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Chapter Two: The Office Door
Eira sat frozen at her desk after the class ended.
Students packed their bags, chatting, laughing, moving on. But she… she sat still.
Her fingers were cold.
Her breath, shallow.
"Why does he want to see me?" she thought, over and over.
She looked at the chalk dust still clinging to her fingers. The numbers she'd written were already being wiped off the board by a janitor, as if they meant nothing.
Her heart pounded.
Did she offend him?
Was her answer wrong?
Did he think she cheated?
Was she… in trouble?
The whispers around her were getting louder. She looked up.
Three students were walking toward her — all from the top tier in class. Everyone knew their names. Their scores were always perfect, their voices loud, their confidence thicker than the perfume they wore.
Cassia, Naima, and Jules.
Snobs. Arrogant. Born to rich families. They didn't like when someone from "the bottom row" stood up.
Especially someone like Eira.
> "Well, look who suddenly thinks she's a genius," Cassia said, smirking.
> "Or maybe she just wants attention," Naima added, flicking her perfect ponytail.
Jules stepped in front of her, hands in his pockets.
> "You think seducing Professor Hale will get you grades?" he hissed, voice low. "Is that your little trick?"
Eira opened her mouth — but no words came out.
> "Figures," Cassia laughed cruelly. "The mute little smut-reader. Bet she just memorized someone else's work."
They pushed her tray as she stood, making it clatter. Her bag fell open.
A thin, worn book slid out — "Pleasure and Probability". A steamy romance disguised as a textbook.
Cassia picked it up, raised her brow, and chuckled.
> "Explains everything," she sneered. "Innocent face, dirty little brain. Stay in your lane, loser."
They dropped the book and walked away.
Eira bent down to pick it up, trembling.
Her cheeks burned.
Her eyes watered.
But she didn't cry.
She never cried in public.
---
The next morning, she stood outside Professor Hale's office door.
It was 9:58 a.m.
She had barely slept.
She almost didn't come.
But she needed to know why he wanted her.
She asked the admin lady at the front desk how to find Room C214. The woman had smiled stiffly, like she wasn't used to students asking where professors hid. The hall leading to his office was long, narrow, quiet. There was a strange chill there, even with no air conditioner on.
The door was black, and a golden plaque read:
> Professor L. Hale – Pure Mathematics
She swallowed.
Lifted her fist.
Knocked once.
> "Come in," came his voice from inside. Deep. Smooth. Flat.
Eira slowly turned the knob and stepped inside.
---
The office was nothing like she expected.
It was dark and old — books stacked everywhere in tall piles, papers scattered, chalkboards covering every wall, full of half-solved equations.
A kettle steamed quietly in the corner.
Lucien Hale sat behind a heavy oak desk, sleeves rolled up, glasses perched low on his nose.
He looked up.
And something in his eyes… flickered.
Recognition. Curiosity. Something deeper.
> "Sinclair," he said. "Right on time."
She nodded faintly.
He motioned to the chair across from him.
> "Sit."
She obeyed, her hands clutching her bag tightly in her lap.
He leaned back, watching her.
The silence stretched too long.
> "Do you know why I called you here?" he asked at last.
She shook her head.
> "Was… was it wrong?" she whispered, her voice barely there.
His brows twitched.
> "No," he said. "It was perfect."
That stunned her.
He reached into a folder and pulled out a copy of her solution, sliding it toward her.
> "I spent the whole night going over it," he continued. "Your method — it's not just correct. It's… original. It's foundational. Like something built from scratch."
He paused.
> "Where did you learn that?"
Her fingers clenched the edge of the paper. "M-My father," she whispered. "He always told me… don't fight a problem with force. Strip it to its bones. Use what's simple."
Lucien stared at her.
> "He taught you well," he murmured. "Too well."
The way he said it didn't sound like a compliment. More like a warning.
She shifted uncomfortably.
He stood suddenly, walking to the chalkboard behind him. He picked up a piece of white chalk and began writing again.
> "There's more," he said over his shoulder. "You cracked something without realizing it. That equation isn't just for academic play. It was based on a theory I've been working on privately."
She tilted her head.
> "Why tell me?" she asked.
He paused.
The chalk in his hand snapped in half.
> "Because you're the first person who made me feel like I'm not alone."
The words fell into the air like a match into dry wood.
Eira blinked.
> "Alone?"
He turned.
His eyes met hers. Dark, intense. Something simmered behind them — not lust, not yet, but something close to obsession.
> "Math is the only thing that's ever made sense to me," he said softly. "Not people. Not feelings. Not family. But that day — when I saw you solve it…"
He walked closer.
Her breath hitched.
> "It felt like someone touched something inside me I didn't know was still alive."
Silence.
Her chest rose and fell quickly.
He sat on the edge of his desk now, only a few feet from her.
> "Tell me, Sinclair," he said, voice low. "Have you always been this… quiet?"
> "I… don't like noise," she whispered.
> "But you like reading smut in the back of my lectures?" he asked, eyes gleaming faintly.
Her face flushed hot. She looked down, ashamed.
He didn't laugh.
Instead, he leaned in.
> "I like honesty," he said. "Even dirty honesty. Especially that."
She swallowed hard.
The clock on the wall ticked louder.
> "You can go now," he said at last, pulling back. "But next time, don't hide that mind of yours."
> "The world needs it."
> "I need it."
Her heart stopped.
She rose slowly and walked to the door.
But just before she opened it, she heard him say, almost to himself:
> "The equation between us… is just beginning."
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