**Chapter 10: Midnight Reckoning**
The clock on Sebastian's nightstand read 9:47 p.m. when Ava arrived. She'd walked the whole way again—rain had started falling in soft, steady sheets, soaking the shoulders of her jacket, plastering strands of hair to her temples. She didn't bother with the buzzer this time; he'd left the building door propped with a brick. A quiet signal. He was waiting.
She climbed the stairs slowly, boots leaving wet prints on the concrete. When she reached 4B, the door was open an inch. Warm lamplight spilled out like an invitation she wasn't sure she deserved.
She pushed inside.
Sebastian stood at the kitchen island, back to her, pouring two glasses of the same cabernet from last time. He wore a plain black Henley and dark jeans—casual, unguarded, the way she'd only seen him in the hours after midnight. No professor armor. Just a man who looked like he hadn't slept properly in days.
He turned when he heard the door click shut.
Their eyes met across the open space.
No immediate rush toward each other. No hungry kiss to delay the inevitable.
Just quiet.
He carried both glasses to the living room, set them on the low coffee table, then sat on the far end of the leather couch. Left plenty of room.
Ava shrugged off her wet jacket, hung it on the coat rack, toed off her boots. She padded over in damp socks, sat on the opposite cushion. The distance between them felt symbolic. Necessary.
Neither spoke for a long minute.
Rain tapped the windows like impatient fingers.
Sebastian finally broke the silence. "Claire told me what she said to you. Word for word."
Ava nodded. "She was kind. Kinder than I expected. But she's right. About all of it."
He leaned forward, elbows on knees, staring at the rug. "She's right about the risks. Career. Reputation. Legal gray areas. Family implosion. But she's wrong about one thing."
Ava waited.
"She thinks this is impulse. A midlife lapse. It's not." He lifted his head, met her gaze. "I've spent years being careful. Controlled. Safe. I built a life where nothing could touch me. Then you walked into that stupid club, looked right at me instead of Liam, and everything I'd built cracked in seven minutes."
She swallowed. "I didn't plan it either."
"I know." A ghost of a smile. "That's what makes it terrifying. It wasn't planned. It was inevitable."
Ava pulled her knees up, wrapped her arms around them. "Liam's mom asked me to think about what we're risking. I have. Every second since she left the café. His face when he walked out of class yesterday. The way Claire looked at me like I'd stolen something from her family. And then there's you—your job, your name in academic circles, everything you've worked for. If this gets out…"
"If this gets out," he finished quietly, "I lose the classroom. Maybe the tenure track. Maybe the whole career. Students will whisper. Colleagues will distance themselves. Headlines will call it scandal instead of story. And you—" He exhaled hard. "You'll be the freshman who slept with her professor. The labels will stick longer on you than on me. That's the part that keeps me awake."
Ava stared at the wine she hadn't touched yet. "So why aren't we stopping?"
Sebastian reached for his glass, took a slow sip, set it back down. "Because stopping feels like death. Not dramatic death. Quiet suffocation. Like going back to breathing air that tastes like nothing after you've finally tasted something real."
She felt tears prick again. Blinked them away. "I'm scared."
"Me too."
The admission hung there—raw, equal.
Ava shifted closer on the couch. Not touching. Just narrowing the symbolic gap.
"What are the options?" she asked. "Real ones. Not fairy-tale ones."
He rubbed a hand over his jaw. "Option one: we end it tonight. Clean break. I treat you like any other student in class. No texts. No nights. No more anything. Liam gets his uncle back. Claire gets peace. We both survive."
Ava's chest ached at the picture. "And option two?"
"Option two: we keep going. In secret. As long as we can. Careful. Discreet. No public anything. No risks on campus. We meet off-site. We talk. We touch. We steal time until the semester ends, or until it blows up, whichever comes first."
"Option three?"
He looked at her—really looked. "Option three: we go public. Soon. Before someone else does. I report the relationship to the department chair. Disclose the conflict of interest. Accept whatever consequences come—possible reassignment of your grade to another professor, possible leave of absence for me, possible ethics review. We face it head-on. No hiding. No shame. Just truth."
Ava's breath caught. "That's nuclear."
"It is. But it's also the only path that doesn't involve lying forever."
Silence again. Longer this time.
Rain drummed harder.
Ava finally reached for her wine. Took a sip. The warmth spread, but it didn't touch the cold knot in her stomach.
"I don't want to end it," she said softly. "Not tonight. Not tomorrow. Maybe not ever. But I also don't want to be the reason your life burns down."
Sebastian shifted closer now—close enough their knees brushed.
"I don't want to be the reason yours does either."
They sat like that, knees touching, wine glasses forgotten.
Then Ava asked the question that had been circling since Claire's café table.
"Do you love me?"
Sebastian didn't flinch. Didn't look away.
"I'm falling," he said. "Hard. Fast. In ways I didn't know were still possible at thirty-seven. It's not just the sex—though God knows that's—" He gave a small, self-deprecating laugh. "It's the way you think. The way you challenge me in class without trying. The way you look at me like I'm more than my title. Like I'm allowed to want things again."
Ava's throat tightened. "I'm falling too. And it scares the hell out of me because I've never felt anything this big. Not with Liam. Not with anyone."
He reached out—slow—brushed his thumb across her lower lip.
"So what do we do?" he asked.
Ava leaned into the touch. "We don't decide everything tonight. We decide the next step. One step."
He nodded.
"Next step: we keep going. Secret. Careful. Until the end of the semester. We meet like this—off campus, no traces. We talk every day. We don't lie to each other. And if it starts to feel like the secrecy is poisoning us… we revisit option three."
Sebastian exhaled like he'd been holding his breath for hours. "Agreed."
"And one more thing."
He waited.
"No more holding back in conversation. No protecting me from the ugly parts. If you're scared, say it. If you're guilty, say it. If you want me at three in the morning, say it. We don't bury anything anymore."
He cupped her face with both hands. "Deal."
Then he kissed her.
Not hungry. Not frantic.
Slow. Deep. Honest.
Like sealing a contract written in blood and rain.
When they pulled apart, foreheads resting together, Ava whispered, "I'm staying tonight."
"Good."
They didn't rush to the bedroom.
They stayed on the couch—talking, touching lightly, drinking wine, letting the rain fill the quiet spaces.
He told her about the book he'd been trying to write for five years—a novel about forbidden love in academia that he'd abandoned because it felt too close to home.
She told him about the short story she'd started writing after their first night—about a girl who chooses the fire instead of the safety of ash.
They laughed. They cried a little. They held each other like people who knew the clock was ticking louder now.
Eventually they moved to bed.
No rush tonight.
Just skin on skin. Slow hands. Quiet gasps. Whispers against throats.
When they finally slept—tangled, sated, hearts still racing—Ava's last thought before darkness took her was simple.
They hadn't chosen the safe path.
They'd chosen each other.
And for tonight, that was enough.
Tomorrow the semester would keep rolling.
Liam would keep hurting.
Claire would keep watching.
But tonight?
Tonight they had this.
And it tasted like the sweetest, most dangerous thing either of them had ever swallowed.
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