Semua Bab My professor, my stalker: Bab 81 - Bab 90

I spend the day at Tessa’s, curled up on her couch with a tub of melting ice cream balanced between us. The curtains stay half-drawn, muting the winter light into something soft and distant, like the world outside doesn’t quite belong to us. Movies play back-to-back, blending into each other without me really following any of them. Tessa sniffles beside me, wrapped in three blankets, her head occasionally tipping onto my shoulder before she drifts off again. She’s asleep more than she’s awake. At some point, she stops pretending to watch entirely, breathing evening out as she sinks deeper into the cushions, her fever finally dragging her under for good. I stay there anyway, spooning ice cream I don’t taste into my mouth, staring at a screen I don’t see, my thoughts looping in places I don’t want them to go. By the time Tessa’s parents step into the living room, gently reminding me she needs rest, she’s already been asleep for hours. I murmur something back, something polite, and ca

I step toward the door, frustration simmering just beneath my skin, hot and restless. Of course this didn’t work. Of course simply telling him I wasn’t interested wouldn’t magically undo whatever twisted thing this is between us. What was I even thinking? “I need to go,” I say, forcing strength into my voice as I reach for the handle. “There are hot boys waiting for me.” “Raven,” he says, almost lazily, like this is a conversation he’s already had a hundred times in his head. “Believe me when I say that if you touch one of them… you’ll find their hands on your doorstep tomorrow morning.” I still. A chill slips down my spine, slow and deliberate. “You won’t,” I say, but there’s hesitation now, a crack forming in my certainty. Is he serious? His expression doesn’t change. “You know my family, little bird,” he replies with a small shrug, like that alone should explain everything. “Don’t call me that—” KNOCK KNOCK Tristan exhales, irritation flickering across his face before it

When I get home, the first thing I do is throw my heels. They hit the wall harder than intended, clattering into the corner like something discarded, something ruined. The sound echoes through the house—and then fades into nothing. Silence. Zara hasn't been home. I can just feel it. The stale air, the coldness. I swallow that thought down and pull my phone from my bag, surprised when the screen lights up without issue. Zara’s name flashes across my notifications. Multiple missed calls. A voicemail. I press play. Her voice fills the quiet instantly—frantic, breathless, on edge. “Raven, what the hell? Why did you run off? That was my boss—what were you thinking? Where did you go? I’ve been trying to call you all night.” A pause. She's angry. “I’m staying with Ryan for a few days. Just—call me back. Please. As soon as you get this.” I stare at the screen for a second before calling her back, letting it ring until it drops to voicemail. “I’m home,” I say, my voice quieter now, dist

I’m jelly. Completely, utterly jelly. My body feels like it’s melted into the mattress, every limb heavy, every thought slow and soft around the edges. Warmth lingers everywhere, wrapping around me like something dangerous disguised as comfort. The world feels… quiet. Safe. Which is insane. He presses a kiss to my stomach, slow, careful, and when I force my eyes open, I find him already watching me. There’s something in his expression—something proud. Possessive. Like he’s pleased with what he’s done. I try to speak. My lips don't even part. Not a single coherent thought. My tongue feels too heavy, my brain too slow. If I opened my mouth, I’m pretty sure it would just be nonsense. What the hell was that? Is this normal? “I’d fuck you now,” he murmurs against my skin, his voice low, almost thoughtful. “But I’m pretty sure you’ll fall asleep in the next few seconds.” A pause. His lips brush my skin again. “Next time.” He starts untying my ankle. The loss of pressure is strang

“Are attacks in intimate partner homicides often impulsive,” he asks, his voice smooth and measured, “or symbolic? What falls into which category?” A few tentative answers rise from the room, scattered and uncertain. Then— “Raven.” My head snaps up. Tristan is standing at the front of the classroom, still leaning against his desk, the other making a small, lazy motion for me to come closer. He doesn’t even look at me when he does it, as if my obedience is already assumed. “Come here.” What? My face falls. For a second, I don’t move. Every student in the room turns toward me, curiosity crackling through the air like static. Sam glances at me. Shit. Slowly, I push back my chair and rise, painfully aware of the way the room seems to sharpen around me. Every footstep down the aisle feels louder than it should, the sound of my boots echoing against the tiered floor as I walk straight toward the front. Straight toward him. Toward my stalker. The thought slithers through me, cold a