Fiona's POV
The room was quiet, so quiet that I could hear my own heartbeat echo against the chest. The faint scent of his cologne lingered in the air, blending with the soft rustle of the curtains. The night breeze slipped through the slightly open window, brushing against my bare arms and making me shiver.
He sat at the edge of my bed, flipping through the pages of the romance book I'd pointed out earlier. The lamp on my nightstand threw a warm, golden glow on his face, highlighting the sharp lines of his jaw and the gentle movement of his lips as he read silently to himself with a squinted face.
I watched him—every movement, every blink, every breath. The way his fingers turned the pages with care made my chest tighten with something I couldn't explain. It wasn't just attraction but longing, forbidden, and deep.
"Are you sure you want me to read this?" he asked finally, looking up at me with a teasing smirk.
"Yes," I whispered. "Please."
His brow lifted slightly, but he began to read anyway. His voice was low, rich, and smooth—like a soft melody that carried warmth and danger all at once. Each word that left his mouth made the air feel heavier, and my thighs tightened with every unspoken energy.
I found myself imagining both of us acting on each scene instead. I could almost feel his warmth seeping into my bones. I shifted slightly, pulling the blanket up to my chest to hide the trembling of my hands.
When he paused, his eyes met mine. "You know," he said, as his voice dropped low, "you shouldn't be reading things like this before bed. It's distracting."
I smiled faintly. "Maybe I like distractions."
He looked away quickly, closing the book. "That's enough for tonight."
"Already?" I asked softly. "You didn't even finish the chapter."
He rose to his feet, brushing his palms against his trousers. "If I stay longer, I might forget where I am. And that's not something I can afford to do."
His tone was calm, but his eyes betrayed him—they burned with the same heat I felt crawling under my skin. I bit my lower lip, fighting the urge to reach for him.
"Jalen," I murmured, my voice barely a whisper. "I don't mean to pry but from what I saw earlier you seem to need a break from your marriage, don't you?"
He froze. The question hung in the air like smoke.
His gaze met mine again, and for a second, I saw something raw flicker there—desire, confusion, guilt. Then he exhaled slowly and walked toward the door.
"You should rest, Fiona," he said firmly.
When the door closed behind him, the silence returned. I had completely forgotten I wanted to meet with Jude and Paris, by the time I checked my phone it was midnight already, i sighed, searching through the air, it felt heavier, and emptier. I lay there, staring at the ceiling, replaying every moment we shared tonight. His voice. His touch. His nearness.
How could someone make me feel so alive yet so restless?
I tried to sleep, but every time I closed my eyes, I saw him—his hands, his lips, his eyes when he looked at me like he wanted to say something but couldn't. It felt like being trapped in a beautiful nightmare, one I didn't want to escape from.
⸻
Morning came with the sound of birds chirping outside my window and the faint chatter of students heading to class. My ankle still ached a little, but the warmth from last night lingered inside me. I sat on the edge of the bed, brushing my hair, lost in thought until I was done. I picked up my bag and opened the door to meet Kelly's cold eyes.
"Oh, hi…"
"Move," she snapped, pushing me to the side—not gentle, she has never been gentle since I met her. I quickly rushed out, managing to lift my hurting ankle.
When I arrived at the lecture hall, my heart raced the moment I saw him. He was standing near the board, looking through his notes. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, revealing strong forearms that made my stomach twist in ways I didn't want to admit.
He looked up briefly, and our eyes met. For a split second, his expression softened—then he looked away, clearing his throat and calling the class to order.
I felt invisible. Or maybe he was trying to make me feel that way.
"You didn't show up last night, Jude and I waited," Paris whispered. I barely settled into my chair and I was way too pissed for her nags.
"Yeah, sorry… I fell in the hallway yesterday and I couldn't use my feet," I answered before turning to focus on the class.
Throughout the lecture, I barely heard a word he said. I just watched him—his gestures, the way he smiled faintly when someone gave the right answer, the curve of his lips when he frowned. Every movement reminded me of last night, of how close we had been, how easily it could have gone further.
Paris nudged me. "Girl, you've been staring at him for the past five minutes. You okay?"
I forced a smile. "Yeah, just tired."
"Hmm." She smirked knowingly. "You sure that's all?"
"Positive," I added, my face burning.
After class, I lingered in my seat, pretending to pack my things slowly. I waited for everyone else to leave, hoping he'd say something. Anything.
But he didn't.
He gathered his books, avoided my gaze, and walked past me. My heart sank a little, though I told myself it was for the best. Maybe it was just a moment—an accident of emotion.
Still, as he brushed by, his hand accidentally grazed mine. It was brief, almost unnoticeable, but that single touch sent a rush of electricity through me. He didn't look back, but I saw his shoulders stiffen before he left the hall.
Paris appeared beside me a moment later, her curious eyes scanning my face. "You look like someone just broke your heart. What happened?"
"Nothing," I murmured, forcing a laugh. "Absolutely nothing."
But inside, I knew it wasn't nothing. It was everything.
The way he avoided me made me want him even more. I felt obsessed.
"So, the cafeteria tonight?" she asked again.
"I'm not sure, I still need to rest my ankle a bit, maybe next time" I answered and walked past her before she noticed the rage burning in my eyes.
That evening, I sat by my window, watching the sunset paint the sky, and for the first time, I was so grateful that Kelly didn't stay around as much. I couldn't stop thinking about him. The way he'd carried me. The way his breath brushed against my skin. The way he said my name.
Somewhere deep down, I knew this was dangerous. He was older. My father's best friend. My professor. The man I shouldn't want.
But my heart didn't care about rules. It only cared about the way he made me feel.
As the night settled in, I whispered to myself, "If he won't cross the line… I will"
I could feel something inside me shifting—a boldness, a hunger that refused to be silenced. Just then, my door flung open and I gasped.