Ember's POV
I'm going to throw up.
My hands shake as I grip my schedule printout, staring at the door to Room 301. Contemporary Literature and Critical Theory. My first class at Ashford University. The beginning of my new life.
Except my stomach won't stop churning.
It's just first-day nerves, I tell myself. Everyone feels like this. You earned your spot here. You belong.
I take a deep breath and push open the door.
The lecture hall is already half full—students chatting, laughing, claiming seats. I scan for an empty spot in the back row where I can disappear and
My heart stops.
No.
No, no, no, this isn't happening.
Standing at the front of the classroom, writing on the whiteboard, is a man in a perfectly tailored suit. Dark hair. Tall. Broad shoulders that I remember gripping while he
He turns around.
Storm-gray eyes meet mine.
For one impossible second, the entire world stops spinning.
Professor Blackwell—because that's who this is, that's who he has to be, goes completely still. The marker in his hand hovers mid-air. His face drains of color.
He recognizes me.
Of course he recognizes me. Two weeks ago, I was naked in his hotel bed. Two weeks ago, his mouth was on my skin, whispering things that still make me blush. Two weeks ago, he made me feel alive for the first time in my life.
And now he's my professor.
Take your seats, please, he says, his voice rough. Class is starting.
I can't move. Can't breathe. Can't process what's happening.
A girl bumps into me from behind. Excuse me. Are you going in or...?
I stumble forward on autopilot, sliding into the nearest empty seat. Front row. Right in his direct line of sight.
Perfect. Just perfect.
Professor Blackwell—Adrian, my brain screams, his name is Adrian, clears his throat. Welcome to Contemporary Literature and Critical Theory. I'm Dr. Adrian Blackwell, and I'll be your instructor this semester.
His eyes deliberately avoid mine.
This course will challenge you, he continues, his voice steady now, professional. We'll examine works that push boundaries, question social norms, and explore the consequences of desire conflicting with duty.
Is he serious right now? Is he actually going to lecture about forbidden desire while pretending we didn't
Literature, he says, walking slowly across the front of the room, forces us to confront uncomfortable truths. Sometimes the choices we make have consequences we never anticipated. Sometimes a single decision—made in a moment of weakness—can change everything.
His gaze flickers to me for half a second.
My cheeks burn.
This can't be real. This has to be a nightmare.
Except I'm wide awake, and Adrian—Dr. Blackwell, is standing ten feet away from me, looking every bit the distinguished professor while I'm dying inside.
Your first assignment, he says, returning to the whiteboard, is an essay analyzing a work of your choice that explores forbidden love. Romeo and Juliet. Anna Karenina. The Age of Innocence. Choose a text where desire and duty collide, then examine the fallout.
Someone behind me whispers, He's really hot for a professor.
Right? I'm definitely coming to office hours, another girl giggles.
Jealousy spikes through me, sharp and unexpected and completely inappropriate.
He's not yours, I remind myself viciously. He was never yours. He was a stranger. A mistake. A one-night stand you were supposed to forget.
Except I can't forget. Not when he's standing right there. Not when every time he speaks, I hear the way his voice sounded in the dark, rough with want.
The hour drags like torture.
Professor Blackwell lectures brilliantly, passionate about literature, challenging students who give lazy answers, clearly loving what he does. I should be taking notes. Instead, I'm remembering.
The way he looked at me in the bar like I was the most fascinating person he'd ever met.
The way he kissed me like I was precious and dangerous all at once.
The way he whispered, You're extraordinary, against my skin.
Stop. Stop thinking about it.
Finally, finally, class ends.
Read the first three chapters of your chosen text by Wednesday, Professor Blackwell announces. Class dismissed.
Everyone stands, gathering bags and laptops. I need to leave. Need to get out of here before—
Miss Hayes.
I freeze.
His voice cuts through the noise of departing students. Formal. Cold. Nothing like the way he said my name two weeks ago.
Stay behind, please. I need to speak with you.
The last few students file out, shooting me curious looks. The door closes with a soft click.
And then we're alone.
Adrian's professional mask cracks. He runs a hand through his hair—the same gesture from that night—and turns to face me.
Ember
Don't. My voice shakes. Don't call me that. Not here.
This is— He stops. Starts again. I had no idea. When I accepted this position, when I came to town two weeks early to— He cuts himself off. It doesn't matter. What matters is that this—what happened between us—it can never happen again.
You think I don't know that? Anger floods through me, hot and sharp. You think I planned this?
Of course not. His jaw clenches. But we're here now, and we need to establish boundaries. Clear, professional boundaries.
Fine. Boundary established. I'm your student. You're my professor. We pretend we're strangers. The words taste like acid.
It's not that simple
Yes, it is! I'm standing now, fury overriding humiliation. We made a mistake. A huge, stupid, reckless mistake. And now we both have to live with it. So you grade my papers, I sit in your class, and we never, ever speak about what happened.
Adrian steps closer. It's involuntary—I see him catch himself, see him force his feet to stop.
But the damage is done.
We're too close. Close enough that I can smell his cologne. Close enough to remember exactly how it felt when
I need to request a transfer, he says quietly. To another university. It's the only way to—
No. The word explodes out of me. You are not ruining your career because of one night. I won't let you.
Ember
Miss Hayes, I correct sharply. In this classroom, I'm Miss Hayes. And Miss Hayes is telling you that she can handle being your student. So handle being her professor.
Something flashes in his eyes—pain, maybe, or regret, or the same desperate want I'm trying to bury.
This will be difficult, he says.
I know.
They won't. Because nothing is happening. Nothing will ever happen. I grab my bag, needing to escape before I do something stupid like cry. Or worse—kiss him. Is that all, Professor Blackwell?
His hands clench into fists at his sides. Yes. You're dismissed.
I make it to the door before he speaks again.
Ember.
I don't turn around. Can't.
I'm sorry, he says quietly. For all of this.
I close my eyes. Me too.
Then I walk out, leaving him standing alone in the empty classroom.
TWO WEEKS EARLIER
I'm going to throw up.
My hands shake as I grip my acceptance letter from Ashford University, racing up the steps to Jason's house. I can't wait to tell him. Can't wait to see his face when I show him that we're going to the same school, that all my hard work paid off, that I actually made it.
I burst through his bedroom door without knocking.
And my entire world shatters.
Jason is in bed. With Madison. My best friend since we were twelve.
They both freeze.
Madison smiles. Surprise.
The acceptance letter falls from my hands.