Todos los capítulos de My professor, my stalker: Capítulo 51 - Capítulo 60

“Well, guys,” Mr. Madden announces, his voice cutting cleanly through the overlapping chatter. He’s the only one still standing, and somehow that alone is enough to draw everyone’s attention. We all look up at him. “Cheers.” He raises his glass, effortless, and one by one, we follow, a scattered echo of cheers filling the room as glass meets glass in the air. “This is so exciting,” Tessa grins, already taking a sip of her wine, her eyes practically glowing. Mr. Madden sits down again, and the moment he does, his knee brushes mine under the table. The contact is light. Accidental. And yet.. My entire body reacts. I jerk my legs away too quickly, shifting to the other side, only to bump straight into Nick. Shit. Heat floods my face as I awkwardly pull my knees inward, pressing them together like that will somehow make me take up less space. Like I can just… disappear into the middle. I take a large gulp of wine. Around me, everyone starts filling their plates, the soft scrape

Nick shoots up like the bed is on fire beneath him, dragging Delilah up with him in one swift motion. Tessa appears at my side out of nowhere, pressing herself against me as she leans in to get a better look, curiosity written all over her face. For a second, I forget about them. My gaze drifts past them—into the room. The bedroom is… stunning. Floor-to-ceiling glass stretches across the entire wall, revealing the city beyond like a living painting. Even now, with the lights on, it’s breathtaking. I can only imagine what it must look like at night, the room dark, the city glowing back in perfect reflection. The bed is massive, dressed in dark grey sheets that look impossibly soft, a large mirror mounted behind the headboard—positioned just right. It feels like I'm seeing something I'm not supposed to see. I mean, I probably am. “Sorry!” Nick blurts, already moving, one hand clamped around Delilah’s as he practically sprints toward us like he’s trying to outrun the situation. H

I wake to a flash. It cuts through the haze of sleep, sharp and intrusive, and my eyes blink open slowly, struggling to focus. For a second, everything is blurred—shapes, shadows, soft light filtering through the cabin—but then it settles. Sam is standing in front of me. Holding his phone. Pointed directly at me. Did he just take a picture of me? I frown, my brain still catching up, irritation flickering through the fog—and then it hits me. Oh. My stomach drops. I’m holding onto Mr. Madden’s arm like it’s the only thing keeping me grounded, my fingers curled into the fabric of his sweater, nails half digging in. My head is pressed against his shoulder, tucked into the curve of him like I belong there. And he— He’s leaning into me. His head rests partly on top of mine, his breathing slow and even, deep in sleep. Mr. Madden is asleep. On me. We’re tangled together in a way that feels far too intimate. The armrest between us has been completely sacrificed, crushed under the wei

“This is a suite,” Sam says the moment we step inside ou room, his voice filled with disbelief. “This is one hundred percent a suite. Look at the size of this room.” My gaze drifts slowly across the space, taking everything in piece by piece, like my mind needs time to process it all. The room is far larger than I expected—larger than any hotel room I’ve ever been in. A four-poster bed dominates the left side, its dark wood frame carved with intricate details, draped in deep red and gold sheets that look almost too luxurious to touch. The fabric catches the dim lighting, giving off a soft, warm sheen. Across from it sits a freestanding bathtub, positioned right beside a tall window that overlooks the narrow street below. The curtains are half drawn, letting in just enough of the outside world to remind me where we are—though it already feels far away. There’s a seating area near the fireplace, plush couches arranged in a way that invites you to sink into them and stay there for ho

His three friends turn to me almost in unison, their attention shifting with a sharpness that makes me feel momentarily assessed, weighed. The one who had laughed earlier steps forward first, extending a glass of red wine toward me with an easy confidence that mirrors the man standing far too close at my side. “Tristan said you liked red,” he says, amusement flickering in his eyes like he’s already in on a joke I haven’t been told yet. I glance sideways at the man who's plastered against me and find him already looking at me. There’s something unreadable in his expression, something that lingers just a second too long. My eyebrow lifts before I can stop it, a silent question passing between us. Have you been talking about me? His gaze doesn’t waver. If anything, it darkens slightly, like he enjoys the implication. “I do,” I say instead, turning back as I take a sip. The wine is rich, heavier than anything I’m used to, the taste grounding me. “This is Matthew,” Mr. Madden says,