Sofia Carson has never been a rule-breaker—until her second year in college. Desperate to pass Professor Lucien Drake’s impossible test, she risks everything by breaking into his office to steal the answers. But when she’s caught red-handed, what she expects is expulsion. Instead, she’s met with something far more dangerous: a cold, unreadable stare and a chilling offer that could ruin her forever. Lucien Drake is more than just a strict professor. Beneath his intimidating exterior lies a dark power and a secret agenda—one that draws Sofia deeper into a game where trust is a luxury she can’t afford. As the lines between punishment and desire blur, Sofia must decide how far she’s willing to go to survive—and what she’s willing to lose in the process.
View MoreSofia Pov
I have never done anything so risky in my life, but here I am, fumbling with the locks outside Professor Lucien Drake's office—about to break in. The hallway is too quiet. My fingers tremble as I jiggle the key, praying no one walks by. Every click of the metal sounds like a gunshot. You're probably wondering why I'm here. Good. Because my heart is about to burst out of my chest. Maybe letting my mind wander will ease my trembling fingers. So—my friends and I have been partying all week. The College Titanic football team won three matches in a row, so of course, we celebrated like idiots. Which means... we didn’t study. At all. For Professor Drake’s big test. The one that’s 45% of our grade. I have two friends—Mia and Keira. Lovely, reckless, bad-decision-making Mia and Keira. They're the reason I’m about to fail this class... unless I manage to break into this office and snap a photo of tomorrow’s test. My phone dings. I yank it out, already hating the message on the screen. Hurry, Sofia. The staff meeting ends in twenty minutes. “Fuck,” I hiss as the lock finally clicks open. I slip inside. The office is... immaculate. Of course it is. Just like Professor Drake—always sharp, serious, and terrifyingly clean-cut. Everything’s lined up. Where do I start? I dash to the cabinet. Yank it open. Bingo. I smile, grab my phone, and take a quick shot of the paper sitting neatly on the top shelf. Questions. Objective answers. I got it. Another ping. Ten minutes left. Hurry. I mutter another curse, slam the cabinet shut, and turn to run—only to freeze. He’s there. Professor Drake. Standing in the doorway. His arms are crossed. His jaw is tight. And he is not smiling. "What are you doing in here?" he asks with a death stare My phone must have slipped out of my trembling hands, because I only hear it crashing on the floor. "Professor Drake?" My voice comes out shakier than I anticipate. His jaw ticks as he steps into the office, shutting the door behind him. "What were you doing in here?" he asks, a little more quietly, but I can feel the anger behind every word. “I came to ask for an explanation on last lesson.” Liar. Big fat liar. And I didn’t even blink when I said it. God, I deserve an Oscar—or prison. My heart is pounding fast. I thought I still had ten minutes. How did he get here so fast? I don't know why I agreed with Mia and Keira on this, but looking back, this was a suicide mission. I'm dead. I know that, as Professor Drake bends down and picks up my phone. I almost pee in my clothes. My phone is brightly displaying the last photo I clicked—the answer booklet. I press my lips together to stop myself from breaking down in tears. Getting caught in something like this doesn't need debating—I'm going to get expelled. Professor Drake is staring at my phone screen like it’s an alien object. His expression doesn’t change as his eyes meet mine. I shudder. His eyes are the strangest black I have ever seen, and God, this man is intimidating. “Explanation on the last lesson, huh? Your phone seems to be saying something else, Sophia Carson.” “You know my name.” I almost forget I should be pleading when my name rolls off his lips—painfully perfect. “Sophia Carson. Recently turned 21. Lives with her grandmother because her parents are divorced and both parties recently remarried.” I shudder. It gives off weird.A slow chill creeps up my spine. How does he know all that? “I know all my students, Miss Carson.” I relax. He’s just a detailed lecturer.Or maybe just a very intense one. My phone dings. His eyes are on the screen, and his lips tilt a bit. “You have really good friends, don’t you, Miss Carson?” I want to disappear. Mia and Keira are only going to make everything worse with their endless texting. God, what was I thinking? I wouldn’t have been in this mess if they didn’t push me into it. No—if I didn’t let them. “Professor—” He cuts me off with a raise of his index finger as he tosses my phone on his desk. The silence between us stretches—painfully. I know nothing is going to change his mind from reporting me to the Disciplinary Committee, but I don’t want to get expelled. Grandma Tessa would be so disappointed. I don’t know how I’d feel if she looks at me with those sad brown eyes.I swallow hard, but my throat feels like sandpaper. My heart is punching my ribcage. My phone dings again. Professor Drake is staring at the screen like it’s an enemy zone. He doesn’t say anything. His jaw ticks. His brow twitches. “So I’m Professor Grumpy Pants, huh?” He doesn't smile. “Shit.” I wince. That’s the nickname we gave Professor Drake. No one has actually seen him smile, so most of us call him Grumpy Pants. Doesn’t mean we should actually say it to his face. My throat is so dry it actually begins to hurt. He finally looks up, his expression unreadable. “I could report you to the Disciplinary Committee.” “Please don’t. I don’t wanna get expelled.” “Shut up and listen,” he snaps. Every part of me goes still as I look at him. His hands go to his tie, loosening it, and he unbuttons the first two buttons on his shirt.I look away. Why is he even hotter when he’s angry? Focus, Sofia. You’re in trouble—not a rom-com. Either way, you ain't supposed to check out your older professor. That's disgusting. Professor Lucien Drake is obviously good-looking—standing at six feet, with flawless skin and perfect teeth. He’s probably a sight for the female teachers’ sore eyes. Actually, female students like him too, but whenever they approach him, he doesn’t entertain them—which brought about the name Grumpy Pants. "As I said, I could report you to the school disciplinary committee, but..." I don’t wait for him to finish. My heart somersaults in panic, pounding so loud it feels like it might burst through my chest. Cold tile presses against my knees as I fall, begging him like my life depends on it. "Please, my grandma might die of a heart attack." A slow, dangerous grin spreads across his face. I feel the weight of his gaze, heavy and unreadable, and it sends a shiver down my spine. "I may decide to let this go and punish you myself—if you cooperate, Miss Carson." "You will let this go?" I ask, my voice trembling, using my shoulder to wipe the tears that roll down my cheeks. I lift my eyes to his, searching for any hint of mercy. He leans against the desk slowly, unbothered by my pathetic tears. "Like I said, if only you cooperate." Cooperate? It doesn’t sound good—the way his eyes darken as he stares down at me. “And allow me punish you myself.” My breath catches. What does he mean by punish? My mind races with every possible scenario—none of them good. Yet part of me—terrified, confused, and foolish—can’t look away. “How do you intend to punish me, Professor Drake?” His eyes darken more. Something in them flickers—dangerous, deliberate. In a voice so calm, it almost makes me groan, he says, “Get up and come here.” It’s low. Too low. It scrapes something raw in me. A shiver runs down my spine. My knees feel weak, but not from fear alone. For some wrong reason, I can’t breathe anymore. “Come here, Sofia.” My eyes stay locked on Professor Lucien as my heart hammers against my ribs. Of course I know what he wants. Or maybe I have an idea. Or maybe I’m dead wrong… But the look in his eyes says it all: I want to fuck you. “Come here. Sofia.” My fingers curl at my sides as my cheeks burn in embarrassment. Why do I want to listen?Sofia Pov. Flashback “Mom, look at the dress Dad got me for my birthday!” I rush into her room, holding it out with both hands like it’s made of gold. She turns, mid-makeup, eyes narrowing. “Wait. Your father got you a dress? For what party?” I blink. “Mom, it’s my seventeenth birthday. You said I could throw a party this year.” “Oh, did I?” she says, too lightly. “That’s funny. I also remember telling you to go to Pilates. Maybe hit the gym once in a while. And for some reason… that didn’t happen either.” “Mom—” “Don’t interrupt me when I’m talking.” I clench the fabric. “Nobody cares about that. Just—look at this dress. It’s gorgeous.” She scoffs. “I pity the dress.” “Seriously?” “Don’t ‘Mom’ me, Sofia. Maybe if you’d joined the damn Pilates class like I told you, we’d have something to celebrate.” “Dad said he’d cover everything.” She sets her makeup brush down. Slowly. “Okay.” I barely register the shift in her voice before she crosses the room. “
“Uncle…” It echoes—soft, breathless— like sin whispered in silk. She had said it so casually... But her lips—those lips— They parted just enough to let the devil in. Soft. Breathless. Forbidden. She had muttered it like it meant nothing. Like it hadn’t just set me on fire. I grip myself tighter, hand moving faster. My jaw clenches. I had smiled through it. “He’s my uncle.” She had said it so casually, but her lips—God, those lips—had curled into the faintest, wicked smile right after. Like she knew exactly what she was doing. She bit her lip… Right after saying it. She knew it would undo me. My eyes squeeze shut. I shouldn’t— But I can’t stop. She makes staying good feel impossible. And God help me—I’m hard over a twenty-one-year-old. I curse under my breath, jaw clenched, fingers tightening around myself. The image of her biting her lip, the way her lashes fluttered like she was shy—when I know she wasn’t—plays over and over in my mind. Every breath I take is thic
“He’s my uncle,” I blurt. Too fast. Too loud.Why do I always blurt out the dumbest things?Why does my brain short-circuit around him?Margaret’s face softens. Like she was holding her breath and I just gave her permission to exhale."Mr. Lucien, wow, I never knew you had a niece."Her voice turns sugar-sweet. Too sweet.The heat climbs up my chest again—the same heat I felt when she first scanned him like a luxury item behind glass.That’s why I said it. That stupid, stupid uncle line.My fingers strangle my bag strap.Then the words slip again—worse than before.“I never said I was his niece.”Margaret gasps. Loud.Her eyes flick between us like she walked in on a scandal.My stomach knots.Did I seriously say that out loud?I don’t need to look to know he’s watching.There’s a sound—low, amused.Laughter. Maybe.No idea. I can’t check. I’m too busy trying not to combust.God, did I just ruin everything?What is wrong with me?“Oh. So you’re not his niece…”“I mean…” I start, hands
“Your test has been rescheduled for Friday. Class dismissed.”I stack my notes, ignoring the predictable wave of groans.It’s been off the schedule since last week. They just need something to whine about.I glance up.Sofia.Caked makeup. Tired eyes. The kind of tired sleep doesn’t fix.After Saturday, I’m not surprised.“Goodbye, Professor,” Ivy says, walking past with a smirk and her usual entourage.I nod once.Then her eyes lift—right into mine.Steady. Unapologetic.It shoots through me. Quick. Hot. Wrong.She rolls her eyes a second later, like that look never happened. Like I imagined it.I didn’t.She rolls her eyes and turns to her friends, pretending to listen. Pretending she didn’t just wreck my composure with a single look.“Goodbye, Professor,” another group chimes as they pass.“Till tomorrow,” a girl giggles.I don’t answer. Just slow my movements enough to scan the room.That’s when I catch Sofia’s lips move.“Let’s go,” she mouths to her friends.They grab their bags
“Would you come out already so we can see the dress?” Mom snaps from outside the changing room. Her voice, clipped and impatient, slices right through the curtain.I sigh, dragging a hand through my hair as I stare at the mirror. What kind of joke is this dress?I turn, trying to see the back. The fabric hugs my chest and hips like it’s trying to expose every flaw. I look… round. Not in the flattering way. The zipper strains a little when I move, and the neckline—God, the choker-style collar feels like it’s trying to strangle me into elegance. This dress isn’t me. Not even close. It’s her idea of who I should be.I shift again and exhale—barely. “She got my measurements wrong,” I mutter.“Sofia!” Mom snaps from outside. “Do I have to come in there and drag you out?”Wouldn’t put it past her.I clench my jaw and breathe—barely. My lungs are being crushed by overpriced fabric, and the collar around my neck feels more like a leash than a fashion choice.Still, I unlock the door and step
“Coming,” I groan, wincing as the pounding in my head threatens to split it open.That’s what I get for sleeping late and waking up barely past six.“Grandma?” I call out, slipping on my flip-flops and dragging myself to the door.I open the door slowly. Mom’s standing there in full makeup and heels—at 7 a.m. Like she’s headed to a photoshoot, not her daughter’s bedroom.“You’re not dressed,” she says flatly, like I’ve offended her personally.“Good morning to you too,” I mutter, leaning against the doorframe.“We have fittings. You forgot, didn’t you?”No good morning. No how did you sleep. No happy Saturday, honey.“Me and you?” I blink.“Yes. I texted you last night—Brianna’s birthday party. I need to buy you something decent that actually fits the theme.”“Mom.” I groan. “You show up at my door at 6 a.m. just to drag me on a shopping spree… for Brianna’s birthday?”“What’s wrong with that?”“I have things to do. I manage my time—something you don’t seem to understand.”She always
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