The lecture hall was full, every seat taken. Isabella slipped into her chair near the middle, keeping her head down as whispers floated around her.
She had spent half the night replaying what had happened at the café. The way Adrian Cole had appeared out of nowhere. The way that man had called him Boss. The way Adrian's gaze had lingered on her like she was a secret he already owned.
Her stomach still twisted just thinking about it. Professors weren't supposed to be like that. Professors weren't supposed to terrify and fascinate you at the same time.
And yet, when Adrian strode into the room, all tall confidence and quiet power, her heart leapt like it had been waiting for him.
The chatter silenced instantly. He didn't have to say a word. His presence was command enough.
"Open your books," he said, his voice smooth but sharp. "Page forty-two. We're going to test how well you think under pressure."
Groans rippled across the room, but no one dared complain too loudly.
Adrian's gaze swept the rows of students, steady, unreadable. Until it landed on her.
"Miss Hart," he said suddenly.
Her heart skipped. "Y-yes, Professor?"
He leaned against the desk, folding his arms. "Define the term I've just written on the board."
Her eyes shot up to the chalkboard, panic fluttering in her chest. She hadn't even opened her book yet. The word scrawled across it was long, complicated, something she vaguely remembered seeing once but couldn't pin down.
Her fingers fumbled to flip pages.
"Five seconds," Adrian said lazily, his voice carrying a weight that pressed against her. "Four. Three…"
Heat rushed to her face. She scrambled, her hands shaking. The students around her shifted, some looking sympathetic, others eager to see her humiliated.
"…Two."
She blurted the first definition that came to her mind, stumbling over the words.
Silence.
Adrian tilted his head, his dark eyes burning into hers. Then, slowly, he pushed off the desk and walked toward her row. Each step echoed like a drumbeat in her chest.
He stopped right in front of her desk.
"Wrong," he said softly, almost intimately.
Her breath caught.
"Do you know why I called on you, Miss Hart?"
"N-no."
"Because you were too busy staring at me instead of paying attention." His lips curved faintly, but there was no warmth in it. "If you're going to sit in my class, learn to control your distractions. Or I'll control them for you."
A shiver ran through her. Around them, the class buzzed nervously. He had humiliated her, but not like a normal professor. His words carried an edge, a threat that wasn't academic at all.
"See me after class," he added, his gaze lingering before he finally turned away.
The rest of the lecture passed in a haze. Isabella barely heard a word. All she could think about was the heat in his eyes, the way his voice had wrapped around her like a leash.
When the bell rang, students poured out quickly, eager to escape. She stayed frozen in her seat until the room emptied, leaving only him.
Adrian leaned casually against his desk, watching her with unnerving patience. "You're not very good at following directions, are you?"
She swallowed hard. "I…I'm trying."
"Trying doesn't interest me." He walked toward her slowly, his gaze fixed on hers. "Obedience does."
Her pulse thundered. "I wasn't…"
"Excuses," he interrupted. "You had one job: pay attention. You failed. Which means now you have to work harder to earn your place here."
Her throat tightened. "What do you mean?"
He reached into his briefcase and pulled out a slip of paper. He set it on her desk with deliberate precision.
"An assignment. Due tomorrow."
She frowned, glancing at it. It wasn't part of the syllabus. In fact, the topic scribbled on the page was obscure, nothing like the lecture material. "But… this isn't…"
"You'll do it," Adrian said firmly, leaning down until their faces were only inches apart. "Or you'll fail. Simple."
His cologne wrapped around her, rich and dark, dizzying. His eyes locked onto hers with ruthless intensity.
"Do you understand, Miss Hart?" he asked softly.
She nodded, her voice barely a whisper. "Yes."
"Good." He straightened, his expression unreadable. "Then we won't have a problem."
Isabella stuffed the paper into her bag, her fingers trembling. She couldn't shake the feeling that this wasn't about academics at all. It was about control. About testing her limits.
As she reached the door, his voice stopped her cold.
"Oh, Miss Hart," he said casually, as though it were an afterthought. "Next time you plan to eavesdrop on my private conversations… be smarter about it."
Her blood froze. She turned slowly, her eyes widening. He wasn't even looking at her, just sorting papers with calm detachment.
But his words struck like a blade.
He knew. He knew she had overheard him at the café.
Her stomach dropped. Her pulse raced. And for the first time, Isabella realized the truth:
Adrian Cole didn't just control the classroom.
He controlled everything.