~003

ZIRA POV

The next day my phone rang just as I stepped out of the shower, towel still wrapped around my damp body. The sound cut through the quiet apartment like a warning.

I glanced at the screen. It was the college infirmary.

A cold feeling settled in my chest as I answered. “Professor Voss speaking.”

“Professor, it’s Dr. Patel from the campus medical center. Your father was brought in about twenty minutes ago. He had a severe episode —possible cardiac event — in the public square near the library. He collapsed while walking.”

My heart slammed against my ribs. “Is he okay? Where is he now?”

“He’s stable for the moment, but we’ve moved him to the observation room. He’s asking for you. The young man who helped him is still here too.”

“I’m coming right now.”

I threw on clothes without thinking — a simple cream sweater that clung to my curves and dark jeans. My long wavy black hair was still wet, hanging down my back as I rushed out the door. The drive to the medical center felt endless. My father had always been stubborn, refusing to slow down even after his first minor scare last year. But collapsing in public? That was new. That was terrifying.

When I burst through the doors of the infirmary, a nurse quickly led me to the observation room. My father lay on the bed, pale but conscious, an oxygen mask over his face. Relief flooded me so hard my knees nearly buckled.

“Dad…” I whispered, moving to his side and taking his hand.

He squeezed my fingers weakly. “Zira… I’m fine. Just a little dizzy spell.”

“A little dizzy spell?” I said, my voice sharper than I intended. The fear came out as anger. “You collapsed in the middle of the square. What were you even doing there?”

Before he could answer, the nurse spoke softly. “The young man who brought him in is waiting outside. He acted very quickly — carried your father part of the way and got help immediately. The doctor said his fast action likely prevented something much worse.”

I nodded, still holding my father’s hand. “Thank you. I’ll speak with him.”

I stepped out of the room, my green eyes scanning the waiting area. And then I saw him.

Tristan Vale.

He sat on one of the plastic chairs, elbows on his knees, dark hair messy, wearing a simple black hoodie and jeans. There was a small cut on his knuckle, probably from helping my father. When he looked up and our eyes met, the air between us shifted instantly.

No.

Not him. Not today.

I walked over slowly, trying to keep my expression controlled. At twenty-nine, I had learned how to hide my emotions behind a mask of professionalism. But seeing Tristan here — the same student I had publicly humiliated yesterday, the same one I had marked absent and placed on academic probation this morning because he missed the second lecture — made something painful twist inside my chest.

“Mr. Vale,” I said, my voice steady but quieter than usual. “You… brought my father here?”

Tristan stood up. He was taller than me, and up close like this, without the lecture hall separating us, he looked less like the defiant student I had torn down and more like a tired young man who had just done something genuinely good.

“Yeah,” he replied, voice low and rough. “I was cutting through the square on my way to work. Saw him collapse. He was clutching his chest. I didn’t think — I just picked him up and ran him here. The nurse said he needed oxygen fast.”

I swallowed hard. Guilt hit me like a wave.

This morning, still angry from our confrontation, I had marked him absent without mercy and placed him on probation. I had written notes in his file about “lack of commitment” and “disruptive attitude.” All because I was terrified of my own attraction to him. All because I wanted him gone from my class before I did something stupid.

And now he had saved my father’s life.

“I…” The words stuck in my throat. For the first time in years, I felt truly small. “Thank you. Sincerely. If you hadn’t acted so quickly…”

Tristan shrugged, but his dark eyes held mine with an intensity that made my skin prickle. “Anyone would have done the same.”

“No,” I said softly. “Not everyone. Not that fast.”

An uncomfortable silence stretched between us. I could see the red insect bite mark on the side of his neck, the same one I had noticed during his private session last night. He had seen the matching bite on me in class yesterday. He knew. Yet he stood here acting like we were nothing more than professor and student.

My green eyes dropped to the floor for a moment. The guilt was suffocating. I had been so cruel to him — humiliating him in front of the entire class, trying to get him removed, marking him absent when he probably had a valid reason. All while secretly watching him, commanding him, getting off on his obedience as Obsidian Queen.

“I marked you absent this morning,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. “And placed you on probation. That was… unfair. I’ll correct it immediately.”

Tristan’s expression didn’t soften. If anything, it hardened.

“You did what you had to do, Professor,” he said, the words polite but edged with something darker. “After all, I’m just a student who doesn’t know his place. Right?”

The sting of my own words thrown back at me made my cheeks burn. I opened my mouth to respond, but the nurse interrupted us.

“Professor Voss? Your father is asking for you again.”

I nodded quickly, then turned back to Tristan. “Thank you again. Really. If there’s anything I can do—”

“There isn’t,” he cut in quietly, but firmly. “I didn’t do it for you.”

He picked up his backpack and started to walk away.

Something desperate rose in my chest. Before I could stop myself, I called after him.

“Tristan.”

He paused but didn’t turn around.

“I’m sorry,” I said. The words felt foreign on my tongue. I rarely apologized. Especially not to students.

He finally looked back at me, dark eyes unreadable. “Save your apologies, Professor Voss. You and I both know this doesn’t change anything between us.”

With that, he walked out of the infirmary, leaving me standing there with my heart pounding and guilt eating me alive.

I returned to my father’s room, but my mind was elsewhere. The emotional weight of the day pressed down on me — fear for my father, shame for how I had treated Tristan, and the terrifying realization that my obsession with Shadowed Knight was no longer just a secret fantasy.

It was now tangled up with real consequences.

Later that evening, as I sat beside my sleeping father’s bed, my phone buzzed with a notification.

Shadowed Knight was live again.

My thumb hovered over the app. I knew I shouldn’t. Not after today. Not after what he had done for my father.

But the pull was too strong.

I opened the stream.

And this time, when his familiar voice filled my ears, it wasn’t just lust I felt.

It was something far more dangerous.

Because the boy I had tried to destroy in my classroom had just saved the most important person in my life.

And I had no idea how to handle the storm that was coming.