Fiona's POV
"Jude? Paris?" I called.
"Fiona," Jude answered, gazing at me with something familiar flickering in his eyes. He smiled.
Paris lounged forward, standing close to me, her eyes filled with worry and concern.
"Gúrl, are you okay?"
"Yeah, why are you guys here?" I asked. Squinting my eyes.
"You've probably forgotten we were supposed to meet up tonight, Jude and I were worried your ankle still hurt so we came to check up" Paris muttered.
I stood by the open window, my hands clenched into a ball. Why were they always interrupting my plans? I thought, but I couldn't bring myself to show my rage.
I remained silent, gazing at them both as the cold breeze brushed against my skin until Jude pulled me into a quick hug and pulled away. My eyes flared. We stared into each other's eyes for a few seconds before Paris cleared her throat, jolting me back to the present moment.
"I can stay over to check up on you if you don't mind, just in case you need anything," he suggested. I glanced at Paris to see her nose flaring hard at how close I was to Jude but I ignored. She probably likes him, I thought.
"I'm okay, I just needed a little rest, and the clinic doctor suggested I rest my ankle for a day or two," I lied. "I'm sorry guys, can we reschedule?" I asked.
"Of course, I guess we'll see you in class tomorrow," Paris answered, and I nodded, Jude's eyes lingered on me until a familiar voice called.
"Jude, let's go," Paris called and he nodded as they both stormed out of the room.
A sigh of relief escaped my lips when they shut the door, I picked up my phone, realizing I still had time to carry out my plan before Jalen left his office, I pulled on a simple oversized sweater that slipped off one shoulder, paired with my soft cotton shorts. Modest enough to be innocent, yet enough to draw his attention if he dared to look twice. My ankle still ached faintly, which gave me a reason to visit him.
Taking a deep breath, I slipped out of my room and walked down the quiet hallway toward the faculty residence.
The campus looked peaceful, soft lights glowing in the distance, laughter echoing faintly from a group of students passing by. Yet inside me, there was nothing peaceful.
My heart was loud, restless, and impatient. I'd tried to focus on classes, on conversations, on anything other than him. But every time I blinked, I saw his face — that quiet restraint in his eyes, that faint tremor in his voice when he told me to rest.
he was a temptation carved from patience and danger. And I wanted to be the reason he broke his own rules.
I untied my hair and let it fall over my shoulders, brushing it gently with my fingers. My heart fluttered with a mix of guilt and excitement.
I wasn't trying to seduce him… not exactly.
I just wanted to know if I could make him feel what I felt — that same ache, that same pull.
Each step echoed softly against the tiled floor, and with every stride, my nerves tangled tighter.
When I reached his door, I hesitated. What if he got angry? What if he sent me away?
But what if… he didn't?
I knocked gently. Once. Twice. After confirming his name on the door.
A moment later, the door opened — and there he was.
Jalen.
He wore a plain white shirt, sleeves rolled halfway up, his tie loosened as though he'd just finished grading papers. His hair was slightly messy, and he looked tired — yet still painfully handsome.
"Fiona?" His voice carried surprise, caution, and something else beneath it. "What are you doing here?"
I held onto the doorframe, pretending to limp slightly. "I… I just wanted to say thank you. For last night. And, um, my ankle still hurts a little."
His eyes softened with concern immediately. "You should have gone to the clinic like I said."
"I didn't want to make a big deal out of it," I replied quietly. "I just… thought you might have something for the pain."
He sighed, stepping aside, and gulped hard as he took in my look from head to toe, my stomach clenched, knowing I was able to grab his attention with my dress. "Come in."
The moment I entered, I felt the air shift. His room smelled faintly of coffee and books. Papers were scattered on his desk, and his laptop screen glowed with a half-finished email. Everything about the space screamed discipline — except the man standing in it.
He motioned toward the chair. "Sit. Let me get you some balm."
As he turned away, I caught myself watching him — the way his shirt stretched slightly across his back, the strength in his arms. I swallowed hard, my pulse quickening.
He returned with a small bottle, kneeling before me like he had the night before. My breath hitched as his fingers brushed my skin, rubbing the balm gently over my ankle. His touch sent heat rushing through me as he tried to massage it, I winced.
"You really should be more careful," he murmured.
"I try," I said softly, my voice trembling just a little. "But I think trouble keeps finding me."
He looked up, eyes meeting mine — that same fire flickering behind his restraint and the same one I had seen in Jude's eyes. "Don't say things like that, Fiona."
"Why?" I whispered. "Because you'll believe me?"
He froze, his hand still on my ankle. Silence wrapped around us like a thick blanket. The air was dense, filled with everything we weren't saying.
Finally, he stood abruptly, putting some distance between us. "You should go now. It's getting late."
I rose slowly, my heart pounding. "You're pushing me away again."
He exhaled deeply, rubbing the back of his neck. "Because I have to. You don't understand how wrong this is."
"Then help me understand," I said, stepping closer. "Because all I know is how right it feels when you're near me."
"Fiona…" His voice was strained, low, almost pleading. "Don't make this harder."
"I'm not the one making it hard," I replied, my words slipping out before I could stop them. "You are."
He turned his face away, jaw tight. "I see you, I see every move, every clue—I get it, and I understand what you want. Bug listen, Fiona, you're my best friend's daughter and you're young. This—whatever you think this is—can't happen."
"And what if I don't want anyone else?" I said softly. "What if I want you?"
His eyes closed for a moment, as though he were fighting every impulse inside him. When he opened them again, I saw the struggle — desire and guilt colliding in the same gaze.
He took a step toward me, then stopped. "You should leave," he said again, more quietly this time.
I nodded, even though my heart cracked at the words. "Alright."
As I reached the door, I paused and looked back. "You can keep pretending, Jalen. But just so you know — I see it in your eyes too. You feel it. You just won't admit it."
He didn't answer. He just stood there, silent, his hands clenched at his sides.
When I stepped out into the cold night air, a small, bittersweet smile curved my lips. I knew what I was doing was dangerous. I knew I was walking on the edge of something that could ruin both of us.
But I also knew this was just the beginning of my push.
And as I made my way back to my dorm, a grin settled on my face, I didn't care how dangerous this would be but I knew I wasn't alone, the feeling was mutual.
Just then, I heard a loud noise from behind me, I gasped and turned—but it was empty. My hands trembled as I walked toward the corner.
"Who is there?"