MasukThe next morning, I woke up with a dull headache and the familiar knot of anxiety in my stomach. Another day of navigating my life Sophia, Lila, Julian, and the constant effort of pretending I wasn’t affected by any of it. I stared at my reflection in the small bathroom mirror, brushing my teeth harder than necessary. You’re invincible, Ava and you’ve survived worse. But some days it felt like a lie.
The campus was bustling when I arrived. I kept my head down as I walked toward the business building, hoping to avoid drama before my first class. But a loud splash of liquid hit my back. I froze mid-step. Cold coffee soaked through my light blue blouse and dripped down my spine. Laughter erupted behind me. “Oops!” Sophia’s voice rang out, she was giggling. “My bad, Blake. I didn’t see you there. You really should stop blending into the background like a nobody.” Lila stood beside her, holding her own cup, smirking like she’d just won the lottery. A small crowd had already gathered, phones out, recording the latest episode of a Humiliated Ava. I turned slowly, refusing to flinch even though the coffee was ice cold and sticking my shirt to my skin. “Really, Sophia? This is the best you can do?” She stepped closer, eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “It’s entertaining and cheap, just like you.” She looked me up and down. “That shirt looks even worse wet. Maybe Julian will finally realize you’re not worth the chase.” Before I could respond, Zara stormed through the growing crowd like an avenging angel. “You clumsy bitch. Do that again and I’ll pour my drink down your throat.” Mia appeared right behind her, carrying a spare hoodie from her bag. “Here, Ava. Change in the bathroom, just ignore them.” Sophia laughed loudly. “Always running to your little bodyguards, how pathetic. See you in class, charity case.” They walked off, arms linked, still laughing. The crowd dispersed, some whispering, others already sharing the video. My cheeks burned with humiliation, but I kept my chin high. In the bathroom, I peeled off the ruined blouse and pulled on Mia’s oversized hoodie. It smelled like her vanilla perfume and made me feel a little less exposed. “You don’t have to keep doing this,” I told my friends as we headed to class. “One day they’re going to turn on you too.” Zara snorted. “Let them try, I live for the drama.” Mia smiled softly. “We’ve got you, Ava. Always.” We entered Professor Damien Vale’s class just as the bell rang. My heart did its usual stupid racing the moment I saw him. He stood at the front in a crisp black shirt and dark trousers, looking unfairly perfect. His sleeves were rolled up slightly, revealing strong forearms. He scanned the room with that signature cold indifference, like none of us were worth his full attention. When his dark eyes passed over me, there was zero recognition. Just another student and it just hurts me a bit that I can't be noticed. Sophia and Lila were already in the front row, whispering and glancing back at me with smug expressions. I took my usual seat in the middle, surrounded by Zara and Mia. Class started, but I barely heard a word. My eyes kept drifting to him. The way he moved with quiet authority. The sharp line of his jaw. The subtle flex of muscle under his shirt. In my mind, I was back in that fantasy, his hands on me, his mouth claiming mine, unbuttoning that shirt slowly while whispering my name like a prayer and a threat. I caught myself staring again and quickly looked down at my notebook. Halfway through class, my phone vibrated silently in my bag. I snuck a glance, it was Julian. Saw what happened this morning. That shirt looked terrible on you anyway. Meet me after class, we need to talk. I deleted the message immediately. Talking to Julian never ended well. He didn’t talk but he demanded, threatened, and tried to corner me until I gave in. When class ended, I tried to slip out quickly, but Julian was waiting right outside the door like a predator. “Ava,” he said, grabbing my wrist before I could dodge. His grip was tight, possessive. “You’ve been avoiding me. Not smart.” Zara stepped forward instantly. “Let her go, asshole.” Julian ignored her, pulling me closer. “You keep playing these games and things will get worse for you. Sophia’s just getting started, but I can make it stop. All you have to do is be mine. Let me take care of you.” His breath was hot against my ear. “Stop embarrassing yourself with those silly daydreams about professors who don’t even know you exist.” I yanked my wrist free, heart pounding. “Touch me again and I’ll report you.” He laughed. “Go ahead. We both know how that ends.” He finally released me and walked away, but the threat lingered like smoke. The rest of the day passed in a fog of anxiety. More whispers in the hallways. Another accidental shove from Lila near the stairs. By evening, I was drained. We were sitting in the small campus café when it happened. Professor Damien Vale walked in. He ordered a black coffee at the counter, voice low and smooth. For one brief second, his eyes met mine across the room. My breath caught. There was something different in his gaze this time not full indifference, but just something I haven't seen before in those eyes. Something darker, he looked away almost immediately, paid, and left without another glance. My cheeks burned. “Did he just look at you?” Mia whispered excitedly. Zara grinned. “Maybe your daydreams aren’t so hopeless after all.” I shook my head, trying to play it cool even though my pulse was racing. “He probably just zoned out. He doesn’t care about any of us.” But that look… it stayed with me long after he was gone. Later that night, alone in my apartment again, I stood by the window replaying every second. The coffee incident, Julian’s threats. Sophia and Lila’s laughter. And then that single moment when Professor Damien Vale’s eyes had actually landed on me. I touched my lips, remembering the fantasy from earlier. What would it feel like if he really kissed me? If he stopped being indifferent and looked at me like I belonged to him? I climbed into bed, heart heavy but strangely hopeful. What if he finally noticed me but that was impossible since he barely knew I existed since he became our professor.The pressure had been building for days, each evening session tighter than the last, each deliberate touch under the desk leaving me more frayed and desperate. By the time I walked into his office that night, wearing the short black skirt and low-cut top he had required, I was already on edge. My body felt too hot, too aware. Every shift of fabric against my skin reminded me of his hands. Damien was seated behind the desk as usual, calm, controlled, watching me with those dark, unreadable eyes. He didn’t speak at first. He simply pointed to the chair.I sat and opened the folder, I tried to work.His hand found my thigh within minutes, fingers gripping hard enough to bruise, then dragging slowly upward until they brushed the damp edge of my underwear. He stopped there, as always, and left me aching. “Still so responsive,” he murmured. “ What does that say about you, Ava?”Something inside me finally snapped.I shoved the chair back so hard it scraped loudly against the floor. Paper
The email arrived at 6:12 a.m. the next morning.Subject: Research Attire RequirementsMiss Blake,For the remaining duration of the independent project, you will adhere to the following dress code during evening sessions:- Skirts no longer than mid-thigh- Tops with a neckline no higher than two inches below the collarboneThis is non-negotiable. Failure to comply will result in an automatic reduction of the project grade.Professor D. ValeI stared at the screen until the words blurred. He was doing this on purpose. He was forcing me to dress exactly the way he had accused me of dressing before, and then he would punish me for it. I showed up that evening in the shortest black skirt I owned and a soft grey top that dipped just low enough to show the beginning of my cleavage. My hands were shaking when I knocked. He was standing by the window when I entered. He turned slowly, eyes dragging over me from the hem of the skirt up to the neckline of the top. Something dark and satisfied
The evenings had started blending into one long, aching stretch of tension. By the fourth night I walked into Damien’s office with my heart already racing, my body already half-aware of what was coming. I had stopped wearing anything remotely revealing. Tonight it was a simple white blouse buttoned all the way up and dark jeans, armor. It didn’t help. He was already seated when I entered, sleeves rolled, expression unreadable. He didn’t look up from the papers in front of him. “Sit. Same as always.”I sat. Opened my folder, tried to work.For the first forty minutes he barely spoke. He only watched. Every time I shifted, every time I crossed my legs or adjusted my posture, I felt his attention sharpen like a blade. The silence was worse than the accusations. It left too much room for the memory of his voice forcing confessions out of me, for the way my body had reacted to every cruel, precise reminder of what I had done. I was mid-sentence on a market analysis when I heard the soft
The silence in the office had become unbearable. I kept my eyes fixed on the research papers in front of me, but the words had long since stopped making sense. Every time I shifted even slightly in the chair, I felt Damien’s gaze sharpen. He hadn’t looked away once since I sat down. The weight of it was starting to feel like hands on my skin. He spoke without warning, voice low and deliberate. “You wore that skirt the day you carried my books.”My head snapped up. Heat flooded my face so fast it made me dizzy. Damien’s expression was cold, almost clinical, but his eyes were dark. “The really short one. The one that barely covered the tops of your thighs when you bent down to pick up the papers that fell. You knew exactly how short it was. You wanted me to look.” “I didn’t…..” “Say it.”The command was quiet, but it landed like a whip. I swallowed hard, fingers tightening around the pen until my knuckles ached. “I… I wore a short skirt that day,” I whispered. “And you
I stood outside Professor Damien Vale’s office at exactly 6:58 p.m., heart slamming so hard against my ribs I was sure the entire faculty building could hear it. My palms were damp. I had changed three times before leaving the dorm, finally settling on jeans and a plain black long-sleeve top that covered everything. There was no short skirts or deep necklines. Nothing he could accuse me of. I knocked once. “Come in.” His voice was colder than I had ever heard it. I stepped inside and closed the door behind me. The office felt smaller than usual. The blinds were half-drawn, the desk lamp casting a pool of warm light that somehow made the shadows around us darker. Damien sat behind his desk in a black button-down with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, watching me like a predator that had finally trapped something it had been hunting for weeks. He didn’t invite me to sit. He just stared. I cleared my throat. “Professor, about the email…” “Sit.” The single word was sharp enough t
I woke up to the kind of headache that felt like someone had taken a hammer to the inside of my skull. Sunlight stabbed through the thin dorm curtains, and for a second I didn’t remember why everything hurt. Then I licked my lips and tasted the faint, lingering ghost of him.My fingers flew to my mouth. Swollen. Sensitive. Still slightly bruised from the force of that kiss. The memory slammed into me so hard I rolled onto my side and pressed my face into the pillow, a low, mortified sound escaping my throat. I had kissed Professor Damien Vale.I had kissed him while drunk, in a plunging emerald gown, on the terrace of the Founder’s Week masquerade. And for three perfect, terrifying seconds he had kissed me back hard, hungry, like he’d been starving for it before he shoved me away and told me never to do it again. Shame and longing twisted together until my stomach turned. I sat up too fast, the room spinning, and pressed both hands over my face. “Stupid,” I whispered into my palms.







