Chapter 30

Tiffany’s POV

The morning was ordinary until it wasn’t.

I had left the dean’s office with a folder of reports tucked under my arm, the sun already too bright for my liking, when I passed the park and heard it—Avery Carter’s voice, sharp and muttered to no one but herself.

“Almighty God, come and kill me already… and tell the world I was a nice girl.”

I paused. Dramatic as ever.

“Are you trying not to die, Ms. Carter?” The words slipped out, my tone smooth, threaded with sarcasm I didn’t bother to hide.

Her eyes snapped open. When she looked at me—really looked—her lips parted as though she’d been caught in a spell.

“Oh God…” she breathed.

I tilted my head, arching a brow. The Von Carter heir—speechless? Now, that was worth a moment of amusement.

“Close your mouth, Ms. Carter,” I drawled. “Didn’t someone ever tell you that staring is rude?”

The blush that rushed to her cheeks was almost endearing. Almost.

She stammered an apology, but I wasn’t about to let her retreat so easily. “Don’t be,” I allowed, letting my gaze flicker over her deliberately. “It depends, really. Sometimes staring means… admiring.”

I didn’t miss the way her breath hitched, the way her shoulders stiffened. Interesting.

“And Avery,” I added, tasting her name like it already belonged to me.

Her wide-eyed confusion was almost comical. “What?”

I took a step closer, heels clicking against the pavement, posture calm, practiced, yet deliberate. “My name, darling,” I murmured, low enough for only her to hear. “Tiffany Rose. I didn’t want you to get it secondhand. Though… I imagine you’ve already had someone digging for details about me.”

The indignation that flared across her face was delicious. “Seriously? You must be suffering from a disease. A rare one. Predicting Avery Von Carter, huh?”

I laughed—an unrestrained, genuine laugh I hadn’t meant to let escape. God, it felt foreign on my own lips.

But it passed quickly. I straightened, sliding my composure back into place. “Since we’re on campus, you can’t call me by my name,” I told her, firm again, though my eyes lingered.

“Fair enough,” she replied, a smile tugging at her lips.

I should have walked away then. Instead, I added one more warning cloaked as invitation: “It’d be better, Avery, if you knew about me by me. Not by someone else. Just… ask nicely.”

Her scoff was predictable. “It’ll be you who decides when I’m nice or not.”

The corner of my mouth twitched. I didn’t answer at once. Instead, I let silence stretch between us, measured and heavy. Then, softer, pointed: “You’re also good at reading me.”

And with that, I left. Better to retreat before I lingered too long.

❖

The lecture hall was different. There, I was in control again.

I stood at the board, chalk in hand, delivering my lecture on inflation. My tone—firm, precise, commanding—was enough to silence whispers without ever raising my voice.

But I noticed her. Always, I noticed her. Avery sat in the middle rows, notebook open, but her eyes… her eyes were on me, unblinking, following every move.

I called her name without hesitation. “Avery.”

She straightened instantly, like a student who hadn’t been caught off guard but rather summoned.

“Yes, Professor?”

I allowed myself the smallest curve of lips. “Tell me, if you had to protect your wealth during inflation, what’s your first move?”

Her answer came quick, calculated, competent. I approved, though I couldn’t resist the sting of irony. “Not bad, Ms. Carter. Perhaps your family’s legacy hasn’t gone completely to waste.”

The class chuckled. She smirked. And I turned back to the board, though I felt her gaze linger on me long after.

❖

Later, in my office, she arrived with her usual arrogance—punctual this time. She deposited assignments, bantered lightly, and then returned with books from the library… and something else.

A chai latte. Black forest cake.

For me.

I looked from the cup to her, narrowing my eyes. “And this?”

She smiled far too easily. “Well, I was thirsty. And I figured you could use your favorite.”

Favorite. My guard slipped for half a beat.

“Avery Carter,” I said at last, voice low with intrigue, “are you stalking me?”

Her reply came without hesitation, infuriatingly clever. “Sometimes staring doesn’t mean rudeness, it means admiration. Likewise, sometimes knowing someone’s favorite isn’t stalking. I call it noticing. Or precisely—observing.”

My laugh surprised even me. Rich. Melodious. Free. I covered my lips, but the sound lingered anyway.

And then she said it—softly, earnestly, recklessly: “You should smile more. And laugh like this. It compliments your beauty.”

The words lodged somewhere they shouldn’t have. Heat crept to my cheekbones before I buried it beneath an arched brow.

“Are you flirting with me, Ms. Carter?” I asked coolly.

Her grin only widened. “No, Professor. I know flattery won’t earn me grades.”

This time, I let myself smile—genuinely, faintly, but undeniably. “Get back to work, Avery.”

Yet even I could hear the warmth in my voice.

❖

When I finally gathered my papers, preparing to leave, I hesitated. Something about the way she lingered in the corner, scribbling notes with that insufferable focus, tugged at me.

“Ms. Carter,” I said.

Her head snapped up immediately, eyes bright, expectant. Always too quick.

“I heard from a student that you’ll be playing in the cricket match tomorrow.”

Her surprise was genuine. She hadn’t expected me to ask. Perhaps I hadn’t expected myself to, either.

“Yes, Professor. I love cricket.”

I nodded, filing it away. For reasons I didn’t dare examine.

Then she asked the one thing she shouldn’t have.

“Will you come?”

I froze, though only for a fraction of a second. My face betrayed nothing. “As… an audience?”

She nodded. Bold. Reckless. Hopeful.

“I don’t usually involve myself in such events,” I said carefully. A boundary. A reminder. But… something inside me wavered. “But… I’ll see. I’ll try.”

The smirk she gave me in return was maddening. Triumphant.

“I’ll hold you to that, Professor.”

I exhaled softly, almost amused, but quickly masked it, shaking my head as I turned to leave.

At the door, I made the mistake of looking back.

Her eyes were still on me, expectant, bright.

“I expect you to play well, Ms. Carter,” I said, measured, precise. “Don’t disappoint.”

And then I left, folder tucked tightly to my chest, the sound of her laughter still echoing somewhere I shouldn’t let it reach.

❖

The campus cricket ground was alive with noise—chants, painted faces, banners waving in the humid air. Ordinarily, I would have avoided this kind of spectacle altogether. Too loud. Too frivolous. Too… unprofessional.

And yet, there I was.

Arms folded across my chest, standing a little apart from the throng of students. My heels sank slightly into the grass, but I ignored the discomfort. My gaze was fixed firmly on the crease. On her.

Avery Carter.

She adjusted her gloves, bat clutched tight. There was a tension in her shoulders I recognized now—not fear, but hunger. Defiance. She thrived in these reckless moments, when everything balanced on a knife’s edge.

Seven runs needed. Three balls left. And she looked as if she were about to stake her life on it.

I narrowed my eyes. Even from here, I could almost hear her thoughts: victory at any cost.

“Don’t be reckless,” I muttered under my breath, though of course she couldn’t hear me.

The bowler hurled the ball. It spun viciously, angling higher—too high. Before I could even blink—

THUD!

The sound of leather smashing against Avery’s helmet echoed through the ground like a cannon shot.

My breath caught sharply.

Gasps rippled through the crowd, but my feet moved before thought could catch up. I signaled immediately to the paramedics, my voice sharp, commanding. “Get on the field. Now.”

She staggered, clutching at herself, but refused to go down. The obstinate fool.

They hesitated, uncertain, and I barked again, my tone leaving no room for delay. But then—Avery waved them off. Shouting that she was “fine.”

Fine? She could barely stand.

I felt my jaw clench. Fury, not at the bowler, not even at the circumstances—fury at her. At Avery, for being so infuriatingly reckless. For making me feel… this.

And then, through the noise, I found my voice cutting across the field, quieter than the crowd but pitched exactly to reach her:

“Avery—stop this nonsense!”

She ignored me. Of course she did.

The next swing sent the ball skimming for four runs. The stands erupted. My heart didn’t. It only hammered faster, harder.

Two more balls.

She scored again. One run short now. The crowd’s fever pitched higher, but I wasn’t watching the scoreboard anymore. I was watching her sway slightly at the crease, pale under the helmet.

The final delivery came. She hit it clean—soaring, beautiful, a six that sent the ground into chaos. Victory.

But my eyes didn’t celebrate.

Because in the very next moment, her knees buckled.

I moved.

I didn’t remember deciding to. One moment I was at the boundary, the next I was at her side, pushing through her celebrating teammates, ignoring their noise.

“Avery!” I snapped, catching her arm as her body tilted. My other hand braced her back, steadying her as she swayed. “Why don’t you ever listen? I told you to stop when you were hit!”

Up close, her face was pale, lips faintly parted, blood tracing down her temple. My stomach lurched—something I smothered instantly.

She looked up at me, dazed, and—God help me—she smiled. “Professor… you’re… scolding me again.”

I wanted to shake her. To demand why she made everything into a jest, even when her body was breaking. Instead, my grip tightened. “Don’t you dare joke right now. You’re half-conscious and bleeding. Do you ever take anything seriously?”

Her gaze softened. It rattled me more than the sight of her blood.

“What the… fuck is happening with me,” she whispered, voice fraying, “Am I even… human?”

And then her weight collapsed fully against me.

I caught her, arms instinctively circling, holding her up. “Avery—don’t you dare fall on me.”

But she did. She slipped into darkness, and for the first time in a long time, I felt powerless.

❖

The medical tent was quieter. Too quiet.

She lay stretched out on the cot, her breathing even but shallow, her head bandaged. I stood at the foot of the bed, arms crossed tightly—armor against the roil in my chest.

When her eyes fluttered open at last, something in me unclenched—though I did not allow it to show.

“You’re awake,” I said, my voice even. Not betraying the storm. “How are you feeling?”

She grinned, crooked and infuriating. “Absolutely fine. But…”

My brows drew together. “But what?”

“But someone is not.”

I stiffened. “Avery, I am not worried about you,” I replied too quickly. Too sharp.

Her laugh was soft, taunting. “I wasn’t talking about you either. I was talking about the one who hit me with that ball. She smirked. It wasn’t an accident.”

I studied her carefully. I wanted to dismiss it as paranoia, adrenaline. But I had seen that bowler’s face too. The smug curl of her lips. A flicker of cold settled in my chest.

And then Avery spoke again—cutting, shameless.

“But you know what? The greatest treatment of all my pain… is you worrying about me, Ms. Rose.”

My throat tightened. My mask did not slip.

Instead, I leaned closer, lowering my voice until it wrapped around her like silk: “Then I guess you’ll have to get well in the very next moment, Ms. Carter.”

Her breath caught audibly. I tilted nearer, deliberately, until my lips brushed just shy of her ear.

“I worry about you that much,” I whispered, slow and precise, “you have no idea, darling.”

The word left my lips before I could stop it. A word I should never have allowed her to hear.

Her eyes widened, color blooming across her cheeks. My own pulse betrayed me—quick, unsteady—so I straightened instantly, retreating behind formality.

“Alright then. You rest,” I said briskly, already turning away. “I have a class to attend.”

And without another glance, I walked out of the tent, heels clicking steadily, each step deliberate, controlled.

Only once I was far enough from sight did I allow myself to exhale—slow, shaky, betraying far too much.

Because no matter how hard I tried to tell myself otherwise… Avery Carter had already become far too dangerous.

❖

The morning had been calm until the moment I stepped into the corridor. Students swarmed in chatter, the usual blur of backpacks and footsteps, but my eyes found her instantly.

Avery Von Carter.

She was trying to blend in—head high, shoulders back—but I saw it. The faint edge of exhaustion, the stubborn set of her jaw, the shadow of something she thought she was concealing.

And after what I’d learned the night before, my patience was already thin.

I folded my arms and let my voice cut through the noise.
“Avery Von Carter. Just the person I was waiting for.”

She froze mid-step, eyes widening ever so slightly before she masked it with bravado.
“Professor… I—”

“Save it.” My tone was sharp, sharper than I usually allowed myself. “We’ll discuss this in my office. Now.”

Students turned their heads as we passed. Whispers rippled through the hall, speculation spreading like wildfire. I didn’t care. Let them whisper. This wasn’t about them. This was about her—about the audacity, the recklessness, the lie she thought she could dress up as exhaustion.

Inside my office, I shut the door with more force than intended. The sound echoed, final, and she sat when I told her to, for once silent under my command.

I took a breath, steadying myself, though my pulse thrummed louder than it should have.
“So. You weren’t feeling well yesterday. Too exhausted, wasn’t it?”

She nodded quickly, too quickly. “Yes, Professor. I—”

I leaned forward, letting my eyes hold hers. “Funny. Because last night, while you were supposedly exhausted, your name came up in a very different context.”

Her composure wavered. “What do you mean…?”

I tapped my pen against the desk, slow and deliberate. “You were at a party. Drinking. Laughing. Pretending the world was yours to play with. Care to explain?”

Her lips parted, her eyes darting. That flicker of panic was all the confirmation I needed.

“You lied.”

The word landed like a gavel.

I should have stopped there. I should have left it at professional disappointment, a warning, a sanction. But the truth was—I wasn’t angry only because she lied. I was angry because yesterday, when I’d called her, she had wrapped herself in blankets, dimmed the lights, and played the part of someone fragile. And I had believed her. I had worried. I had cared.

And she had staged it.

The thought stung more than I wanted to admit.

I pressed on, my voice firm. “You took sick leave. And instead of resting, you went out. That’s not just irresponsible—it’s reckless. And when I checked on you, you had the audacity to put on a show.”

She flinched at the word, and for a heartbeat I saw something raw flash across her face. Then it happened—

Her control snapped.

“Why do you even care?” she shouted, her voice loud enough to rattle the silence that followed.

The words struck me harder than I expected. For a fraction of a second, my body went still.

Why do you even care?

Because I do, I wanted to answer. Because against every rule I’ve set, against reason, against my better judgment—I care too much.

But I couldn’t say that. I would never say that.

Instead, I let the authority return to my voice, cold and unyielding. “No one raises their voice at me, Carter. No one.”

I stood, stepping closer until I loomed above her, until I could see the way her fists clenched in her lap, the way her breath hitched. My words were ice, but my pulse betrayed me—fast, unsteady.

She didn’t back down. Her voice shook, but she pushed forward anyway.
“I’m not anyone.”

The declaration caught me off guard.

“I’m not just another student you can scold and dismiss,” she said louder, emotion spilling out in every syllable. “I’m not just a name in your class register. I’m… I don’t even know what I am right now, but damn it, I’m not someone you can just brush aside like I don’t matter.”

For a moment, I couldn’t breathe.

Not someone you can brush aside.

The part of me that was still human, still vulnerable, wanted to respond—to acknowledge that she was right, that she wasn’t just anyone, not to me.

But I couldn’t.

I forced my tone into steel, even though the weight in my chest ached.
“You’re still not someone who can raise their voice at me.”

Her face crumbled then, the fire dimming, replaced by something softer, more desperate. She opened her mouth, her voice quieter now.
“I… I didn’t mean…”

But I couldn’t let her finish. I couldn’t let this spiral further into the dangerous territory I already felt pulling at me. I straightened, retreating to the only shield I had left—distance.

“Enough.” My voice was clipped, final. “We’re done here. Leave.”

The silence that followed was suffocating.

She stood slowly, her movements heavy, her eyes searching mine one last time. For what—understanding, forgiveness, something more—I didn’t know. I forced myself to look away, to shuffle the papers on my desk as though she were nothing more than an errant student.

The door closed behind her, and the office fell silent again.

Only then did I allow myself to exhale, my hands trembling ever so slightly as I pressed them flat against the desk.

I had won the confrontation. I had maintained authority.

So why did it feel like I had just lost something far greater?