CHAPTER 3

Camille’s POV

My head was pounding as I stepped out of the taxi I had boarded, coming to a halt in front of the entrance to Mr. Ashford’s house, the address I had pulled straight from his file.

I shouldn’t be here.

I shouldn’t even be outside at this hour. It was already late, and I was supposed to have taken my medication by now, the ones meant to calm me whenever my thoughts spiraled out of control.

Mental health issues were no joke. The doctor had been very clear, categorical even, about staying indoors whenever I felt overwhelmed by someone or something. I could become uncontrollable when pushed too far.

The worst part was that I never listened.

I had always been stubborn. Certain that I knew better than everyone else.

I pressed the doorbell, my fingers trembling slightly.

The door unlocked almost immediately. I hesitated.

I wasn’t supposed to enter without permission. I knew that. But this was still school property. Students came here often to meet supervisors, college advisers or even faculty executives.

And I didn’t want anyone to see me standing outside like this.

Before I could overthink it, I stepped inside.

I rehearsed my lines in my head as I walked forward, every possible defense I could use in case he got angry that I had walked into his house uninvited.

“Mr. Ashford?” I whispered.

My voice sounded small and fragile.

I moved further in, unsure of which part of the house he might be in, my chest heaving, breath coming out unevenly as fear curled tightly in my gut.

Something caught my eye in the dark, causing me to freeze.

My head lifted slowly, my gaze trailing upward until it landed on Mr. Ashford.

He was bleeding.

His face twisted into a sneer the moment he noticed me standing there, uninvited.

I rushed toward him, my focus narrowing entirely on the injury he was trying, and failing to clean himself.

“What are you..” he began sharply.

I didn’t let him finish.

I reached his study table, grabbed the damp cloth and the ointment from his hands, and started wiping the blood away, my movements hurried but careful.

“What are you doing?” he demanded coldly.

I had expected that reaction. I had prepared for it before I ever rang his doorbell. I needed him to agree.

I needed him to become the hockey coach.

And whatever it took to get that yes, whatever line I had to cross, I was already past it.

“Don’t worry, sir,” I said softly, my voice steadier than I felt. “Let me help you. Your hand can’t reach your back, but mine can. Let me…”

He resisted at first, his body tense beneath my touch, his silence sharp and disapproving. But I kept going, my persistence refusing to bend.

Eventually he relented.

As I wiped each bruise, I noticed tattoos on his back.

With every swipe of the cloth, another one appeared, inked across his skin.

His entire body was covered in them.

The cold, dominating man standing before me felt far more dangerous than I had imagined.

My throat felt tight, almost pulsating, as I kept staring at his back.

Even covered in bruises and ink, Mr. Ashford is hot.

His chiseled jawline was made sharper by the glasses perched on his nose, and his muscles and the defined lines of his abs were things I hadn’t noticed before.

Maybe it was because he was shirtless. Maybe it was because of how close we were, the friction between our bodies was impossible to ignore as I helped him apply the ointment.

Whatever it was, I couldn’t deny the tingles running through me.

Whether I wanted to admit it or not, he looked delicious. And I wanted him.

Which made no sense.

He had embarrassed me earlier by sending me out of his office without a second thought. So why was I here now, tending to his wounds like this?

My fingers trailed along his back in slow, circular motions, more focused on the rise and fall of his breathing than the task at hand. When I leaned forward to reach a bruise lower down, my foot slipped.

I tripped.

Before I could fall, a firm hand caught my waist.

It was Mr. Ashford.

He leaned me back against his table, the solid wood pressing into my spine. I was still too close to him and my gaze drifted shamelessly over his body. His abs and chest. The way his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.

The air between us crackled.

Nothing like I had expected it to be.

Seconds stretched into something dangerously close to minutes before I finally snapped out of whatever spell had taken hold of me. I pushed him away abruptly, my heart racing.

“What just happened?” I asked, my voice unsteady.

He didn’t answer.

Maybe I had imagined it all. Maybe I had overestimated myself, thinking he’d react to the tension the way I did.

I inhaled sharply and forced myself back to why I was here.

“Rumors say the coach for the college hockey team resigned following your employment,” I said carefully. “Some even say you were once a hockey legend yourself. There’s an upcoming tournament the team is preparing for, and they can’t do without a coach.”

I paused, hoping my words had landed. Hoping he understood what I was really asking.

“Do I have a choice?” he asked after a moment, his eyes locked onto mine.

“You’re a teacher on campus,” I replied quickly. “You should care about your students. You should be present to guide them when they need help and you should…”

“What an odd way to manipulate me, Camille,” he murmured.

“Please, Mr. Ashford,” I said softly.

Just moments ago, I had wanted to be dominant by telling him he had no option but to accept. But standing here with him, my confidence dissolved.

So I begged.

Because it was the only way to protect myself from the rumors that would inevitably attach my name to this mess.

“Why should I listen to you, Miss Camille?” he asked quietly. “No one tells me what to do.”

“I’m the dean’s daughter,” I started. “I’m part of the college committee. I…”

“Are you trying to intimidate me?” he cut in.

He stepped closer, erasing the last sliver of space between us.

His lips were only centimeters away from mine now, close enough that I could feel his breath. Close enough that I feared he might kiss me.

I couldn’t let that happen.

I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of thinking I’d melt just because he had a hot body.

Even though, he did.

“Three p.m.,” I said firmly. “The college ice court tomorrow. The team will be training there. Don’t be late, Mr. Ashford.”

I pushed him away just before he could close the distance completely.

That wasn’t why I had come here.

Whether he showed up tomorrow was a gamble I was leaving entirely in his hands as I turned toward the door, my resolve trembling because even as I walked away, I could feel myself slowly losing control.