The chalk in his hand scraped against the blackboard, neat lines of equations and theories appearing one after another. Professor Alexander Carter didn't bother to look back; he knew his students were struggling to keep up. They always did.
He had a reputation on campus—brilliant, intimidating, untouchable. The kind of man who gave flawless lectures but never smiled, who dressed in black suits while the rest of the faculty hid in tweed. His students feared him, envied him, whispered about him.
That was how he liked it. Order. Discipline. No attachments.
But today, his concentration wavered. He could feel her eyes.
Amelia Hayes.
Third row, left side, the one who never flinched under his gaze. She didn't just attend his lectures—she dissected them, challenged him, forced him to look up from his notes. While the other students were too busy being impressed, Amelia was defiant.
Alexander finally turned, scanning the rows. And there she was, chin propped on her hand, lips curved in the hint of a smirk, as though she had discovered a secret he didn't know.
He forced himself to look away. He was a professor. She was his student. That was all.
"Class dismissed," he said, his voice echoing in the quiet room. Chairs scraped, students rushed out, laughter and chatter filling the hall. But Amelia didn't move.
She walked straight to his desk, her heels clicking softly against the floor. A paper landed in front of him.
"You marked me unfairly," she said, her voice low, steady.
Alexander raised a brow. "Unfairly?"
"I deserved better than a B."
He glanced at the paper, then back at her. Her dark eyes didn't waver. Most students stammered or looked away. Not her. She held his gaze as if daring him to contradict her.
"Grades," he said slowly, "are earned, Miss Hayes. Not negotiated."
Her lips curved. "Then question me again. I'll prove I know more than that grade shows."
For a long moment, silence stretched between them. Alexander studied her—the steady rise of her chest, the stubborn tilt of her chin. His instinct told him to dismiss her, to remind her of the rules, the boundaries. But another instinct, one far more dangerous, made him lean back in his chair.
"You enjoy testing limits," he murmured.
She smiled, just slightly. "Only when the limits are worth testing."
Something in his chest tightened. He turned away, forcing himself back into control. "You may go."
But as she left, the faintest brush of her perfume lingered in the air, warm and sweet. And Alexander Carter knew he was already in trouble.
Her hands trembled as she pushed the classroom doors open, but she refused to show it. Not in front of him.
Professor Alexander Carter. The man was a fortress in human form—cold, sharp, unreadable. Yet every time he stood at the board, Amelia couldn't look away. His voice rolled like velvet, steady and low, and his mind… it was brilliant, terrifyingly brilliant.
And impossible.
She told herself she hated him—that his arrogance, his indifference, infuriated her. But hate didn't explain why her chest tightened when his eyes swept over the room, or why she found excuses to linger after class.
He had given her a B. A B. Amelia Hayes didn't accept mediocrity, and certainly not from him. Confronting him had been reckless, but she hadn't been able to stop herself.
The way he looked at her… as though she was a puzzle he hadn't solved.
Dangerous. Too dangerous.
Later that night, Amelia stood in front of her dorm room mirror, smoothing the fabric of her borrowed gown. The university gala was the event of the year, and though she'd planned to skip it, her roommate had insisted.
"You'll regret hiding in the library," her friend had teased. "Go. Dance. Live a little."
So here she was, stepping into a glittering ballroom lit by crystal chandeliers. Music swelled, champagne flowed, laughter echoed. And across the room—she saw him.
Alexander Carter. In a black suit that fit like it had been tailored to his soul.
For a moment, his eyes found hers. The world blurred. The clink of glasses, the music, the laughter—everything vanished.
He shouldn't be here. She shouldn't be here. Yet fate had brought them into the same orbit once more.
"Miss Hayes," his voice came from behind her later, low and unmistakable. She turned, heart pounding.
"Professor," she whispered, breathless.
The way he looked at her—no longer as a student, no longer as someone untouchable, but as a woman—made her blood run hot.
"Dance with me," he said. Not a question. A command.
Her hand slid in
to his, and the moment their bodies moved together on the floor, Amelia knew: nothing would ever be the same again.