The lecture hall buzzed with the low hum of students flipping pages, tapping pens, and murmuring before class began. Amelia Hayes sat near the back, her fingers gripping her pen so tightly that the ink smudged across her notebook. She had always loved this class — always looked forward to it, even when the assignments were heavy and Alexander Carter's lectures were merciless.
But lately, the air between them felt different.
Ever since that argument in his office, when his words had been sharp but his eyes had betrayed something else, Amelia hadn't been able to concentrate. It wasn't just his authority that unsettled her anymore. It was the way his gaze seemed to cut through her, peeling back the layers of her composure, leaving her raw.
The door opened at the front of the hall.
He entered with his usual precision — tall, impeccably dressed in a charcoal suit, dark hair neat, expression unreadable. The chatter died almost instantly, as if someone had flipped a switch. Professor Carter didn't need to demand silence. His presence commanded it.
Amelia lowered her eyes to her notebook, determined not to stare. Yet every movement of his drew her gaze like a magnet: the way he set his briefcase on the desk, the way he adjusted his cufflinks with practiced control.
Her heart thudded. Why does he have this effect on me? He's just a man. Just a professor. Just—
"Good morning," Alexander's deep voice echoed across the room, snapping her out of her thoughts.
The lecture began. Numbers and theories filled the board in his crisp handwriting, his voice smooth and steady as he explained concepts that should have been her focus. But Amelia couldn't take it in. Not today. Not when she felt his presence like a weight pressing down on her chest.
Her pen slipped. Ink blotched on the page.
She cursed under her breath and quickly turned to a fresh sheet, but it was too late. She had lost track of what he was saying. Her notes were a mess of half-sentences and broken formulas.
And then it happened.
"Miss Hayes."
Her head snapped up. His gaze was fixed directly on her, sharp as a blade.
Her stomach dropped. "Y-yes, Professor?"
A faint arch of his brow. "Since you appear to have better things on your mind, perhaps you'd care to explain the principle I've just outlined?"
A ripple of laughter ran through the hall. Amelia's throat went dry. She hadn't heard a single word of the last ten minutes.
Her silence stretched. Adrian's eyes narrowed.
She opened her mouth, desperate for something — anything. "It's… when the—uh—the variable—"
More snickers. Her cheeks burned.
Alexander's jaw tightened, and he shut the marker with a snap. "See me after class."
The room went silent again.
Amelia ducked her head, mortified. She scribbled nonsense on the page just to hide the tremble in her hand. The rest of the lecture dragged, every tick of the clock magnified by the heat in her chest.
When it finally ended, students rushed for the exits, whispering, throwing her sideways glances. Amelia packed her books slowly, wishing she could vanish into the floor.
But he was waiting.
Alexander stood at the doorway, tall and immovable, his expression carved from ice. As the last student left, he closed the door with a soft but final click.
"Miss Hayes," he said. His voice was low, dangerous. "Stay behind."
She swallowed hard. "Yes, Professor."
The silence between them stretched. He leaned against the desk, folding his arms, studying her like a puzzle.
"You're clever," he said at last. "You don't make careless mistakes. Not in class."
Amelia's fingers tightened on her books. "I—wasn't focused."
"No," Alexander said, his eyes darkening. "You were distracted."
Her pulse hammered. "That's not—"
"Don't lie." His voice cut through her protest. He pushed off the desk and stepped closer, each movement deliberate. "You know exactly what I mean."
Amelia's breath caught. His nearness, his scent, the sheer intensity of his presence — it was overwhelming. She took a small step back.
"I don't know what you're implying, Professor."
His lips curved — not a smile, but something sharper. "You don't?" His eyes searched hers, and for the briefest moment, she saw it: desire, hot and raw, breaking through his icy mask.
The room seemed to shrink, the walls closing in around them. Amelia's heartbeat roared in her ears.
And then, just as quickly, he pulled back. His expression hardened, shutters slamming down over his face.
"Stay focused, Miss Hayes. Don't play with fire."
Her throat tightened. "I'm not—"
"Go home." His tone was final.
She stood frozen for a moment, torn between relief and something far more dangerous. Finally, she gathered her books, her hands shaking, and moved past him.
As she reached the door, she couldn't resist one last glance back.
He was standing where she had left him, jaw clenched, hands braced on the desk as if holding himself together by sheer force of will.
Amelia slipped out before the silence broke her.
But her chest was burning, her thoughts in chaos.
If this was fire, she was already too close to the flames.