All Chapters of My professor, my stalker: Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

I scream as loud as I can, the sound ripping out of me raw and uncontrollable. My foot slips on the wet tiles as I scramble backward, panic overtaking any sense of balance, and I crash against the wall, hot water still pouring over me, almost suffocating in its intensity.The light snaps on. Blinding. Harsh. White.I gasp, disoriented, my elbow slamming hard against the tiles behind me. Pain explodes up my arm—I feel something crack, sharp and wrong—and I choke on the sensation, struggling to see through the water streaming down my face.“Raven!”The voice cuts through everything.Familiar.I twist the shower knob with shaking hands, turning the water off so abruptly the sudden silence feels just as deafening. My chest heaves as I stand there, soaked, trembling, adrenaline still flooding my veins.Zara. It’s just Zara.Relief crashes into me so hard my knees almost give out.She stands in the doorway, eyes wide, confusion and concern written all over her face as she takes me in—my sha

When I wake, I'm tired as hell.It’s not just tired—it’s heavy. It clings to me, sits behind my eyes, drags at my limbs like I didn’t rest at all. Like something kept me awake even when I wasn’t conscious enough to remember it.Zara left an hour before my alarm. I remember the shift in the mattress, the quiet rustle of fabric, the soft click of the door. After that, I drifted in and out—minutes at a time, never deep enough to feel safe, never light enough to fully wake.When my alarm finally goes off, I stare at the ceiling for a long moment before I even move. My body feels wrong. My skin feels… aware. Like it remembers something my mind is still trying to deny.I force myself up. The mirror is brutal.I look like death. Pale, shadows carved deep under my eyes, lips slightly parted like I forgot how to breathe properly. There’s something off in my expression too—something unsettled.For the first time ever, I straighten my hair.It’s a distraction more than anything, something to foc

“I’ve made a list of potential attendees for the international criminal convention,” Mr. Madden announces, voice cutting through the quiet hum of the classroom. The class collectively gasps. Sam sits up straighter. Even my eyes are drawn involuntarily to the board, my pulse picking up speed before I even see what he’s showing. A picture appears. A building. Not just any building, but a fortress. Ancient stone spiraling upward, curling into impossible heights, crowned with spires that seem to scrape the sky. Armed guards dot the perimeter with cold precision, each one a silent sentinel standing only a meter apart. Every detail screams danger, authority, control. “That’s the international criminal convention?!” Katie squeaks, her voice too high, too incredulous. “It’s a highly anticipated event,” Mr. Madden explains. “The most notorious criminals will try to get in. Imagine currying favor with the judge of your case before he ever sees you in court. Maybe bribe him on the spot. Or…

The field is a blur of dark blue and orange, a clash of color and noise that vibrates through the air like a living thing. Our team is already spread across the grass, bodies loose, voices loud, energy high. There’s something infectious about it—the anticipation, the aggression barely held in check, the thrill of impact waiting to happen. On the other side, the opposing team moves like a different species entirely. Tight orange shirts stretch across broad chests, short shorts leaving nothing to the imagination, muscles flexing as they slam into each other in practice drills, laughing like collisions don’t hurt. Like pain is part of the fun. I fold my arms loosely, pretending to watch the warm-up, pretending I’m present. In reality, I’ve spent the entire day doing one thing and one thing only: avoiding him. Every hallway turn, every classroom shift, every accidental glance that almost happened—I dodged it. Like prey learning the pattern of a predator. But no matter where I went, the

I frown when my fingers come up empty. That’s… not right. I dig into the usual pocket again, slower this time, more deliberate, like the keys might magically appear if I just try harder. Nothing. Just the lining of my bag and a rising sense of unease crawling up my spine. “No, no, no…” I mutter under my breath, pushing deeper, rummaging through everything—lip balm, notebook, loose receipts—my movements getting faster, less controlled. I open the bag wider, peering inside as if that will help. It doesn’t. “It’s too cold to stand out here, Raven,” Mr. Madden says from right behind me. His voice is calm, steady, but the proximity of him—his heat, his presence—makes it harder to think straight. My fingers keep moving, uselessly searching. “I can’t find my key,” I say, the panic slipping into my voice despite trying to hold it back. “You lost it?” he asks. “I…” I stop, finally lifting my head. The sky has gone fully dark now. The parking lot is nearly empty, shadows stretching lo