The lecture hall was suffocating. Not because of its size—the space was massive, with rows of tiered seating stretching high above the central podium—but because of the weight in the air. The tension, the anticipation. The hushed murmurs of students filled the room, their voices laced with expectation, judgment, curiosity. It wasn't just any presentation; it was the presentation, the one that would solidify reputations, the one that mattered.
I adjusted the sleeves of my fitted white blouse, the crisp fabric tucked neatly into high-waisted black trousers. The outfit was professional, sleek, but even as I smoothed out non-existent wrinkles, my hands trembled slightly. I inhaled deeply, my brown-hazel eyes scanning the room.
Jason stood beside me, calm as ever, his sandy brown hair effortlessly styled, his confidence as steady as his voice had been during rehearsal. "Relax," he murmured with a reassuring smile. "We got this."
I nodded, swallowing hard. The room wasn't full yet, but the weight of every gaze already felt like a thousand pounds pressing against my chest. Then, my breath hitched.
Aiden.
He was there. Seated halfway up the tiered seating, leaning back with a lazy sort of ease, one arm draped over the back of the chair beside him. He wasn't even trying to blend in. His jet-black hair was slightly tousled, his grey eyes sharp, locked onto mine. Studying me. Assessing me. The corner of his lips twitched upward in something that wasn't quite a smirk, but close.
I tore my gaze away, my pulse hammering. Focus.
Professor Calloway cleared his throat, silencing the murmurs. "Let's begin."
I stepped forward, my heels clicking against the polished floor. The moment the words left my mouth, the nerves dissipated—replaced by something steadier. Stronger. Confidence.
The presentation became interactive, as Jason had planned. He threw out questions, engaging the med students, making them think, challenging them. I followed suit, explaining the delicate balance of antibiotic prescribing, the consequences of overuse, the necessity of precision.
At some point, I found myself enjoying it.
When I glanced at Aiden again, his expression had shifted. The lazy amusement had faded, replaced by something else entirely. His head was tilted slightly, his lips parted just a fraction. Watching. Always watching.
When it ended, applause erupted. Calloway nodded in approval. "Well done, both of you. Truly exceptional." Other professors echoed his praise, students murmured amongst themselves. Jason grinned at me, nudging my shoulder. "Told you we had it."
The room slowly began to empty, students filing out, chatting about the weekend ahead. Jason gathered his things. "I'll catch you later, Katie."
I nodded absentmindedly, stuffing my notes into my bag, my mind still buzzing with adrenaline. By the time I looked up again, the room was empty.
Almost.
Aiden was still there.
My breath hitched as I realized he had moved. He was no longer seated in the rows above. He was at the bottom now, leaning casually against the podium, waiting.
My fingers twitched around my bag strap. "What do you want?"
He didn't answer immediately. He just watched me, as if deciding something. Then, with a slow, measured pace, he approached. My heart pounded louder with every step he took until he was right in front of me, close enough that I could smell the faintest trace of cologne and something distinctly him.
"You looked good up there," he murmured.
I exhaled sharply. "Aiden—"
His hand shot out, grabbing my wrist. Not hard. Not enough to hurt. But enough to hold me there. Enough to make my pulse stutter.
"So you were with him last weekend huh?" His voice was low, dark. "Happy." He spat.
A chill ran down my spine. His grip tightened—just slightly—but I felt the shift in the air, the possessiveness in his stance. He was angry.
And yet, beneath the anger, there was something more dangerous. Obsession.
Before I could respond, he moved. Quick, fluid, pressing my back against the nearest desk. His mouth was on mine before I could think, before I could decide whether I wanted to push him away or pull him closer. The kiss was punishing, desperate, claiming.
I gasped, and he took advantage, deepening it, his fingers threading through my auburn hair, tilting my head to take more, to own more. My hands pressed against his chest, not in resistance, but in something far more complicated.
Then suddenly, he broke away—only to trail his lips down my neck. I let out a sharp inhale as he bit down, sucking hard, marking my again. Again.
"Aiden—stop," I breathed, but it was weak.
He didn't stop.
His fingers traced up my throat, gripping lightly—just enough pressure to make my head spin. "You belong to me, Kitty," he murmured, his voice like smoke, dangerous and intoxicating. "You can run to him, let him hold you, kiss you, fuck you—but it doesn't change a thing." His lips brushed against my ear. "You're mine."
My body betrayed my, shivering at his words. No. No, this is wrong.
My hands finally pushed against his chest—firmer this time. "You said you called Rosie that night," I accused, my breath uneven.
Aiden froze. Then, he let out a slow, dark chuckle. "I lied."
My stomach twisted.
He tilted my chin up, forcing me to meet his gaze. His eyes were wild, untamed. "I haven't had you yet, Katherina." His lips curled into something sinful, something lethal. "That's because you wouldn't be able to handle it."
I swallowed hard, my heart hammering against my ribs.
He leaned in one last time, his breath ghosting over my lips. "But you're fucking mine."
Then, just like that, he was gone.
I stood there, breathless, disoriented, my mind spiralling.
I barely remembered gathering my things, barely remembered walking out of the lecture hall, barely remembered making my way home.
But by the time I was in my room, staring at myself in the mirror, I saw them.
The new marks.
The fresh proof of his claim.
And I felt it.
I was in trouble.