Chapter 14: A Taste of Power

Sofia Pov

The college is buzzing, as usual—but today, there’s something different in the air. A crackle of excitement. The Titanic made it to the finals, and everyone’s hyped for the party tonight—including Mia and Kiera.

“I have no idea what to wear to the party,” Mia groans for the umpteenth time since we left the house.

“You have a closet full of dresses, Mia,” Kiera says, rolling her eyes.

“What about you?” Mia turns to me, eyeing the box of cookies in my arms. “You haven’t said a word since we left your house.”

Kiera looks over too. “Are you getting cold feet about the whole thing?”

I scoff. “You’re making it sound like I’m about to commit a murder.”

Mia snorts. “Please. It’s worse. You’re about to offer cookies to the hottest teacher on campus.”

“He’s not that hot,” I mutter.

“You are so in denial,” she says, stopping mid-step with a mischievous grin. “Which means…”

I stop too, eyeing her suspiciously. “Means what?”

“That you have a crush on him.”

“What?! No way.”

“It’s true,” Mia insists. “Kiera—back me up.”

“Yeah,” Kiera says without hesitation.

Mia smirks. “Remember when you hated Asher?”

Kiera chuckles. “Oh yeah. I had a crush on him.”

I blink. “Wait. Asher? The goofy guy?”

“Yup,” Mia confirms. “Kiera hated him because she liked him.”

“That’s not true,” I say, turning to Kiera for backup.

“It’s true,” she shrugs, like we’re talking about the weather.

“But you told me you hated him because he ruined your project.”

Kiera glances away, suddenly sheepish. “I lied. Mia figured it out.”

Just then, a group of guys in matching navy jackets swagger past us—the Titanic team boys. Their laughter echoes down the walkway like they own the whole damn campus.

Mia’s smile vanishes. She folds her arms, scowling.

“What?” I ask, following her gaze.

“Leo,” she mutters.

Kiera and I exchange a glance.

“The team captain?” Kiera says.

Mia sighs, eyes still locked on him. “Yeah. I used to have a huge crush on him. Literally the reason I went to every match screaming my lungs out.”

“Used to?” I press.

“I caught him sucking face with Angela behind the library two days ago.”

“Ohhh,” Kiera winces. “Angela from Sociology?”

Mia nods grimly. “Her lip gloss was all over his mouth. It was disgusting.”

“Guys are trash,” I say flatly. “Besides, girls throw themselves at them. It’s hard to resist.”

“Professor Lucien always resists,” Kiera says sweetly.

I elbow her hard. “Shut up.”

We’re still giggling when one of the players—Elijah Crane—glances back, spots us, and waves.

“Hey! Ponytail girl!”

We all freeze.

“Who?” Mia whispers, scanning the group.

Elijah grins and points. “You, Sofia!”

He throws in a playful wink before jogging to catch up with the others.

Just like that.

Mia lets out a strangled squeal beside me. “Did you see that? He winked at you!”

“He winked,” Kiera gasps. “At you, Sofia!”

I bite back a smile, trying to play it cool. I never had a crush on soccer players. “Maybe he had something in his eye.”

“They’re womanizers,” I add, mostly to convince myself.

Mia clutches my arm dramatically. “Oh. My. God. Sofia. Elijah Crane knows your name.”

“Yeah,” I murmur, pretending not to care—while my heart hammers so loud it echoes in my ears.

Kiera nudges me with a smirk. “He called you ponytail girl. That’s basically a pet name. That’s flirting.”

“Please, you guys should stop.”

"Fine."

*

*

*

We don’t have lectures for another half hour.

I wait until Mia and Kiera are too busy giggling over Elijah’s wink to notice I’ve slipped away. They’re still busy matchmaking me with a soccer dude I’ve never once looked at that way.

Slipping off is easy. They don’t even notice I’m gone.

The box of cookies is pressed tight against my chest, warm and solid like a promise I’m not sure I can keep. My heartbeat is ridiculous—loud, fast, dramatic. Why am I nervous? This is just cookies. Just a peace offering.

I head toward the faculty building.

Along the way, I mumble a few greetings to passing staff, but my mind’s already racing ahead. By the time I reach Professor Lucien’s office, my palms are damp, and the ribbon on the box is slightly askew from how tightly I’ve been holding it.

I take a breath.

And knock.

"You are not worth my time."The word echoes in my head.

Flashback.

"Because I want you to tutor me."

A moment passed. Then another. He didn’t speak—just stared, silent and unmoving.

Then he stepped away, creating space between us. I let out a shaky breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

"Tutor you?"

His voice was quiet. Disbelieving.

"Yeah," I said, steadying myself. "Tutor me."

He moved behind the desk and sat down, his posture too calm, too precise. "Why do you want me to tutor you?"

"I don’t know." I shrugged, uneasy under his sudden interrogation. "I just thought—"

"You don’t know."

He cut me off, voice like ice.

"Yet you want me to," he added, eyes narrowing, "because I’m the grumpy-pants professor." His words were a cold accusation.

"That’s not what I meant," I said quickly, trying to explain, trying to breathe.

"But you were willing to offer me a blowjob for it."

His tone didn’t rise. That made it worse.

My mouth went dry. Heat climbed up my neck. I said nothing.

"Which means," he continued, flipping the knife, "you’d sleep with another professor just to pass."

"I said not sleep with!" I snapped, voice cracking.

He barely blinked. "What’s the difference?"

Then—he finally looked at me. Not just looked. Stared.

His gaze was sharp, detached.

"I don’t tutor brats," he said, each word laced with venom. "Especially ones who think they’re special because I showed an ounce of interest."

"But you were the one who seemed desperate for a—"

"Get out."

His voice was quiet. Deadly. Final.

Tears burned behind my eyes. "What the hell is your problem?"

He stood. His presence suddenly too close, too overwhelming.

"From today forward, you address me as Professor Lucien."

"I—"

"Listen to me."

"I don’t want to leave my grandma," I whispered.

"I don’t give a fuck."

His eyes cut through me like a blade. "You’re not worth my time. Come back tomorrow for your phone."

He turned his back to me, calm again. Sat down. Opened a file. Began flipping pages like I was already forgotten.

"I…"

Tears slipped free. I wiped them with the back of my hand, humiliated, burning.

Then I turned and ran.

End of Flashback

I was angry and humiliated but,

Something else lingered too.

Not hate.

Just... a hunger I didn’t understand.

Some part of me wanted him to look at me differently now. Wanted him to regret every word he threw at me like I was nothing.

Wanted him to want me.

That's could not true.