All Chapters of The Professor's Bargain : Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

CLAIRE ANDERSON Dinner at the penthouse has become a carefully choreographed exercise in avoidance. We sit at opposite ends of the long marble table, the distance between us feeling less like space and more like a statement—a physical reminder of the boundaries he's so determined to maintain. Xavier eats in silence, his grey eyes fixed on his plate, his movements precise and economical, like he's performing a task he's done a thousand times before. The clink of his fork against the porcelain is the only sound, sharp and deliberate in the quiet room. I push my food around, stealing glances at him when I think he's not looking, trying to reconcile the man who leaves coats and coffee with the man who can barely acknowledge my existence.The dining room is a study in contradictions, much like the man who owns it. The table is grand enough to seat twelve, yet we occupy only two chairs at opposite ends. The chandelier above casts a warm, golden glow across the marble floor, but the space s

CLAIRE ANDERSON I'm curled up on the couch, halfway through a chapter I've read three times already, when I notice him standing in the doorway. He's still in his coat, his briefcase still in his hand, like he just walked through the door and forgot how to move. His grey eyes are fixed on the coffee table, on the worn paperback I left there three days ago, and his expression is strange—unreadable, caught somewhere between discomfort and something else I can't quite name. It's the same look I've seen him wear when he thinks I'm not watching, the mask slipping just enough for me to glimpse the man underneath. The man who leaves coats and coffee and folded cardigans in my room.I don't move. I don't speak. I just watch him, my breath caught in my throat, waiting for him to do something, say something, anything. The penthouse is quiet around us, the only sound the distant hum of the city below, and the silence feels fragile, like glass waiting to shatter. He reaches out, his fingers brush

CLAIRE ANDERSON I've been lying awake for hours, my mind refusing to quiet, when I catch it. A faint, warm scent drifting through the penthouse, so subtle I almost convince myself I'm imagining it. But it's there, persistent and comforting, cutting through the sterile air like a memory I can't quite place. I lie still, breathing it in, and I realize what it is. Bread. Fresh bread, baking in the middle of the night, in a house that's never felt less like a home. The smell is achingly human—flour and yeast and something warm and alive—in a space that's been nothing but cold marble and carefully curated emptiness since I arrived.I sit up slowly, my heart already beginning to race. The penthouse is dark, the only light coming from the faint glow of the city beyond the windows, and the silence is absolute. But the smell is unmistakable, growing stronger the longer I breathe it in. It's the same smell I caught that night I found his bed empty, the same smell I convinced myself was nothing

CLAIRE ANDERSON The morning light is pale and grey, filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows like diluted honey, and I'm still carrying the warmth of last night's bread in my chest. I slept better than I have in weeks, my dreams filled with flour-dusted hands and the quiet possibility of something more. But when I walk into the dining room, the fragile hope I've been nurturing shatters against the cold formality of Xavier's posture. He's already seated at the table, his grey eyes fixed on his phone, his coffee untouched, and the space between us has somehow grown wider overnight."Good morning," I say, settling into my chair across from him. The distance feels like a canyon, and I can't help but wonder if last night even happened at all.He looks up, and for a brief moment, I search his face for any trace of the man from the kitchen—the vulnerability, the softness, the way he offered me bread like it was a piece of himself. It's gone. The mask is back, smooth and impenetrable,

CLAIRE ANDERSON The front door swings open before I can raise my hand to knock, and I find myself enveloped in a cloud of soft perfume and warmth before I've even registered what's happening. Rosie Carrington pulls me into a hug so immediate, so unguarded, that I forget to breathe for a moment. Her arms are slender but strong, and she holds me like I'm someone she's been waiting to meet for a long time."Claire," she says, pulling back to look at me, her eyes bright with genuine warmth. "Finally. I've been so eager to meet you." Her smile is wide and uncomplicated, crinkling the corners of her soft brown eyes. "Xavier has told me so little about you—which, knowing him, means he's told me nothing at all. So you'll have to forgive me if I'm a bit forward. I've been waiting years for him to bring someone home."I glance over my shoulder at Xavier, who's standing just behind me, his expression carefully neutral. He looks like he's already retreated into himself, the mask firmly in place.