Chapter 6

Eliana's POV

I stormed across campus, my bag bouncing against my hip with each angry step. When I finally found the classroom Annabelle had mentioned, I shoved the door open hard enough to make it bang against the wall.

Three heads turned toward me in surprise. Annabelle stood near a small table with two other girls I did not recognize, papers scattered across its surface. The distance made it impossible to see what they were working on, but their guilty expressions told me everything I needed to know.

"You set me up," I accused, my voice sharp enough to cut glass.

Annabelle's face transformed into a perfect mask of innocence, her green eyes wide with confusion. "What do you mean?"

Her act only fueled my anger. Heat crawled up my neck as I stepped further into the room. "Do you really not know what you did? Pro—"

I caught myself mid-sentence, my teeth clicking together as I bit back the words. What if she genuinely had not been involved? What if Thursday's encounter had been nothing more than terrible timing?

The three girls stared at me like I had lost my mind completely. One of them whispered something to her friend, and they both giggled nervously.

Annabelle moved toward me with careful steps, the way someone approaches a wounded animal. "Are you okay, Eliana? You seem upset."

Part of me wanted to spill everything—the kiss, the way he had manipulated me, how I could still taste him on my lips days later. But trust was a luxury I could not afford. Not until I knew for certain where her loyalties lay.

"Yes, I am fine." I forced my voice to steady. "Why did you call me here?"

She placed her hand on my shoulder and turned me to face the others. "I need your help with something. Stella here is struggling with her assignment, and we have less than an hour before it is due. This assignment could save her entire grade."

I frowned. "But we are still early in the semester."

"Stella's situation is complicated. I will explain later." Annabelle batted her eyelashes and pushed her lower lip out in an exaggerated pout. "Just do this for me, please?"

Despite my suspicions, curiosity won. "Let me see what we are dealing with."

Her face lit up like Christmas morning as she guided me toward the table. After quick introductions, they explained the problem—a complex analysis of symbolism in Victorian poetry that had them stumped for over an hour. Twenty minutes later, I had untangled their confusion and provided a clear framework for their argument.

Stella was so grateful she kissed my cheek, leaving behind the faint scent of vanilla lip gloss.

Annabelle and I walked together toward our next class—Gender Studies with Professor Morrison, a towering woman whose commanding presence could silence a room with a single glance. Since I did not have Professor Matthews' class that day, I managed to avoid seeing him entirely. The same pattern held the next day.

The weekend crawled by with agonizing slowness. Every time I closed my eyes, I felt phantom lips against mine, phantom hands tracing patterns on my skin.

Monday morning arrived gray and drizzling. Professor Matthews strode into the auditorium wearing dark jeans and a black t-shirt that hugged his chest in ways that made my mouth go dry. The moment he stepped through the door, his eyes found mine across the crowded room.

The memory of Thursday hit me like a physical blow. His hands on my face. His body trapping me against the wall. The taste of his kiss.

I tried to focus on his lecture about narrative structure, but my mind kept drifting to the way he had whispered my name in that darkened room. Fifteen minutes into class, I could not take it anymore.

"Excuse me," I muttered to Annabelle, grabbing my bag and rushing toward the exit.

The bathroom mirror reflected a stranger's face back at me—flushed cheeks, dilated pupils, lips parted as I struggled to catch my breath.

What was wrong with me? How had I allowed one person to gain so much control over my thoughts, my body, my peace of mind? Even Patrick, with all his manipulation and emotional games, had never made me feel this unhinged.

I stayed hidden in the bathroom stall until the hallway noise died down, signaling the end of class. When I finally emerged, I nearly collided with Annabelle as she pushed through the door.

"Are you okay?" Her brow creased with concern.

"Just a headache," I lied, avoiding her eyes.

She pressed the back of her hand against my forehead like a mother checking for fever. "Professor Matthews asked me to tell you to see him in his office as soon as possible. He gave us an assignment that is due tomorrow."

My stomach dropped. "When did he say this?"

"Right after class ended. He came straight to me and seemed genuinely worried about you." She moved to the mirror and pulled a small cosmetics bag from her purse. "You know, you do not seem surprised that he wants to see you. Are you sure there is nothing going on between you two?"

Red lipstick glided across her lips as she spoke. When she finished, she capped the tube with a sharp click and turned to study my face.

"He is my professor and nothing more." The words felt hollow even to me.

"I hope so." She grabbed my hand and tugged me toward the door. "He is married, and I would not want you getting tangled up in that kind of drama."

"Is he not separated from his wife?" The question slipped out before I could stop it.

Annabelle stopped dead in her tracks. "Where on earth did you hear that nonsense?"

Before I could answer, someone called her name from across the hall. She waved enthusiastically and hurried away, leaving me alone with my racing thoughts.

I made it halfway to the exit before my worst nightmare materialized. Professor Matthews appeared in the doorway like he had been waiting for me, his lips curving into a smile that made my knees threaten to buckle.

"Just who I wanted to see," he said, his voice warm with satisfaction. "Come with me."

"I am in a hurry. I have to—"

"I will not take up much of your time, Miss Hart."

Every rational cell in my brain screamed at me to run. Instead, my traitorous legs turned around and followed him down the corridor like I was under some kind of spell.

His office door closed behind us with a soft click that sounded like a trap springing shut.

"I have a special assignment for you. You do not need to do the one I gave the class." He settled into his chair, but restless energy radiated from every line of his body.

"Would that not seem suspicious?" I remained standing near the door, ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble.

"Leave that to me. I need two detailed analyses on the theme of class in The Great Gatsby. Have you read it?"

I wanted to lie, to give myself an excuse to leave. But my mouth betrayed me. "Yes, I have."

"Perfect. I need them tonight, so start as soon as you can."

"Tonight?" The word came out strangled. "I already have plans."

"Can you cancel them, please?" He leaned forward, his blue eyes boring into mine with an intensity that made my pulse race. "This is very important, and you are the only person I know who can help me. The only intelligent person I trust with this."

The compliment wrapped around me like silk, dangerous and seductive. My resolve crumbled like sand.

"All right. Just this once."

"Thank you." He gathered papers from his desk and handed me a sheet with detailed instructions. "I will be here late tonight, so you can bring them to me whenever you finish."

I took the paper from his hands, careful not to let our fingers touch, and fled his office before he could see how badly my hands were shaking.