Chapter 2

Aiden Cole liked to be early. It gave him time to settle, to prepare, and to think. He arrived at the Harrison estate as usual, five minutes before the lesson. The staff knew him by now; the butler nodded politely and led him into the study.

The study was bright with morning light. Bookshelves lined the walls, and a large polished desk sat in the center. Aiden placed his folder on the desk, removed his jacket, and adjusted his tie. Everything was ready.

But the seat opposite him was empty.

He glanced at the grandfather clock. Ten minutes passed. Then twenty. He did not tap his pen or pace the room. He simply waited, silent, calm, patient.

Upstairs, Julian Harrison was sprawled across his bed in yesterday’s clothes. His blond hair stuck up in messy tufts. His shirt smelled of smoke and spilled alcohol, and his head pounded with a steady ache.

The ringing of his phone woke him, an alarm he had ignored twice already. He groaned, rolled over, and pulled the blanket over his face. The party last night had gone on until dawn. He hadn’t wanted to leave. Loud music, flashing lights, lips pressed against his cheek by strangers. Anything was better than dealing with tutors or his father’s rules.

A knock sounded at his door. “Mr. Julian,” the housekeeper called softly. “The professor is here.”

Julian cursed under his breath. He had forgotten. Again.

Dragging himself out of bed, he splashed water on his face but didn’t bother changing clothes. His shirt was wrinkled, his jeans stained, and his breath reeked. He didn’t care. He’d scared off plenty of tutors this way. If this new one couldn’t handle him at his worst, he would be gone soon too.

Julian stumbled down the stairs and pushed open the study door.

Aiden looked up from his notes. His gaze swept over Julian once. Bloodshot eyes, unsteady walk, clothes that smelled of alcohol. Then he returned to his folder.

“You’re thirty minutes late,” he said evenly.

Julian collapsed into the chair with a smirk. “You’re lucky I came at all. My bed was more comfortable.”

“Ah,” Aiden replied, flipping a page. “A true act of sacrifice. Should I alert the media?”

Julian paused, then chuckled. “Was that sarcasm?”

“Observation,” Aiden said. He slid a worksheet across the desk. “We’ll start here.”

Julian glanced at the paper, groaned, and dropped his head into his hands. “You really expect me to solve numbers like this? I can barely see straight.”

“That’s the cost of poor choices,” Aiden said calmly. “Now calculate the mean.”

Julian lifted his head, squinting at him. “You’re not going to tell me to shower first? Or to brush my teeth? Or to change?”

“No,” Aiden said. “Your appearance is your business. Your grades are mine. Now, focus.”

Julian blinked. That was new. Most tutors had scolded him or stormed out. This one didn’t flinch.

He picked up the pen reluctantly and scrawled numbers across the sheet. His handwriting was shaky, his math worse. He shoved the paper back across the desk.

Aiden scanned it quickly. “Wrong. You added too fast. Try again.”

Julian groaned, throwing his head back. “You’re killing me.”

“No,” Aiden said, expression blank. “That was your hangover.”

Julian stared at him for a second, then let out a short laugh. “You’re seriously not bothered by any of this?”

“I’m bothered when you waste time.” Aiden said, sliding the worksheet back. “Now correct the mistake.”

Julian sighed but leaned forward again, erasing and reworking the numbers. His head pounded with every line, but something about Aiden’s steady tone kept him from giving up.

After fifteen minutes, Julian dropped his pen. “Do you ever laugh? Or are you built of stone?”

“Occasionally,” Aiden said, without looking up.

“Occasionally?” Julian leaned back in his chair, studying him. “You’d be more fun if you did.”

“I’m not here to entertain you,” Aiden replied. “I’m here to make sure you don’t repeat another year.”

Julian snorted. “You sound like my father.”

“I doubt that,” Aiden said. “Your father pays me to teach. I don’t care what you do outside these walls.”

That silenced Julian. He picked up his pen again, a little less resistant this time.

The lesson continued, slow but steady. Aiden didn’t raise his voice, didn’t scold, didn’t comment on Julian’s appearance again. He only corrected mistakes and pushed him to finish each problem.

Julian tried to distract him with small talk. “So, do you even have a life outside of teaching?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“And it’s none of your business,” Aiden said without hesitation.

Julian laughed, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, you’re still sitting here,” Aiden said.

Julian tilted his head, amused. Most people gave up on him. This man didn’t.

After an hour, Aiden closed the folder. “Enough for today. Tomorrow, be on time. And sober.”

Julian smirked. “You’re not my dad.”

“No,” Aiden said, gathering his things. “But if I were, you’d be grounded.”

Julian’s laugh echoed softly through the study. “You’re different.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Aiden replied.

He left the room without looking back.

Julian stayed behind, slouched in his chair. His head still ached, and he smelled like the party, but he found himself grinning.

No one had ever sat through his nonsense without cracking. No one had spoken to him with such calm sarcasm. No one had pushed him to finish when he wanted to quit.

For the first time, Julian wondered if maybe, just maybe, this professor wasn’t going anywhere. And the thought of it seemed to excite him.