All Chapters of Sex With The Ruthless Alpha Professor : Chapter 101 - Chapter 110

Rose’s POV Jason didn’t speak again until we were behind another locked door.This time it wasn’t the faculty washroom, or his office, or any half-stolen corner of the academy where privacy felt temporary and fragile. It was his quarters again—his real space, the only place on campus that consistently felt like the outside world had to ask permission before crossing the threshold.He closed the door behind us with quiet care, not force, and for a moment he simply stood there with one hand still resting on the brass handle, shoulders rigid beneath his dark coat.I stayed where I was.Not because I was afraid of him.Not because I wanted distance.Because I could feel, through the bond, how tightly he was holding himself together.The air in the room felt different now.Not tense in the same way it had after the cafeteria.Not jagged.Heavier.Deeper.As if we had walked in carrying not just the day, but years of something unfinished that had finally decided it would no longer stay bur

Rose’s POV The second hearing was held three days later.Three days of whispers.Three days of glances that stopped a fraction too late.Three days of phones lowered too quickly when I passed.Three days of Lila walking the halls like she hadn’t publicly tried to flay me alive with her words, like she wasn’t now being quietly pulled into a separate inquiry over the cafeteria incident. Three days of Adrian Blackwood moving through the edges of academy life like a shadow in a tailored suit, never quite near enough to provoke, never far enough to forget.And three days of Jason telling me the truth in pieces.Not all at once.Never all at once.But enough.Enough that I understood the shape of what he had been trying to say in his quarters that night. Enough that I no longer heard Adrian’s accusations as cleanly as I had in the washroom corridor. Enough that whenever I looked at Jason now, I saw not only the man who held me steady, but the boy who had once learned the wrong lessons abou

Rose’s POV The door shut behind us with a muted, final click.For one suspended second, I just stood there.I could still feel the shape of the room at my back like something branded into my skin—the long polished table, Renwick’s careful voice, Whitmore’s measured stare, the scratching rhythm of the clerk’s keys, Adrian’s unreadable face, Jason’s stillness beside me. My pulse was beating too high in my throat, too hard in my wrists, too loud in the bond for me to hear the corridor properly at first.Then the hallway rushed back.The cooler air.The old stone smell of the administrative wing.A pair of distant footsteps fading down the far staircase.My own breathing, uneven and too shallow.Jason’s hand was still at the small of my back.Warm.Steady.Present in that quiet, infuriatingly powerful way only he could manage—never forcing, never crowding, just there with enough certainty to keep me from drifting apart entirely.The bond between us had changed again.Not the bright heat

Rose’s POV By the time we got back to Jason’s quarters, the academy had gone soft around the edges.Not quiet—never truly quiet—but softened by evening. The halls we crossed on the way home no longer held the hard, public brightness of day. Voices were lower behind closed doors. Lamps glowed in windows. The quad beyond the stone arches lay in pools of amber and shadow, students moving through it in ones and twos instead of crowds.It should have felt easier.In some ways, it did.But Adrian’s last words had followed me all the way back.*Be careful what you make sacred.*They had lodged somewhere under my ribs—not because I thought he was right, not exactly, but because he had that infuriating gift for touching the edge of a real fear and pressing there until it bruised.Jason unlocked the door and let me step inside first.The room greeted us with warmth, dim lamplight, and the faint scent of cedar, books, and the tea we had left forgotten on the side table hours earlier. Everything

Rose's POV The folded note was delivered by one of Dean Whitmore’s assistants just before the lunch bell, when the library sat in that tense, too-still hush that always seemed to settle before rain. She moved past rows of students bent over textbooks and tablets, her shoes barely making a sound on the worn runner between shelves, and stopped at my table with the polite neutrality of someone handing over something that might change a life.“Miss Hale,” she said quietly.Every head within ten feet looked up.I felt it like a shift in air pressure.I looked at the note instead of at them.Cream paper. Dean’s seal pressed into dark wax at the fold. My name written in a careful administrative hand.My fingers were steady when I took it.I have no idea how.“Thank you,” I said.She nodded once and left without another word.The silence she left behind was louder than if she’d announced me to the entire room.I broke the seal.The message inside was short.Too short.> Miss Hale, > You ar