But now everything was fucked. Because Edwina was here. And she wasn’t something I could run from. She wasn’t a mistake I could bury. She was the one goddamn thing that made it impossible to keep pretending I was still in control. Every time she looked at me, every word that came out of her mouth, she tore through the walls I’d built and left nothing but raw nerve behind. I’d told myself I’d keep my distance, that I’d stay detached until it was time to disappear again, but distance didn’t mean shit anymore. She was already inside every part of me I couldn’t guard.
I hadn’t thought I’d ever see her again after that night. But then she’d been there, staring right at me with those eyes that saw too much, and I’d known, instantly and without question, that I wasn’t letting her go again. Not now. Not ever. She was mine, and I’d burn the fucking world before I let anyone touch what was mine.
What I felt for her had started as obsession, a sharp, relentless thing I could shove down when I needed to. But now? Now it wasn’t something I could control. It was in my bloodstream, crawling through every vein, pulsing with every heartbeat. I didn’t know if it was love, madness, or something darker and more fucked up than either, and I didn’t give a damn what name anyone wanted to give it. All I knew was that she belonged to me in a way that went deeper than reason, deeper than blood or bone, and I couldn’t fucking breathe without her anymore. She was there in my head when I tried to sleep, in my lungs when I tried to breathe, in the quiet moments that used to be mine. Every thought led back to her. Every breath hurt without her in it.
I didn’t just want her. I needed her, in the brutal, all-consuming way that made everything else meaningless. And I would tear down every barrier, crush every rule, destroy every life that dared to keep her from me if that’s what it took to have her. Because she was mine. Not for a night. Not for a year. Forever. And I refused to live in a world where she didn’t exist beside me.
I could still feel her, the freezing weight of her body in my arms, the tremor in her voice when she said my name, the way her lips had tasted of snow and salt and something that still burned through me hours later. That memory wouldn’t fade, it was carved too deep.
I wasn’t leaving. Not this time. Not for Alessia. Not for my family. Not for the fucked-up name I was born into.
And that truth, that I’d stopped running the second she looked at me, that scared the living shit out of me more than Alessia ever could.
Chapter Twenty-One
Edwina
Thecampuscarriedastrange weight that morning, an almost imperceptible shift beneath the surface of things. Snow still clung stubbornly to the stone steps, the wind still sliced through the air with its usual bite, yet something in me had changed. My body moved through the motions, but each step hummed with awareness, with a tension I couldn’t name or shake.
Aster walked beside me, quiet but present, her shoulder brushing mine whenever I drifted too close to losing balance. Gwen trailed just behind us, her expression fixed in the kind of determination that needed no words. I had insisted that I was fine, that my legs no longer trembled and my head no longer spun, but they stayed close anyway, as if their nearness might protect me from something neither of us could see.
When we reached the lecture hall, it was half full, the usual murmur of voices threading through the space. I slipped into my seat, my notebook open, pen poised, the illusion of calm carefully drawn over the storm still moving inside me.
Then the door opened.
He walked in with a calm that bordered on dangerous, his face giving nothing away, each motion purposeful and measured, the kind of control that came from a man who refused to let the world see what lived beneath his skin. It was as if the mountain, the storm, the hospital bed where he’d stood over me, none of it had ever existed. But I felt it. The air changed with every step he took toward the desk, the room shifting around his presence. His gaze brushed over me once, barely long enough to notice, and yet it landed with a force that made my pulse stumble. He set his notes down, adjusted his cufflinks, then the edge of his glasses, the kind of habit born from too much restraint.
Hayden Stone. The man who had carried me out of the snow when my body had already begun to give up. The same man who had kissed me hours later as if it were both punishment and salvation. My professor. The one I wasn’t supposed to crave. The one who had already marked something in me I couldn’t reclaim.
When he began to speak, his voice filled the room with its usual control, but beneath the surface there was something else, something roughened at the edges. Each word seemed to find me where I sat, pressing just hard enough to remind me of everything that had happened and everything we were pretending hadn’t.
I tried to focus, to keep my pen moving, to hear the rhythm of his words as nothing more than instruction, but I couldn’t. My hand trembled each time his gaze flickered across the room and caught on me. It was only for a heartbeat, but it carried enough weight to make the air catch in my throat.
When the lecture drew to an end, it was with the same precision that always marked his classes. He closed his notes, slipped them into his leather folio, and scanned the room in silence, his attention drifting across the rows with a quiet authority that left little room for distraction.
“I expect all term project drafts on my desk by Friday,” he said, his tone sharp enough to silence the low hum of movement. “That’s two days from now. And before anyone asks, no, there will be no extensions.”
The room shifted into its familiar rhythm, chairs scraping, students packing up, the soft shuffle of bodies eager to leave. I kept my gaze on my notebook, pretending to write, hoping he would let me disappear with the crowd.
He didn’t.
“Miss Carter.”
My name hit the air with a clarity that silenced everything else. I looked up, my pulse thudding so hard I could hear it in my ears. His eyes met mine, focused and unwavering, holding a depth that revealed nothing.
“See me after class,” he said. “In my office. We need to finalize the symposium materials. Time’s running short, and I expect everything in order.”
My hand tightened around my pen, the metal biting into my fingers. “Yes, Professor,” I managed, the words barely more than a whisper.
He gave no response, only gathered his papers, sliding them into his case with unhurried care before walking toward the door. But I felt the command linger in the air between us, an invisible tether pulling tight around my chest.
By the time the room emptied, I was still sitting there, my pulse unsteady, the echo of his voice still threading through me—quiet, undeniable, and impossible to ignore.
Aster leaned in as I slid my notebook into my bag, her voice dipping to a hushed murmur meant only for me. “Well, well…someone’s in trouble. Or maybe not trouble. Depends on what you’re into.”
I turned just enough to meet her smirk with a glare that didn’t land the way I wanted it to, heat already rising beneath my skin. “It’s about the symposium,” I said under my breath, standing and tugging the strap of my bag into place.
“Uh-huh,” she drawled, eyes glinting. “Sure it is.”
