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Chapter 19: Misbehave, Sofia
Last Updated:
2025-06-23 14:50:48
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Professor Lucien Chapter 32: He Belonged to Someone First
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. “
Professor Lucien Chapter 31: All The Things I Can't Say
“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
Professor Lucien Chapter 30: Get a grip, Sofia.
“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
Professor Lucien Chapter 29: He's My Uncle
“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
Professor Lucien 28. Paper Bags And Paper Hearts.
“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
Professor Lucien Chapter 27: Handmade Isn't Enough
“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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