Chapter 16

Avery’s POV

The morning air bit at my skin. My car, a dark extension of the Von Carter name, glided to its stop in front of the grand stone steps of the college building, the sunlight bouncing off its polished surface.

The Von Carter name carried a heavy, invisible weight, a silent command that made heads turn and whispers follow as I stepped out, my leather bag slung over one shoulder. Inside, the hallways buzzed with the kinetic energy of students—the chaotic sounds of laughter, chatter, and rushing footsteps on the floors.

Like clockwork, two insistent voices called my name before I made it halfway to the lecture hall.

“Ave!” Elize sang out, her mischievous eyes glinting with purpose as she nudged Victoria.

Victoria raised a sculpted brow, her lips curving into the knowing smile she wore when she dropped a demanding social invitation I usually swatted away. “Tonight. There’s a massive party happening at the bar downtown. You are coming, Avery. No arguments.”

I chuckled under my breath, shoving my hands deep into my pockets, adopting my defense posture. “Really? Straight to the point? Not even a polite hello first, Victoria? The subtlety is appreciated.”

Elize rolled her eyes, throwing her hands up in theatrical exasperation. “Hello, darling Avery. Now, quit being difficult and elusive. You’ve missed like the last two, no—three major parties. You’re becoming a social ghost, and it’s impacting our fun.”

I smirked, arching a challenging brow. “And here I thought being elusive made me mysterious, Elize. Isn’t that precisely the goal of the social elite?”

Victoria leaned closer, lowering her voice with a sudden, mock-serious intimacy. “It makes you boring, Ave. And I know, deep down, that you need this. Serious stress relief. Don’t think we haven’t noticed the immense pressure you’re under.”

My smirk faltered, the playful challenge draining away, replaced by the sting of her accuracy. They were not wrong, and that truth felt heavier than usual.

Between the endless TA duties, the effort of maintaining that perfect Von Carter image, and the volatile storm that was Professor Rose’s constant, charged presence in my life, my chest carried a dense, aching weight I could not shake.

I breathed out, a sound of reluctant capitulation, nodding. “Fine. Tonight, I’ll go. I will drink, I will attempt to socialize, but don’t make me regret this social effort. You owe me.”

Both of them squealed in sync, exchanging a victorious high-five before pulling me toward the classroom, their mission accomplished with speed. The chaotic chatter of the lecture hall died when she walked in.

Professor Rose.

Her presence filled the expansive hall without her trying, absorbing all the air and attention. That stoic, icy facade—cold, poised, untouchable—settled over her features like a crafted mask she wore so flawlessly that no one dared to question its existence.

Her heels clicked with rhythmic precision against the floor as she approached the desk, her gaze sweeping over the room like a silent, powerful command for order. She placed her notes down with practiced grace, looked up, and began the routine.

“Class.” Her voice was low, cutting through the heavy silence like steel through silk. “Before we begin today’s material, I have an important announcement. There will be a mandatory test on all previous material in one week. The marks from this examination will be added to your final exam score.”

Groans erupted across the hall, a collective sound of student anguish, but she raised her hand, and the room fell back into frustrated submission.

“No arguments. No excuses. Prepare yourselves.”

Her eyes lingered on me for a fraction longer than necessary, a subtle acknowledgment, before shifting away. My lips curved with a faint smirk at being noticed, even in that accusatory way.

“Now,” she continued, opening her textbook with a snap, “bring out your Geography books. We will proceed to the unit on Physical Geography.”

I flipped mine open, the cool paper brushing my fingertips. And then, the peculiar magic began again.

The way she spoke was unlike any professor I had ever encountered. She didn’t simply teach. She made the complex, dry subject matter breathe, made it come alive with vivid, unexpected imagery.

She spoke of mountains like they were ancient, immutable guardians of the earth, of rivers like essential, pulsing veins of life, and of the entire universe like an infinite, orchestrated symphony. Her words painted stunning imagery in my mind—celestial bodies gliding across darkness, tectonic plates shifting with monumental force beneath our feet, the earth’s crust dancing with fiery, primal magma beneath its calm, delicate facade.

I found myself captivated. Not just by the depth of the content, but by the precise, elegant way her voice carried both authority and grace, the way her eyes lit up when explaining a complex concept, betraying a rare, profound passion hidden beneath that maintained icy exterior.

Time slipped by unnoticed, the lecture ending in a flash. And then, far too soon, she closed her book with a snap.

“That will be all for today,” she declared, her voice formal. “Class dismissed.”

Students gathered their things, chairs scraping, footsteps echoing. I was halfway to the door, my friends pulling me, when her voice cut through the growing chaos, sharp and deliberate, addressed only to me.

“Ms. Carter. Stay behind.”

I froze mid-step, my body rigid with a mix of dread and exhilaration. Heads turned, whispers forming, but no one dared to linger under the weight of her direct, unwavering gaze. Within moments, the room emptied, leaving just the two of us suspended in the massive, echoing space.

I turned, arching a brow with nonchalance, forcing my composure back into place. “Yes, Professor? Did I forget a form?”

She regarded me steadily from her desk, her expression unreadable. Finally, she spoke, her tone carrying that unsettling, calm precision that made me instinctively straighten my shoulders.

“Today, in class,” she began, her words measured, “you were either distracted, looking like you were mentally composing a novel, or focused, taking more notes than usual. Which one was it, Ms. Carter? I require an answer.”

I smirked, tilting my head, allowing my arrogance to seep into my answer. “Both, Professor. Naturally.”

Her brow furrowed, a sliver of confusion showing through her discipline. “Both? An impossible duality.”

“Yes,” I replied, stepping closer with challenging calm, closing the distance between us. “I was distracted by who was teaching… and focused on what was being taught. You have a mesmerizing effect on your subject matter, Professor.”

For a sharp, suspended heartbeat, absolute, tense silence filled the space between us. Her lips parted, as if she were about to launch a devastating, academic retort, but no words came.

She hesitated—Professor Rose, speechless.

I let my smirk widen, tasting the small, thrilling victory. “Caught your tongue, Professor? Now that, I believe, is historic. The Ice Queen—silenced by a compliment.”

Her eyes narrowed, the mask of indifference slipping for a second, revealing a flash of something intense and unreadable beneath. Then, without warning, she rose from her chair. The sound of her heels against the floor echoed, a rhythmic, powerful beat in the near-empty room.

Step by deliberate step, she closed the distance between us. Her gaze never wavered, fixed entirely on mine, and when she stopped, she was standing a breath away. I caught the trace of her perfume—something subtle, elegant, personal, and impossible to ignore.

She leaned forward, her voice dropping significantly, carrying a dangerous, thrilling softness that sent a wave of heat through me.

“It depends, darling,” she murmured, the word a silken, intimate caress that felt out of place in the academic setting, “if the compliment is truly worth getting speechless for.”

My breath caught. The word struck me again—darling. My arrogant smirk faltered, my tongue caught in the very trap I had just teased her for falling into. For the first time, it was me who was speechless, defenseless.

She noticed the effect. Of course, she noticed everything. And then, with the faintest, tantalizing smirk of victory curving her lips, she leaned back, restoring the formal physical distance.

“Leave, Ms. Carter,” she said, her voice regaining its calm, absolute authority. “And remember—your TA duties start this afternoon. Be on time.”

I swallowed hard, the movement visible, nodding stiffly without managing a word. For once, the great Avery Von Carter had no comeback, no witty retort. As I turned and walked toward the door, her voice echoed in my mind, taunting, teasing, lingering, yet profound and intimate.

Darling.

Outside, the corridor felt colder, emptier, less real. Elize and Victoria were waiting, their faces full of demanding curiosity the moment they saw my shaken, unnerved expression.

“What was that all about, Avery? You look like you just survived an assassination attempt,” Elize asked, nudging me with her elbow.

I shook my head, forcing a convincing smirk onto my lips, though my chest rattled with the fierce, intimate memory of the exchange. “Nothing important. Just… Professor Rose being Professor Rose. Standard intimidation tactics.”

Victoria narrowed her eyes, studying me with suspicion. “You’re hiding something big. I can tell. Your face is flushed.”

I chuckled, slipping hands deep into my pockets, evading the truth. “Maybe I am. But some secrets are better kept, don’t you think, Victoria? Especially the academic kind.”

They groaned in frustration, but I was already walking ahead, my mind lost in that final, charged exchange. Her voice haunted me. Her subtle smirk taunted me. And that single, forbidden word—darling—was enough to unravel every wall I carried.

Tonight, there would be a party. Drinks, loud music, chaotic laughter. But even surrounded by noise and chaos, I knew one thing with heavy clarity—Professor Rose would be the only thing echoing in the silent space of my mind.

The afternoon carried with it a heavy weight. I had promised myself during the frantic hours after class that I would not let Professor Rose’s words from the morning linger. But no matter how many times I mentally rehearsed a cutting comeback, I couldn’t silence that single, intimate word.

Darling.

It replayed like a secret I shouldn’t have heard, an accidental confession. And now, as I walked down the quiet corridor toward her office for my TA duties, I braced myself for the usual exchange—the verbal sparring, the sharp remarks, the exhilarating games of dominance that had become routine, necessary between us.

But when I stepped into her office, something felt different. She sat at her desk, not with the stern, untouchable facade, but with a quiet, domestic calmness. Her reading glasses rested low on her nose, and she was leafing through a stack of student essays.

The warm desk lamp illuminated the strands of her hair, casting a warm glow against her otherwise cool, distant demeanor. Without looking up, she spoke, her voice measured.

“You’re late, Ms. Carter.”

I smirked, the retort forming, but I caught myself. Instead, I replied, “Only by two minutes, Professor. I came directly from the library.”

She looked up, her eyes locking on mine, measuring the truth. And for some reason, instead of the cold edge I expected, there was a profound softness there. Almost… tolerance, a silent acceptance.

“Well,” she said, pushing the large stack of essays toward me, “you know what to do. Sort them by topic. Mark the preliminary notes where the essay structure collapses or arguments are irrelevant. I’ll handle the rest of the detailed grading.”

I nodded, slipping into the chair directly opposite her. The silence stretched, broken only by the soft sound of pages flipping and pens scratching across paper. It was peaceful.

Usually, these TA sessions devolved into an academic arena—where she provoked, I retaliated, and words became sharp, gleaming weapons we enjoyed wielding with skill. But today, neither of us seemed inclined to spar. The weight of the morning’s exchange seemed to have imposed a fragile, unspoken truce.

Minutes crawled past. I found myself glancing up at her, studying her without malice. The way her brows furrowed in intense concentration, the way her fingers tapped gently against the desk when she was considering a nuanced point—there was a fascinating rhythm to her focus, a hidden, intellectual elegance that I had never paid attention to when I was too busy trying to win our verbal duels.

“You’re quiet today,” she remarked, her voice low, without lifting her head from her papers.

I arched a brow, feigning surprise. “So are you, Professor. Usually, you’d have scolded me twice for an alleged lack of professional decorum by now.”

Her lips curved, almost imperceptibly, into a faint, genuine smile. “Perhaps you’re finally behaving for once, Avery. It makes my job easier.”

I chuckled under my breath. “Don’t count on it, Professor. I’m only conserving my precious energy. Big plans tonight.”

Her eyes lifted to mine, a spark of amusement flickering brightly, but she said nothing more, letting the joke hang in the air. Instead, she returned to her work. When the silence became too heavy, too stifling, I decided to break it with a question. “Professor… why Geography? I still don’t understand the depth of your devotion to the subject.”

She glanced at me, tilting her head, waiting. “Why not, Ms. Carter? What subject do you deem worthy of my attention?”

“I mean…” I shrugged, pretending nonchalance though my curiosity was intense. “You could’ve taught anything. Law, literature, even politics. You certainly have the formidable demeanor for it. You’d be a brilliant, intimidating solicitor.”

Her brow arched sharply. “The demeanor for politics, Avery? That’s hardly a compliment.”

I smirked. “Stoic. Cold. Unreadable. You’d be terrifying in a major televised debate. Your opponents would fold on eye contact alone.”

For the first time since I met her, she laughed softly—not mocking, not sharp, but genuinely amused. It startled me more than I cared to admit, a foreign, captivating sound.

“I’ll take that as a backhanded, yet insightful, compliment,” she said, then paused and added, her voice filling with a beautiful reverence, “But Geography… it explains the world, its history, its vulnerabilities, in ways no other subject can. Mountains, rivers, deserts, oceans—each holds profound stories older than humanity itself. To me, it’s not just tedious maps and academic terms. It’s… history etched permanently into the living earth.”

Her words carried a profound, unexpected passion, and I found myself leaning forward, caught in the melodic cadence of her explanation.

“That’s the first time you’ve talked about it like that,” I said, the observation slipping out without my permission.

She adjusted her glasses, clearing her throat as if suddenly aware she had revealed too much of her core self. “Don’t mistake it for sentiment, Ms. Carter. I simply value deep, comprehensive knowledge above all else. It informs my strategy.”

I nodded, though the ghost of a triumphant smile tugged at my lips. “Of course, Professor. Pure knowledge. Understood.”

The conversation slipped into something casual after that, the tension diffused. I asked her a question about a difficult article she had assigned last week. She asked me about the structure of my notes for the upcoming test. For once, her words weren’t laced with cutting, challenging edges, and mine weren’t designed to provoke a reaction.

It was almost… disconcertingly normal. When the clock on the wall struck five, she set her pen down with finality and leaned back in her chair.

“That’s enough for today,” she said, gathering the papers into organized stacks. “You’ve done remarkably well, Avery. Thank you for the efficient work.”

I blinked at her, surprised by the unexpected praise. “Did you just say I’ve done well? Professor, I think I need to check your temperature.”

She gave me a sharp, pointed look, but her lips curved again, softening the reprimand. “Don’t get used to it, Ms. Carter. It was a one-time assessment based on merit.”

I smirked, rising from my seat and stretching, relishing the lightness of the interaction. “I’ll try not to. Wouldn’t want to ruin your carefully cultivated reputation for cruelty and academic rigor.”

She shook her head, a quiet, amused chuckle escaping her. “Leave, Ms. Carter. Immediately. Before I find a new task for you.”

I slung my bag over my shoulder, heading for the door. But before I stepped out, I glanced back. She was already back at her desk, flipping through papers, her face calm, composed, the warm light from the desk lamp casting a deceptive halo over her features.

For a moment, I wanted to say something—something reckless, something impulsive that would shatter the fragile politeness of the afternoon, to bring back the fire. But I didn’t. Instead, I let the silence hold, nodded, and left the office.

Walking down the corridor, I realized something unsettling. I almost missed the arguments. The intellectual fire. The dangerous way she and I clashed until sparks filled the air and the room became charged. Today had been different. Softer. Polite. Almost too polite. And yet… part of me couldn’t deny the strange, quiet calm it left behind. But true calm never lasts long between us. Not with Ms. Rose.

The bar, The Inferno, was alive the moment Elize, Victoria, and I stepped in. Neon lights, a mix of red and blue, bled across the walls, the bass of the music thumped in my chest, glasses clinked in a frantic rhythm, and voices rose in happy laughter. The scent of alcohol, perfume, and sweat mingled into something heady, primal, and liberating.

Elize hooked her arm through mine, dragging me toward the counter. “Three shots of the best tequila you have, and make them strong,” she demanded from the bartender with her usual boldness.

Victoria, more poised but equally dangerous and calculating, smirked as she leaned closer to me, her voice cutting through the noise. “You promised, Avery. No backing out tonight. We’re here to forget about all the academic stress, and you are going to drink, you are going to dance, and maybe—” she arched a brow, her eyes glinting “—have a little harmless fun. You need the distraction.”

I breathed out, a crooked grin tugging my lips. “You two never give up, do you? It’s a campaign.”

The bartender slid the three small glasses across the counter, the salt and lime wedges following. Elize pushed one into my hand.

“To freedom from Von Carter expectations,” she declared, raising her shot high.

“To Avery not bailing on us again,” Victoria added with a sly smirk.

We clinked glasses. The tequila burned down my throat, sharp, fiery, and reckless. A second followed, demanded by Elize. Then a third. The dense, coiled tension that had wound itself into my chest—lectures, TA duties, the weight of Von Carter expectations—melted just enough to loosen the stiffness in my shoulders and neck.

The night blurred into a haze of laughter, a swirl of loud music and flashing lights. Elize disappeared into the crowd, dragging some guy onto the dance floor. Victoria was busy chatting with an acquaintance near the bar. And that was when I noticed her.

A girl. She was beautiful in that captivating, carefree, untamed way that belonged only to chaotic nights like these. Dark, glossy hair fell loose over her shoulders, her lips were painted a bold red, and her eyes glinted with unspoken, thrilling invitation. She didn’t hesitate. She walked toward me, the sway of her hips predatory in its focus.

“You look like you need company, all alone here by the bar,” she said, her voice smooth, dripping with confidence.

I smirked, leaning back against the bar, the alcohol dulling my self-preservation instinct. “And you, I believe, look like trouble waiting to happen, judging by that smile.”

She tilted her head, taking a step closer until the strong scent of her perfume mingled with the tequila haze in my senses. “Maybe I am trouble. Do you mind that, Avery?”

Something snapped inside me. It had been days. Days since I had allowed myself any kind of wild release. Days since I had felt that raw, reckless surge of adrenaline. Between Ms. Rose’s charged lectures, her cutting remarks, the word darling haunting me at night, and the rigid restraint I’d been carrying like a shroud—it all combusted in that one, desperate moment.

I didn’t mind her being trouble. I wanted it. I craved the immediate, raw distraction.

“Come with me,” I muttered, my voice lower, edged with a raw hunger, a need for physical escape.

Her lips curved into a wicked, knowing smile, and she followed without hesitation. The night air outside was cooler, a welcome contrast to the heat of the bar. We slipped into the deep shadows of the parking lot, away from the chaos, away from any eyes that might recognize the Von Carter heir breaking all her rules.

My back hit the side of my car with a thump as her hands found the fabric of my shirt. Her lips pressed hard against mine—hungry, desperate, demanding. My fingers tangled in her dark hair, pulling her closer, harder. The entire world shrank to the taste of lipstick and tequila, the sound of ragged, breathless gasps, the pounding thrum of adrenaline flooding my veins.

I can’t believe the great Avery Von Carter is here making out with a stranger in a dive bar parking lot, a small voice whispered. But I silenced it with another kiss, deeper, more desperate. The tequila, the stress, the weeks of restraint—it all boiled over, demanding release. I didn’t care about names, about consequences, about anything in that moment except this fleeting, raw sensation.

But then—

A voice. A voice like a crack of thunder, cutting through the night.

“I never knew the great Von Carter made out randomly in such… public, undignified parking lots.”

I froze. My blood ran cold, rushing away from my extremities. That voice. That unmistakable tone, sharp and commanding, laced with mockery yet dripping with something far more dangerous, far more personal—a profound condemnation.

Ms. Rose.

I turned, my breath uneven, my lips tingling from the stranger’s kiss. And there she was. Standing a few feet away, her elegant silhouette framed by the dim glow of the distant streetlamp. Her arms were crossed, her gaze fixed directly on me, condemning. Her expression was unreadable—neither raw fury, nor outright disappointment, but something sharper, heavier, and unsettling.

The girl pulled away from me, adjusting her clothes awkwardly, confusion and fear etched on her face. She looked between the two of us, sensing the terrifying tension hanging in the air. “Uh—I should—go,” she muttered, before rushing off into the darkness without a second glance.

Leaving me. Leaving us. Alive in the silence. The silence that followed her departure was absolute, deafening, punctuated only by the distant bass of the bar music. I straightened my posture, fighting for control, my pulse hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. My smirk faltered under the immense weight of her direct, unwavering gaze.

“Professor,” I managed, my voice rougher than I intended. “A surprise, running into you here. Are you… slumming it tonight?”

She tilted her head, her lips curving—not in amusement, but in something cutting and judgmental. “Tell me, Avery. Should I be suitably impressed by your choice of romantic venue… or profoundly disappointed by your reckless behavior, particularly given your recent medical history?”

I swallowed hard, forcing a semblance of my customary smirk back onto my face, desperate to regain control. “Depends on your expectations, Professor. Were you actively spying on me? Because it feels like you have this habit of showing up everywhere I am.”

Her eyes narrowed, tightening, but she didn’t look away. “Don’t flatter yourself, Avery. Coincidences occasionally happen, even in this small city. Though…” She took a step closer, her heels clicking against the concrete, the sound echoing in the stillness. “You do make it incredibly hard not to notice you. Always reckless. Always needing a public audience for your defiance.”

I breathed out, my jaw tightening in fury. “And yet here you are, Professor. Watching my performance. Is it to your standards?”

For a moment, her composure faltered—just a flicker in her eyes, a minute shift in her breath. Then, as quickly as it came, the mask of ice snapped back into place.

“Careful, darling,” she said, the word an intimate threat that resonated deep within my chest. “Some habits, Avery, can permanently ruin reputations. Even ones as supposedly untouchable as yours. You are playing a dangerous game.”

The word—darling—slipped from her lips again, sending a powerful, intimate shiver down my spine, a reaction I hated and could not control. I clenched my fists so hard my nails dug into my palms, caught between raw anger, humiliation, and something else—something intense and frightening that I couldn’t name.

“You think you know me, Professor. But maybe, you only ever see what you want to see—a reflection of your own judgments.”

She stepped closer now, so close I could see the cold gleam in her eyes under the streetlamp. Her voice dropped, low, controlled, and full of unnerving conviction.

“Maybe, Avery. Or perhaps I simply see more than you are prepared to admit I can. Goodnight, Ms. Carter.”

And just like that, she turned. No explanation. No further words. Her heels clicked against the pavement as she walked away, her elegant figure dissolving into the shadows of the night. Leaving me standing there, chest heaving, my lips stained from someone else’s kiss, but my heart and mind consumed entirely by her condemning presence and that single, whispered word.

When I returned inside the bar, forcing myself back into the noise, Elize spotted me. “Where have you been? And where is your new friend? She took off like a shot.”

I forced a tight, brittle grin, grabbing another shot, needing the burn. “Don’t ask. She simply left. Got cold feet.”

Victoria arched a skeptical brow, her intelligent eyes reading the seismic shift in my expression. “Left… or was forcibly made to leave, Ave? Something happened.”

I didn’t answer. I downed the shot, the burn doing little to erase the lingering echo of her voice. Because once again, in the most unexpected place, in the most reckless moment of my life—Professor Rose had appeared. And she had left me shaken.