Isabella's POV
When morning light crept across my sheets, a whimper escaped my lips, feeling the sweet pain and soreness between my legs and the throbbing pain in my head. Slowly and eventually, my eyes skimmed across the room. My dress and undies were on the floor, my heels nowhere in sight. I lay naked on the bed with fingerprints on my wrists. I do have sensitive skin, but this was insane. How did this happen? Did a ghost attack me last night or something...
Eventually, the reality of the last night dawned on me. And I was on the brink of having a panic attack when I stumbled to my feet, wincing at the pain, my eyes landed on my body in the full-length mirror, and my breath hitched. Bruises... no hickeys, dark pink and purple all over my neck and chest, my thighs, and even on my belly.
What was that man?
I quickly grabbed a shirt from the cupboard and put it on. My eyes darted around my room frantically, and my ears perked up at the noise from outside the room. I hesitantly opened the door, and to my relief, it was Oreo, my cute, fluffy cat, as she meowed for food. Dazed, I walked down the stairs. I took each step with a wince, and then I gave my cat her food as she happily ate it.
My eyes zeroed in on the mini dining table where a plate was covered with another, and a fresh glass of orange juice was set. And there was also a sticky note.
I grabbed the note in haste. My eyes were skimming through the content.
'Thank you for last night. It was amazing. I would've controlled and refused your approach if I knew you were a virgin. My apologies. I made you this breakfast. And to be honest, you're exquisite. And your cat doesn't like me.
Love, Nikolai.'
I stared at the note for a couple of minutes until I memorized it, and suddenly, the memory of me begging him to touch me, and my cheeks flamed up. Another scene flashed in my head where his brows were furrowed and he was climaxing. That sight made my thighs tremble as I swallowed thickly and shook my head to get rid of those thoughts.
I checked the plate and there were toasts, pancakes, scrambled eggs, freshly cut fruits, and it looked like it was made by a chef who loves cooking.
This was proof enough of his presence, but the only proof he'd ever been there in my room was the faint scent of his cologne and the smear of blood on the sheets that told me I'd lost more than what I intended to.
Yes, somewhere I wanted to forget everything, but how come all this happened? Why didn't I run miles away from his touch? Was it because I was drunk? My head was spiraling as I chugged down a glass of water to calm my nerves.
I'm fine. I just need to calm down first. I was trying to soothe my wild heart, but I was failing miserably..
And just like that, the flashes of last night's memories keep crashing back to me, making me flush in embarrassment. I still couldn't believe that it happened.
I didn't go to class for three days.
I couldn't muster up the courage to do so.
I was tired, which was the reason I gave myself on the first day. Or perhaps I didn't want anyone to see all those hickeys creeping through my neckline. Because everyone thinks I'm a good girl. Though this thing that happened didn't make me a bad girl. But I was just nervous. The second day, I had a headache. By the third, I stopped pretending. The truth was simple...
I couldn't stop thinking about him. The man I lost my virginity to.
Nikolai.
The name rolled through my mind like a secret. The way he'd said little dove. The way he'd kissed me like he already knew every crack in my soul. I should've hated myself for it, for letting a stranger touch me, for giving him something I'd been terrified to give anyone. But it happened naturally, was it because of the alcohol? It had to be the alcohol. I was with Simon for 6 months. I trusted him, but I was never able to be intimate with him. It wasn't Simon's fault either. There was something wrong with me, and it seemed like alcohol had solved that problem.
And this man, Nikolai. I kept remembering his voice, his hands, his warmth.
And then the memory would twist, sharp and humiliating. Because he'd left. But why would he even stay? What's wrong with you, Izzy? It was a one-night stand. Nothing emotional attached... It was good that he left before I woke up. It was for the best.
By Friday morning, I forced myself out of bed. I had to move on. The new semester will bring new classes along with new distractions. Psychology is my dream. My escape from my own chaotic mind. It is my passion. I always wanted to read about people and behavior. I'm not great at it, but I'm learning.
I straightened my clothes, covered the fading hickeys with a turtleneck top, tied my hair back in a ponytail, and told myself I was fine.
Yuppp. I can do this...
I'm not fine.
God, help me.
I walked into the lecture hall anyway.
The place buzzed with noise; students were huddled in groups, talking and laughing, the scrape of chairs. I chose a seat at the back, where no one would notice me, hopefully. I also didn't want to see Simon or Chloe, but I really don't have a choice. Last semester, I always walked into class holding Simon's hand like a lovely couple, but not anymore. I sighed.
Taking my seat, I stared out of the window, and soon enough, I drowned in my thoughts and prayed for Chloe and Simon not to show up, but they'll show up one day, and I've to face it. I was deep in my thoughts when the door opened.
And someone walked in.
"Morning." A deep, rich voice echoed through the hall, and goosebumps rose on my flesh as an electric current ran down my spine.
That voice...
My eyes snapped to the person, and I stiffened seeing the man who walked in. I thought my heart stopped before it started beating at an abnormal pace.
Black slacks. White shirt rolled to the elbows. That same dark energy, quiet but commanding. He looked taller in daylight, older, and colder. Those broad shoulders. The memory of my nails digging in his muscular shoulders flashed in my head, and my cheeks went flaming red. Maybe I'm hallucinating.
Almost instinctively, I lowered my head, my eyes darting around in panic as my ears started to burn and turned a bright shade of red.
For a second, my brain refused to believe it. It couldn't be him. There was no way. 'I'm just imagining things.' I told myself.
But then he looked up.
Those gray eyes met mine across the room.
Everything inside me froze.
Nikolai. My one-night stand stood at the podium, and he was none other than.... my professor.
He didn't flinch. Neither did he show even a flicker of recognition. But I noticed it, the tiniest pause, and then surprise flashing in his eyes, the way his fingers tightened around the folder in his hand was a giveaway that he was real, and he just recognized me.
My world seemed to shake as I averted my gaze, breaking eye contact.
The girl beside me was staring at me weirdly, and I realized I was still slouching and trying to hide from him. I sat up properly, breathing deeply to stay calm.
He placed his things on the desk, his voice calm, deep, smooth. "Good morning, class. I'm Professor Volkov. I'll be taking you through Cognitive and Behavioral Psychology this semester."
That voice. God, that voice.
It was like hearing the echo of that night in every word. I was unable to stop the tremors in my body. My cheeks and ears were burning.
So his name must be Nikolai Volkov. Russian. He does look like one. But the way he was pretending he didn't recognize me was very authentic and looked real. He looked so calm and collected while I was a mess.
He spoke with control; every syllable that escaped his lips was deliberate. My mind barely registered the lecture, something about perception, bias, and cognitive theory. All I could think about was the way his mouth had felt on mine that night. The heat of his hands.
I dug my nails into my palm, my fists clenched under the desk just to stay calm.
When class ended, everyone swarmed him with questions. I packed my stuff quickly, hoping I could slip out unnoticed.
I heard the girl to my left whispering to the girl at the front about how freaking handsome he was.
Of course, he was handsome. I've seen him up close.
"Miss Black, turtleneck last row?" I flinched badly. Did he just pinpoint me?
My stomach dropped. His tone was polite and distant. Professional. All eyes were on me.
I forced a smile. "Yes, Professor?"
"What's your name, Miss?"
"I...Isabella Martinez."
He held my gaze, unreadable. "A word, please. Miss Martinez."
The students around us exchanged curious glances. I walked to the front, every step a battle between humiliation and something far more dangerous, memory.
When the door finally shut behind the last student, the air changed its rhythm to a suffocating hollow.
Silence.
He leaned against the desk, crossing his arms. The faintest muscle ticked in his jaw.
"So," he said lowly, "this is where you study."
My pulse thudded in my ears. "You won't pretend not to know me?" I whispered in a small voice.
"I won't. I could recognize you from miles away."
"Hmmm."
He lifted a brow. "No, words?"
I didn't know what to say.
I swallowed hard. "We should pretend," I whispered, that was the sane thing to say.
"Pretend?" His voice was low, controlled, but underneath it was raw and alive tension. "That the woman I spent the night with is my student?"
I looked away, shame burning my face. "Nothing happened."
He raised a thick brow and stepped closer. I could feel the weight of him, the quiet power as I scooted a step back to maintain an appropriate distance between us. "It didn't," he said, but his tone betrayed him.
I dared to look up. His eyes were stormy, conflicted.
"It was a mistake," I whispered.
"Maybe," he murmured. "But it happened."
The space between us crackled with unspoken tension. My heartbeat tripped over itself, my breath catching when he moved closer again, too close for a professor and student.
"Isabella." My name from his mouth felt like a sin. "Listen carefully. Whatever happened that night, never mention it."
I nodded, even though I was scared. My cheeks were flaming red.
He took a slow breath, his gaze flickering to my lips before he forced it away. "And don't go to a place like that even if you want to grieve. Don't drink like that. You have no idea how easily someone could have taken advantage of you."
"You didn't," I said softly.
He froze. The silence between us deepened. His jaw clenched. "That's not the point."
"Then what is?"
"That I shouldn't want you again," he said, voice low and dangerous. "And yet…"
The words hung in the air. Neither of us moved.
Finally, he stepped back, shutting the emotion behind his eyes. "You're dismissed, Miss Martinez."
I left before my legs could give out under me. The afternoon passed in a blur. I couldn't focus on anything. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw him, Professor Volkov, standing at the front of the lecture hall, pretending not to remember the way my name had sounded when I'd whispered it against his skin.
Why did the universe have to be this cruel?
I went home, tossed my bag, and collapsed onto my bed. My phone buzzed. A message from my friend, Maya.
'Club again tonight? You went to the Club alone last night. Join me this time. You need to forget that jerk once and for all.'
I typed back, 'Can't. New class. Too tired.'
I didn't tell her the real reason, though. That the man who'd replaced Simon in my mind was worse. So much worse. Because wanting him was forbidden. Because it could destroy everything.
I'll just forget; nothing happened. It was best for both of us.
But little did I know, Mr. Volkov had other plans.