Chapter 5

ELROY'S POV 

I had always believed I was immune to real feelings.

Attraction? Yes. Lust? Of course. Boredom disguised as interest? Many times. But something deep, something that made my chest feel tight and my thoughts restless? Never. Not until Evelyn Reeds.

Evelyn walked into my life like a problem I didn’t know how to solve.

She wasn’t the most glamorous woman in the room. She didn’t try to be. She dressed simply, spoke sharply, and carried herself with a quiet confidence that made people either respect her or avoid her. I did neither. I chose to provoke her.

From the first week she started teaching at my university, I couldn’t stop watching her. She was beautiful—undeniably pretty—but it wasn’t just that. It was the way she stood firm when students challenged her. The way her eyes flashed when someone said something foolish. The way she never once tried to impress anyone.

I had been involved with ladies who looked like models, influencers, heiresses. None of them had ever made me feel unsettled. They were easy. They wanted my name, my money, my attention. I gave them just enough and walked away untouched.

Evelyn was different.

She hated entitled, rich, arrogant students like me. And I played the role perfectly. I made pointed comments in class. Questioned her statements. Smirked when she corrected me. Sometimes I would lean back in my chair and whisper just loud enough for her to hear.

The class would go quiet, waiting for me to push further. Sometimes I did. Sometimes I just smiled.

I knew exactly what I was doing. I wanted her attention—even if it came in the form of irritation.

So when I found out she had agreed to tutor my younger sister, Chloe, I almost laughed at the irony. Out of all the tutors in the city, it had to be her. She had stayed till dinner before she left that day, where my father offered that she be a private tutor to my sister, Chloe, and she had agreed.

I told my parents it was convenient. That she was qualified. That Chloe needed someone strict.

The truth? I wanted her close.

The first day she came to the mansion for tutoring, I was waiting downstairs long before she arrived. I told myself it was to make sure she was professional. To ensure she was good enough for Chloe.

That was only half true.

When she stepped through the front door, I almost didn’t recognize her.

She didn't her usual blazers, and I saw no fitted skirts and no sharp heels.

She wore a simple oversized hoodie and shorts. Her hair was tied back loosely, and she carried a leather bag over her shoulder.

She looked softer—more human.

I realized I had been staring when her eyes met mine. The disgust in her expression was immediate.

“Is Chloe home?” she asked flatly.

I cleared my throat. “Upstairs.”

She walked past me without another word.

I stood there for a second longer than necessary, replaying the image in my mind.

This was dangerous.

Still, I followed upstairs quietly and paused outside the study room. I could hear her voice through the slightly open door, calmnand patient, explaining something to Chloe in a way that even I could understand.

I leaned against the wall, listening.

She was good. Better than I expected.

After a few minutes, I pushed the door open casually. “Hi. Uh… have you started?”

She didn’t look surprised. Just annoyed.

“We started ten minutes ago.”

“I see,” I said, stepping inside.

“Is there a problem?” she asked.

“Nope. Just observing,” I replied.

“You don’t need to observe.”

“She’s my sister. I’d like to know what you’re teaching her.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I know how to do my job, Mr. Elroy.”

“I’m sure you do,” I replied calmly. “I’m only watching.”

Chloe looked between us awkwardly.

The tension in the room was almost amusing.

But as I sat there, watching her teach, I noticed that she kept glancing at the door, at the window, over her shoulder.

Her movements were subtle and quick, like she expected someone to walk in unexpectedly.

She didn't feel relaxed.

When Chloe bent over her notebook, I lowered my voice. “Expecting someone?”

She stiffened. “Excuse me?”

“You keep looking behind you.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

She gathered her papers sharply. “If you’re done being disruptive, you can leave.”

I studied her for another second, but she refused to meet my eyes.

Interesting.

Over the next few weeks, I made it a habit to appear during every tutoring session. Sometimes I would sit quietly. Sometimes I would question her explanations. Sometimes I would just stand there, watching.

She hated it. But I could tell something else was happening.

One afternoon, Chloe excused herself to grab water from the kitchen.

The room went silent. It was just the two of us. She avoided looking at me, pretending to organize Chloe’s notes.

“So,” I said, breaking the silence. “What do you do outside school?”

She didn’t look up. “That’s none of your business.”

“It is, actually. You tutor my sister.”

“That doesn’t give you access to my personal life.”

I leaned against the desk. “You don’t talk much about yourself.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“That’s kinda hard to believe.”

She let out a short, frustrated breath. “My life is boring, okay? I’m not rich like you. I don’t attend parties. I don’t live in mansions. I work and go home. That’s it.”

I couldn’t help it—I laughed.

Her head snapped up. “What’s funny?”

“The way you say ‘rich like you’ as if it’s a disease.”

“Isn’t it?” she shot back.

I grinned. “Depends on who you ask.”

She shook her head and looked down again. That was when I saw it.

On her hand.

A dark bruise spread across her knuckles, almost black against her skin.

When she absentmindedly tried to scratch near it, she winced slightly.

“What happened to your hand?” I asked.

Her hand dropped immediately.

“Nothing.”

“That’s not nothing.”

“I had a minor accident.”

“A minor accident?” I repeated.

She slid her hand into her hoodie pocket. “It’s none of your business.”

There it was again.

That wall.

I wanted to push further. To demand an answer. But something told me to stop. So I did. For now.

Chloe returned, and the moment passed.

Later that evening, as the session ended, Evelyn gathered her bag and headed toward the stairs. I followed behind her, not saying much.

Halfway down, her foot slipped.

It happened fast.

She stumbled forward, and before I could think, I reached out and caught her. My arm wrapped around her waist and her hand gripped my shoulder.

For a second, everything froze.

She looked up at me, eyes wide. We were too close. I could feel her breathing—quick and uneven.

Her cheeks slowly turned pink.

She swallowed and stepped back immediately, adjusting her bag. “I’m fine.”

There was something in that moment. Something that didn’t feel like teasing or irritation. And whatever it was, it felt real.

She avoided my gaze and moved toward the door. I watched her walk away, hoodie swaying slightly with each step.

And for the first time in my life, I felt something unfamiliar settle deep in my chest. Somewhere between the arguments, the glances, and the accidental touch on the staircase, I had crossed a line I never thought I would.