise to the bait without risking both their careers.
Oh God, I think, my heart hammering against my ribs as I watch two men I've slept with size each other up like wolves preparing to fight over territory. Help me.