All Chapters of My Best Friend’s Brother Is My Professor—And He Wants Me: Chapter 111 - Chapter 120

Elena CarsonThe movie marathon was Nora’s idea.We started at six with the intention of clearing as much of our shared watchlist as possible before exam month turned free time into a rumor. By eleven we are deep into the third film, blankets tangled around our legs, empty mugs on the coffee table, the apartment lit only by the television’s shifting glow. We have cried twice—once during a quiet farewell scene neither of us expected to hit that hard, once during something stupidly romantic that Nora claimed she was only watching ironically.Nora stretches, toes pushing against my thigh. “We should have done this a long time ago.”I laugh under my breath. “We always say that.”“This time I mean it.”I glance at my phone on the arm of the couch. No call from Killian. No text beyond the earlier one about drinks with Ronald and Emma. He’s probably still out. Having fun. With Ronald. And Emma. The thought tries to curl into something sharper. I don’t let it. We are past the version of

Elena CarsonNora pulls out of the lot without asking where I want to go.I don’t tell her. I couldn’t form the words even if I tried. The phone is still in my hand, the screen now dark, but the images sit behind my eyes with perfect clarity. Killian’s mouth on mine outside the building. His arms under my knees and back as he carried me. Ordinary moments that were never supposed to exist outside the two of us, now cropped, timestamped, and passed between strangers.Nora glances over. “Elena. Breathe.”“I am.”“You’re not. Talk to me.”I shake my head once and stare out the window. Campus falls away. The streets blur. My mind does not blur with them, it sharpens, cataloguing every consequence in ruthless order.The university will not ignore this. A professor and an undergraduate. The power imbalance alone is enough for formal review, suspension, worse. Killian’s temporary leave from teaching will look calculated in hindsight, like he stepped away because he knew the risk was risin

Elena CarsonThe last three days have passed in a strange, muffled loop.I have not set foot on campus. The thought of walking those corridors under the weight of those photographs makes my stomach turn before I even finish imagining it. Instead I have stayed inside Killian’s penthouse, moving between the bedroom and the living room like a guest who has overstayed but has nowhere else that feels safe. Nora brings food and updates. Killian comes back late, quiet, controlled, the stress sitting in the line of his shoulders even when he tries to hide it. We sleep in the same bed. We speak carefully. He faces the board in a week. I face them today.My mother has called six times. I have answered none of them. I cannot yet hold the conversation where she asks if I am all right and I have to decide how much truth to give her. I pull the hood of Killian’s sweatshirt higher over my hair and step out of the bedroom. The penthouse is quiet. Nora is already downstairs in the lobby; sh

Killian DavenportMy hands are steady when I button the dark shirt, but the rest of me is not.The mirror reflects a man who looks composed, straight collar and neutral expression, the usual armor. Underneath it the tension sits low in my belly. Today the university board gets its turn with me. Elena already walked through their questions and came home hollowed out by the experience. Now they will attempt to fit me into the role they have already half-assigned: the professor who crossed a line, the man who should have known better, the liability.I step out of the bedroom. Elena is dressed in baggy jeans and one of my hoodies, hair pulled back, the diamond necklace hidden under the fabric. I love that she has never taken it off since he say l have it to her. I told her Nora could drive her so we would not arrive together. She refused. She is stepping onto campus grounds for the first time since the photographs surfaced, and she wants the ride to happen with me.“You ready?” I as

Killian DavenportShe is still trembling lightly in my lap when I decide the car is not enough.The lookout is quiet, the city spread out below us in indifferent lights, but I want her somewhere with a door that locks and a bed that does not require us to watch the windows. I ease her back into the passenger seat, help her find her jeans in the dark, and start the engine while she is still catching her breath. She glances at me once, cheeks flushed, eyes soft with the leftover haze of what I just did to her, and does not ask why we are moving. She trusts the decision. That trust sits warm and heavy behind my ribs the entire drive back.The penthouse garage is empty when we pull in. I take her hand in the elevator and keep it. The moment the front door closes behind us I have her against it, mouth on hers, the taste of vanilla ice cream and her still mixed on my tongue. She makes a small sound into the kiss and fists her hands in the front of my shirt.“Bedroom,” I say against h