All Chapters of My professor, my stalker: Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

We replay the footage. 1 p.m., the rush of students flooding the hallway, lockers clanging, sneakers squeaking, hundreds of bodies moving like a river—and then, black. Blank. Empty. Nothing. “Someone deleted it,” the guard mutters, his deep voice sharp with frustration. My breathing picks up, fast and shallow. Sam turns to me, concern written across his face. “Who? Who has access to the cameras?” Tessa asks, her voice sharp but tinged with fear as she looks at me. “I do,” the guard replies, eyes locking on mine. “I’m the only one with access. Nobody else. Everybody has to go through me.” My skin prickles. A cold shiver crawls down my spine. He turns back to the screen, voice low, dangerous. “This was done from inside this room. Someone must’ve broken in after hours. I will find them. Nobody goes through my work without my permission.” I don't hear anything anymore. I shake my head. “Someone is after me… someone is following me… stalking me.” Sam grabs my arms, gentle but fi

“He’s so intimidating,” Sam blurts the second we arrive back at Tessa, flopping into the chair like a man defeated by desire. “Who?” Tessa asks without looking up from her laptop, fingers still dancing across the keys. “Madden,” Sam replies, voice low and reverent. “He’s so… manly.” Tessa finally lifts her gaze. “Manly?” “Yeah,” Sam says, leaning back, chest puffed slightly. “Like he could fuck your brains out five times a day and still take you out for dinner afterward. A real man.” “Jesus, Sam,” I groan, the image searing itself into my mind. “Will you calm down? We’re in a library and he could hear you right now.” Tessa leans back, smirk curling her lips. “Well… he’s right. That man looks like he has stamina. Have you seen that body? There’s no way he’s a one-and-done kind of guy. He looks… thorough.” Sam sighs, exaggeratedly disappointed. “Thorough and completely straight, unfortunately.” I pat his arm lovingly. “Your time will come. Did the security guard message you at a

He walks in with a group of men behind him, and the instant his eyes land on me, it feels like the room tilts. And then I feel it—the way his gaze travels. Not to my face, not to my eyes, but lower. Down to my ass. My ass, barely covered by the leather mini skirt. He doesn't even look at me. He just looks straight down, as if drawn there. Fuck. I force myself to look away, to the group of boys in front of me, refusing to acknowledge him, refusing to acknowledge any of them. Unprofessional. Un-server-like. But my pulse is thundering in my ears, my mind screaming at me to disappear. This can't be happening. “And so I bought the orange Ferrari. What’s your favorite color, pretty?” One of the boys leans forward, grinning like he owns the world. Madden and his men walk past me, some of them laughing too loudly, the sound jarring in the dimly lit diner. They don't care that people are watching them. My fingers curl around the tray I’m holding, knuckles blanching. I fight the urge to

“Coming right up!” Evee sings happily, her voice carrying across the diner like a bell, bright and teasing. She scoops up five large wine glasses from the back, balancing them expertly on a serving tray. I skate behind her, careful not to slip on some wet streaks, and grab one of our darkest, richest bottles of red wine. It’s just under room temperature, perfect for pouring. My fingers curl around the bottle opener, its odd shape catching the dim light, a strange little detail I always notice. Evee glides in front of me, glasses balanced like a chalice-bearing angel, and I follow closely, wine and opener in hand, moving toward the nightmare table. Liam’s eyes lock on mine the second I reach the table. Mr. Madden ignores me. The other three men glance at Evee, obviously distracted by her confident grin and the way she moves. She meets each of their eyes deliberately, sliding the glasses across the table with a flourish, teasing and professional all at once. I love this wine. It'

We make our way back into the diner slowly, like stepping out of one world and into another. I follow Mr. Madden, balancing four heavy candles in my hands, my gaze fixed on his back while my thoughts spiral completely out of control. The diner is swallowed by darkness. Not dim—black. The kind of darkness that erases everything, where shapes blur and people become nothing but moving shadows. Evee sets her flashlight down on the counter, angling it toward the ceiling so the faint beam scatters across the room. One by one, customers step in to help, striking matches, lighting candles, placing them wherever they can—on tables, windowsills, corners. Small flames begin to flicker to life, fragile but warm, chasing away the worst of the dark. I light a cherry-scented candle, the flame dancing instantly, casting a soft glow over my hands. And him. Mr. Madden stands right in front of me, watching me over the small flame. The light flickers across his face, catching in his grey eyes, turni