Lahat ng Kabanata ng Teach me to desire : Kabanata 1 - Kabanata 10

The Imperfect SonKillian PovEverywhere I look, people are watching. The bouncers at the door give me a knowing stare, their silence a more powerful judgment than any words could be. A woman in a neat, professional outfit, waiting for a taxi, glances at me, her eyes lingering for just a second too long before she looks away with a flicker of polite disgust. I'm a mess. My hair is a tangled wreck, my shirt is rumpled, and the scent of another man is on my skin. I feel their eyes on my back as I walk away.My phone buzzes in my pocket, vibrating against my leg. Once, twice, then a third time. I already know who it is. Missed calls, texts piling up. It’s my father. The thought of his name sends a jolt of pure fear through me, followed by a wave of white-hot anger. He’s already calling. He doesn’t wait. He needs to make sure I haven't strayed from the path he so carefully paved for me. Remember to be charming. Don't be late. The Millers are important. His words flash through my mind, a c

Who Am I?Igor PovThe morning light shines through the high windows of the mansion, brightening the house. I stand at the glass, a cup of untouched coffee in my hand, and stare at the perfect lawn. The world outside is as meticulously ordered as the one I've built. The wealth, the status, the power, it’s all a perfectly constructed life.A sigh escapes me, a hollow sound that seems to get swallowed by the quiet space. I should feel something. Contentment, satisfaction, a sense of accomplishment. But all I feel is a gnawing emptiness. The memory of that night returns, a vivid, jarring color. A club, a boy, a moment of reckless, unthinking abandon. It was raw, honest, and utterly real. For the first time in what feels like a lifetime, I felt something. The shame is a cold wave, crashing over me. A married man. For heaven's sake, I'm a man who has built a life on discipline and control, and I threw it all away for a stranger in a dark room.“Darling,” a voice, as cool as the floors, ca

The Research ProjectThe three days following the ultimatum in the classroom were the longest of my life. I felt like I was walking on a sheet of ice, brittle, transparent, and liable to crack under the slightest pressure. I moved my seat in the lecture hall from the second row to the back corner, positioning myself behind a mountain of a rugby player whose presence offered psychological, if not physical, shielding.It was an act of compliance, a visible effort to abide by Professor Thorne’s non-negotiable line. I focused on my notes, forcing my mind to chew on abstract economic theory, but every nerve ending was screaming his proximity. I could feel the gravity of his gaze even when I didn't dare look up.He won. He drew the line, and I stepped behind it. I’m doing exactly what he asked. I am being the perfect, obedient student. So why does this feel more like torture than compliance?I kept waiting for the relief he promised, the professional distance that was supposed to make ever

The Call of the WildThe silence of the Hayes Mansion, after my father’s glacial pronouncements, had begun to feel like a pressure chamber. Every minute I spent staring at the ceiling, I could hear the echo of his voice: Your time belongs to football and your future wife. And beneath that echo, the insidious, thrilling whisper of Igor Thorne: Mandatory weekly private consultations.I needed noise. I needed chaos. I needed anything that could scramble my brain and push the image of a severe, blue-eyed professor and his meticulously crafted syllabus of sin out of my head. I was Killian Hayes: star athlete, heir to a small empire, and soon-to-be politically aligned husband. I was not the pathetic student who felt the crushing weight of desire for his ethics-abiding, cold-blooded professor.When Leo pulled up in his absurdly loud sports car, a blur of neon and bad judgment, it felt like a lifeline.“Get in, prince of finance,” Leo yelled over the engine, grinning. “You look like you just

Confession to JulianIgor Pov The bar at the top of the Thorne Tower was always silent, reserved only for partners and family. It was the only place in the city where I could sit and feel the immense, cold weight of my success without the pretense of being on. I needed that silence tonight, a fortress against the high-pitched ringing in my ears that had started the moment Eleanor’s suspicion was confirmed.Julian, my childhood friend and Chief Legal Counsel, was already waiting at the corner booth, nursing a single malt. He looked up, and his sharp, intelligent eyes immediately narrowed when he saw my face.“Igor. You look like you’ve just audited your own soul and found it bankrupt,” he noted, pushing a glass of neat whiskey toward me.I slid into the leather booth, letting out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. The simple, non-judgmental act of Julian’s company was a momentary respite, a crack in the granite wall I constantly held up.“It’s worse than bankruptcy, Julian. Ba