Chapter 5-In Your Dreams

For a full five seconds, my brain refused to process what I was seeing.

No. No way. That couldn’t be him.

I blinked once. Twice. My eyes didn’t lie.

Standing before me—half-naked, skin lit by candlelight, muscles shifting under smooth golden skin—was my psychology professor.

“Professor Nicholas?” I whispered again, my voice barely a breath.

He turned fully now, blue eyes piercing into mine with a look so sharp it felt like a blade. But it wasn’t the gentle, kind professor who used to smile when I answered a question in class. This man’s gaze was cold. Hard. The same eyes, but with something cruel swimming behind them.

My knees wobbled. “What the hell…” I muttered, staring at him. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

Nothing made sense. My heart pounded so fast it almost hurt. The man I’d secretly crushed on for a year—the one who told me once that I “had potential”—was standing here, shirtless, in a king’s chamber, looking like sin and damnation rolled into one.

His lips curved slightly, but it wasn’t a smile. It was mockery. “Let’s get this over with,” he said flatly, taking a step toward me.

My breath hitched. “Get… this over with?”

And then it hit me.

The look in his eyes. The palace. The women preparing me.

No.

This wasn’t Professor Nicholas.

This was the King.

The Alpha King I was supposed to—oh, God.

I threw my hands up. “Hold your horses!”

He stopped, brows furrowing slightly as if I’d spoken another language.

“What now?” His tone dripped irritation. “Isn’t this what you wanted?”

I blinked. “Excuse me?”

His eyes darkened, voice low and cruel. “You tried to kill yourself to get my attention. You wanted me to touch you, didn’t you? You wanted to bear my child.”

I stared at him, speechless for a moment. Then the shock burned away—and anger took its place.

“What I want,” I snapped, “is for you to stop being a jerk and keep your fucking hands to yourself.”

The King froze.

For a heartbeat, his expression was pure disbelief. Then, just as quickly, it vanished—buried under that same cold mask.

I could tell he wasn’t used to being spoken to like that. Maybe the real queen never dared.

He stepped closer, eyes narrowing. “What game are you playing now, Hazel?”

My stomach dropped.

Hazel.

That's my name. I don't remember telling anyone my name here.

For a second, my brain short-circuited. Wait—the real queen’s name was Hazel too? What the hell kind of twisted joke was this?

I didn’t even have time to think because the next thing I knew, he grabbed my wrist and pulled me toward him.

I crashed into his chest.

Hard.

The air whooshed out of my lungs as I stared up at him—his jaw tense, his eyes inches from mine. His skin was hot, muscles hard beneath my palms. The scent of him—smoke, forest, and something darker—wrapped around me, dizzying.

For a terrifying second, I forgot everything. The anger. The fear. The reason I was here.

I just… stared.

His eyes flickered down to my lips, then back to my face. “The sooner we do this,” he said coldly, “the sooner you can get the hell out of my sight.”

And just like that, the spell shattered.

Right. He wasn’t my professor. He was a jerk. A King who hated his queen.

I shoved against him, hard enough that he stumbled back a step.

“What makes you think you deserve me?” I demanded, my voice shaking but loud. “What makes you think you deserve to touch me?”

His jaw clenched.

I didn’t stop. “Why don’t you go to your mistress instead?”

The air in the room changed.

His blue eyes turned to ice. A muscle in his jaw twitched as he stared at me, like he couldn’t believe I’d just said that.

“Don’t test me,” he said, voice dropping an octave, low and dangerous.

I tilted my head, smiling sweetly. “Oh, I’m not testing you.”

He blinked.

I let my eyes roam over him slowly—from his sharp jaw to his sculpted chest, down to the V line that disappeared under the waistband of his pants. Then I looked back up and said, “I’m just saying it’s such a pity. You’ve got a handsome face and a nice body—but absolutely no brain. What a shame.”

For a moment, the room went silent.

Then his expression turned murderous.

The look on his face could have frozen lava. Good thing I wasn't lava.

His voice came out like thunder. “How dare you interrupt me when I speak to you—”

I cut him off, smirking. “Did you forget? I’m your queen. Which means I’m your equal.”

The shock on his face was almost funny.

Almost.

He looked at me like I’d just grown a second head. Like he was trying to figure out who the hell was standing in front of him.

“When,” he asked slowly, his voice dripping suspicion, “did you get so bold?”

I shrugged. “The moment I realized the King would rather protect his mistress than his Queen.”

That hit him. I could see it in the flicker of his eyes.

He scoffed, stepping closer again. The heat coming off his body was unbearable. “I don’t care what rubbish is going through your head,” he said coldly. “But we’re going to consummate this marriage whether you like it or not.”

I smiled. It wasn’t a kind smile. “I’d like to see you try.”

Something in his expression shifted—just slightly. His jaw tightened, and the vein in his neck pulsed.

He took another step forward. His voice dropped, darker now. “Get on the fucking bed, Hazel.”

I didn’t move.

I looked him straight in the eyes.

And then, slowly, deliberately, I said;

“In your dreams.”