The Surrogate Virgin

I couldn’t sleep.I kept hearing his voice echo in my head.I’m your professor.The words sank into me like slow poison.I stared at the cracked ceiling above my dorm bed, still in the same dress from the clinic, the envelope of money clutched to my chest like it might vanish if I let it go.How had I missed it?I hadn’t even seen his face properly on campus. I’d been so consumed by fear, by my father’s bills, by the fact that I had just signed away my body for survival.And now… Noah Bennett was not just my surrogate client.He was my lecturer.My course instructor.My ethics professor.I laughed bitterly at the irony.I didn’t sleep that night and the next morning, I barely ate. My stomach curled at the idea of facing him again. I thought about withdrawing, running, or disappearing from campus before anyone found out. But I couldn’t not when $200,000 sat in my drawer, not when the doctors had scheduled my father’s surgery for the following day.So I went to class.I slipped into my

I shouldn’t have gone Noah’s house but that afternoon, after my checkup at the private clinic after the quiet hum of machines and the gentle smile of the nurse telling me that everything looked perfect, I got into Noah’s car without thinking.And when he asked, “Want to rest at my place before I drop you off?” I nodded.I was too tired to lie, too sick of pretending I was okay.His house wasn’t what I expected. It was too warm, too quiet, bookshelves lined one wall like he actually read them. A piano sat untouched in the corner. The kitchen smelled faintly of ginger tea and cinnamon.“Have a seat,” he said, tossing his keys onto the counter.I sank into the velvet couch, resting my hand on my stomach.“How are you feeling?” he asked, returning with a cup. “Ginger and honey, helps with nausea.”“Thanks,” I murmured. I took a sip. “You didn’t have to do this.”“I know.”But he did it anyway.He sat beside me, just close enough that I could feel his heat, but not touching. The silence st

I returned to campus that morning wrapped in a strange, weightless quiet and not the usual sleepy hush of early classes, but something sharper like a held breath.Noah didn’t text. I knew he wouldn’t have known the moment I left his place but knowing didn’t soften the ache of it.He didn’t glance at me once during the lecture, not even accidentally. His voice usually warm and full of energy when he taught, moved flatly from one student to another, deliberately skipping past me like I wasn’t there.He packed up before the last slide had even finished loading. His laptop was halfway into his bag as the projector still hummed, casting blue light over rows of emptying chairs.I stayed behind, slowly rearranging papers I didn’t need to fix. The room drained of students, their laughter and shuffling feet fading into the hallway like echoes from a life I wasn’t in anymore.He didn’t come back out. Curiosity, maybe desperation, pushed me to the office hallway. I stood in front of his door, tr

Noah didn’t speak to me for two days after the car, not even a word, not a glance.In class, he acted like I didn’t exist. I sat through lectures, my hands clenched in my lap, trying not to look at him, trying not to remember the sound he made when he came inside me. The way he whispered my name like it hurt.I told myself I didn’t care and it was just sex but when I passed him in the hall and he looked through me like I was air…I realized I’d been lying.The ache in my chest felt bigger than the baby growing inside me.Desmond found me sitting outside the Fine Arts building, a half-eaten croissant in my lap and my hoodie sleeves pulled down over my fingers. I didn’t even notice him until he dropped a paper cup in front of me.“Chai latte,” he said. “Extra cardamom. You look like you needed something warm.”I blinked up at him. “You just walk around reading girls’ minds now?”“Only yours, he replied.”He sat beside me, close but not too close. His presence was warm, easy. The kind of

By morning, the video is not out but I can’t breathe easily. That video still lives rent-free in my head like a loaded gun with the safety off and whoever is holding it has a steady hand.I haven’t told Noah yet. I don’t know if I’m protecting him or myself.The university calls me in before noon. There is no appointment, no warning, just a bland email with no subject line directing me to Room 406B of the admin building.That’s not a classroom. It’s where they hold hearings, the kind they don’t list on public calendars.I show up wearing the cleanest dress I can find, no makeup, no jewelry, hair pulled back like I’m trying to apologize with my appearance.I walk in and see three people waiting, a man in a blue suit who doesn’t smile, a woman with a clipboard, and an assistant who won’t make eye contact. Noah’s not here. There is no lawyer, no advocate, just me.“Miss Carter,” the woman says, flipping a folder open. “We’ll be asking you a few questions today.”“Am I in trouble?”“No,”