Chapter 28

Tiffany’s POV

Two days passed without sight of Avery Von Carter. The campus was quieter—too quiet, if I’m being honest. The absence of her heels striking against the marble, the lack of her careless laugh echoing down the corridor—it gnawed at the silence.

Dean Fletcher updated me curtly: she’d been “confined to rest at her family estate.” That should have been the end of it. But the way he said confined… the word hung with an implication of discipline more than care.

On the third morning, my screen lit with a notification: I have a class to teach. Ofcourse on video call and through slides.

I hesitated. Then I called her. She received.

Her face appeared, framed not by the lecture hall’s white glare but by the lavish velvet curtains of her bedroom. She was pale still, a bandage wrapped neatly around the back of her head. But her eyes—sharp, restless, unyielding—were exactly the same.

“Ms. Carter,” I began, my voice cooler than I intended, “how’s your injury?”

The corner of her lips twitched as though she wanted to smirk but couldn’t quite pull it off. “I’m fine, Professor.”

Fine. Always fine. Even when she was bleeding, fainting, unraveling before the world, Avery clung to that mask.

For a flicker of a moment, I felt the sharp sting of… what? Relief? Irritation? It didn’t matter. I pulled myself back to the role I knew: the lecturer, the boundary, the professional.

“Let’s proceed,” I said, adjusting my glasses, sharing the slides. Diagrams, text, talking points—my shield.

And yet, I could feel her gaze. Not on the slides. On me.

Midway, her voice interrupted. Soft. Hesitant.

“Ms…”

I stopped, startled by the tone. It wasn’t her usual arrogance. I turned, met her eyes.

“Yes, Ms. Carter?”

Her gaze dropped for half a second before she forced it up again. “I… wanted to say… I’m sorry. For my behavior. That day.”

The apology landed between us, fragile, unexpected.

For a heartbeat, I didn’t know what to say. Avery Von Carter, apologizing—not with theatrics, not with sarcasm, but raw and real.

I exhaled quietly. “It’s okay, Ms. Carter.”

But she wasn’t finished.

Her voice, softer now: “Please… call me Avery.”

It was absurd. Dangerous. My mouth betrayed me before my mind caught up.

“It’s okay… darling.”

The word slipped, unbidden, and the second it left my lips, I felt the sharp heat of regret rush through me. Her eyes widened, her breath caught. She froze like I’d struck her.

Darling.

God help me.

I recovered quickly, reclaiming the walls around my voice. “Control yourself, Avery. Understand?”

But the word lingered in the air, coiling around us through the screen. I saw it in her expression—stunned, unmoored. And I felt it in myself.

I had crossed a line.

❖

The week continued in virtual sessions. Each day, I told myself this was obligation, duty, nothing more. Yet each day, the quiet of her room became oddly familiar—the faint laugh when she teased me, the way she bristled but listened when I corrected her.

On the fourth day, when she slouched and doodled instead of listening, irritation flared.

“Avery,” I snapped, sharper than intended. “If you’re going to waste both our time, I’ll inform the Dean.”

She smirked, unbothered. “And yet, you haven’t closed the call.”

Because I couldn’t.

“Because,” I said, my voice lower, steadier, “I believe you’re capable of more than this.”

Her smirk faltered. Just a flicker, but enough. My words had hit somewhere deeper than I meant them to.

❖

By the end of the week, the strangest realization had crept into me: I dreaded the day she would return. Not because of the whispers she carried with her, not because of the chaos—but because our calls would end.

I told myself it was absurd. She was a student. She was trouble incarnate. I should have been relieved to see her go back to campus life.

And yet, on that last call, I lingered.

“You’ll be back tomorrow,” I said carefully.

“Yes,” she replied, eyes studying me with that unnerving intensity. “Missed me already?”

The nerve.

I held her gaze, unflinching. “Remember what I told you, Avery. Strength isn’t only in fists.”

Her reply came, soft, vulnerable in a way that struck too close. “And if I don’t? Will you be disappointed again?”

I had no answer. Before I could find one, the call ended.

❖

That night, I needed distraction. I agreed—reluctantly—to accompany a colleague’s son to a film. An unremarkable outing, meant to keep life orderly.

And then I saw her.

In the theatre. Hood pulled low, mask half-hiding her face, but unmistakable. Avery.

She wasn’t alone. A girl sat beside her, their fingers laced together in the dim glow of the screen.

My breath hitched, but I masked it quickly. Of course she wasn’t alone. Avery Von Carter never was.

When she turned, startled by my voice, I spoke with deliberate coolness. “Well, well. I thought you were at home recovering from your little stunt.”

The shock in her eyes was almost comical. But her jaw set, her mask of arrogance snapping back into place.

“Focus on the movie, Avery,” I said smoothly, reclaiming control. “Let me do that too.”

And I did. Or tried to. But through the flicker of the screen, my mind wouldn’t still.

When I found her later in the corridor—alone this time—our eyes locked, and I let my voice harden.

“So, this is what recovery looks like for you, Avery?”

She bristled, defiant. “I’m fine.”

Fine. Always fine.

“You’re not fine,” I retorted, arms folding tight. “You fainted in front of half the university. You bled. And yet here you are, as if nothing happened.”

Her jaw clenched. Her voice trembled with restrained fury. “What I do outside the university isn’t your concern.”

“Isn’t it?” I shot back. “Because every time you do this, Avery, it circles back to me. To the classroom. To the Dean. To your parents. And somehow, it becomes my responsibility.”

The words slipped sharper than I intended, but they were true.

She froze. Then her voice lowered, wounded, defiant.

“Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe you only ever see me as a responsibility. A nuisance. You don’t even try to see why I do the things I do.”

I faltered. For a breath, I let myself imagine it—that beneath the arrogance, the stunts, the chaos, there was something worth seeing. Someone.

And then I shut it down.

Because wanting to see her wasn’t safe.

Not for her.

Not for me.

❖

That morning, the classroom door opened late, and in swept Avery Von Carter.

Late again. Predictably.

Her cheeks were flushed from rushing, her posture forced into composure, but I noticed the quick rise and fall of her chest, the faint tremor in her fingers as she clutched her bag. Always so desperate to look unbothered, yet her body betrayed her.

“You are late, Ms. Carter,” I said evenly, looking up from my notes.

“Yes,” she admitted, tone clipped, unapologetic.

My brow arched of its own accord. “Of course. Since you’re still not fully recovered from the last… incident.”

The words came out sharper than intended, a test as much as a reprimand. But she didn’t bite—not with her usual fire. She simply nodded, quiet, subdued. It startled me more than her defiance ever had.

“Take your seat, Ms. Carter,” I ordered, covering the flicker of surprise.

She obeyed. I turned back to my lecture, but my mind didn’t let go of that silence.

❖

Class ended. Students spilled out in chatter and laughter, but Avery lingered. I caught the movement in the corner of my eye—her steady approach toward me, toward the office.

By the time she knocked and entered, I already knew she wasn’t here by accident.

“Avery,” I said slowly, leaning back in my chair, “what are you doing here?”

Her chin lifted. “I’m your TA, aren’t I? So I’m here.”

I almost laughed. That arrogance—wrapped so carefully as justification.

“No,” I corrected sharply. “Actually, I don’t want to be known as a merciless professor who ignores the health of her students. Go home, Ms. Carter. You’re free for today.”

Dismissive, final. At least, it should have been.

But she didn’t move. She stood there, crossing her arms, staring back at me like we were equals in a duel neither of us had agreed to fight.

I set my pen down slowly. “What… didn’t you hear what I said?”

Her laugh was humorless, but steady. “I heard you. Loud and clear. But you don’t get to decide when I give up.”

The audacity. Always the audacity.

“This isn’t about giving up,” I snapped. I rose from my chair, coming around the desk, unwilling to let her think she had the upper hand. “This is about responsibility. About recovery. You think fainting in the garden, bleeding in front of the Dean, and being caught at a theatre while you were supposed to be resting makes you strong? It doesn’t. It proves your recklessness.”

Her jaw clenched, but she didn’t falter. “You’re right. I’m reckless. I’m stubborn. But you’re wrong if you think walking away makes me strong. I don’t do walking away.”

God, that defiance—it was exhausting. And yet, infuriatingly… I admired it.

“Do you ever listen to anyone?” I asked, voice low. “Or is the Von Carter pride so blinding that even common sense can’t reach you?”

She smirked faintly, though her eyes betrayed a tension. “It’s not pride. It’s persistence. You keep calling it arrogance because it doesn’t fit into the neat little boxes you’ve built for your students.”

The words cut closer than I wanted to admit. My jaw tightened. “What bothers me is watching potential rot under ego. You could be remarkable, Avery. But instead, you choose to burn yourself out proving you don’t need anyone.”

Her reply was softer, dangerously honest: “And what if being stubborn is the only thing that reminds me I’m still my own person?”

For the first time in a long time, I faltered.

But I couldn’t allow myself to stay in that moment. I shook my head. “You’re impossible.”

She stepped closer, her presence unnervingly steady. “Maybe. But I’m here. Whether you like it or not.”

The room was suffocating with tension, and I hated how much of it was mine.

Finally, I exhaled. “Fine. Stay. But don’t mistake this for approval. It’s tolerance.”

She smirked—always with the smirk—and sank into the chair opposite me. “Tolerance is more than enough, Professor.”

I returned to my desk, though my hand trembled slightly when I picked up the papers. It was ridiculous, how much power she had over the air in that room.

❖

Silence stretched. She busied herself with a notebook, pen scratching across paper in stubborn pretense of focus. But I could feel her attention flicker to me at intervals, just as mine did to her.

Half an hour later, her phone buzzed. I caught the flash of panic across her face before she masked it. She answered quickly, voice lowered, but I heard enough—an urgent call from someone named Fiona.

She softened, smiling to herself in a way I had never seen in the classroom. Warmth bloomed in her face, quiet and unguarded.

When she hung up, I asked, careful and cool: “You have somewhere to go?”

She looked up, startled that I had noticed. “Yes. But I’ll go after college.”

There was no need to press further. I simply leaned back, observing. “You’re free to go. She must be waiting for you.”

“She.” I had said it deliberately, though I didn’t know who she meant.

Avery’s lips twitched. She didn’t correct me. Instead, she buried herself back into her notes, refusing to leave early.

Always defiance. Even in something so small.

Eventually, she rose. “I’ll take my leave now.”

“Avery,” I called, stopping her at the door.

She turned, hand on the knob.

“You don’t fool me,” I said quietly. “Not with that mask of yours. Not with the half-smiles and careless shrugs. You’re hurting. And the way you keep throwing yourself into everything—it isn’t strength. It’s stubbornness. And one day… that difference will matter.”

Her expression froze. For once, she didn’t have a retort. She only smiled that hollow smile and walked out.

And I sat there, hating the silence she left behind.

❖

Hours later, my thoughts wandered back to her. Where had she gone, with that sudden light in her eyes? What did she mean to someone who could summon her with a single phone call?

The questions chased me long into the night, unwelcome and unanswered.

Because Avery Von Carter had a way of slipping past every boundary I set.

And I was beginning to realize—I didn’t know how to stop her.

❖

The morning air was crisp as I arrived at campus. The Von Carter car gleamed by the steps, a small spectacle as always. Avery stepped out with that effortless arrogance—bag slung carelessly, gaze steady, as though the world bent itself around her presence. The other students whispered, stared. She thrived on it, though she would deny it if I ever called her out.

By the time I entered the lecture hall, the room had already shifted. I placed my notes down, as I always did, composed, deliberate. I didn’t need to raise my voice; my presence was enough.

“One week,” I announced, my tone flat, clipped. “Prepare for your test. It will count toward your finals.”

Groans rippled through the class, but silence fell the moment I lifted my hand. Order was restored.

My gaze swept the room and, inevitably, found hers. Avery sat there with that infuriating little smirk, the one that told me she was amused at something unspoken. I held her eyes a fraction longer than necessary before moving on. She noticed, of course. She always noticed.

The lecture flowed, my words painting landscapes, tectonic plates, the poetry hidden in maps. I could feel the rhythm in myself—the small spark that came when I explained something I loved. And when I glanced toward her again, Avery’s attention was fixed, unblinking, caught in my cadence.

Too caught.

I ended class. Chairs scraped, footsteps hurried. But I wasn’t ready to let her go.

“Ms. Carter,” I called. “Stay behind.”

A hush fell. Whispers stirred, quickly stifled as students fled. When the room emptied, she turned, all nonchalant defiance.

“Yes, Professor?”

I studied her from my desk. “In class today—you were either distracted or focused. Which was it?”

Her lips curved, insolent. “Both.”

My brow arched. “Both?”

“Yes,” she stepped closer. “Distracted by who was teaching. Focused on what was being taught.”

A flicker of heat rose in my chest. Her audacity never ceased to amaze me.

For a heartbeat, I had no words.

She noticed. She always noticed. “Speechless, Ms. Rose? Now that’s historic.”

I stood, heels striking against the floor as I closed the distance between us. She stilled, though her smirk faltered for the briefest instant.

I leaned in just enough for her to catch the faint trace of my perfume, my voice dropping lower. “It depends, darling… if the compliment is worth being speechless for.”

The word slipped out—darling. I saw it strike her. She froze. Her smirk vanished.

Victory, sharp and quiet, bloomed in me.

“Leave, Ms. Carter,” I murmured, retreating just slightly. “And remember your duties.”

She nodded—speechless now, for once—and left.

But long after the door closed, I sat at my desk with my pulse unsteady, the echo of her gaze burning in the silence.

❖

Usually, these afternoons were a battlefield. Barbs, provocations, power balanced on the edge of every sentence. But today, there was only the rustle of pages and the scratch of pens.

I found myself watching her more than once. The way she leaned over her notes, her brow furrowed in thought. The sharpness in her eyes when she focused. She was infuriating, yes, but there was no denying—she was remarkable.

“You’re quiet today,” I remarked, finally.

She looked up with that crooked half-smile. “So are you, Professor.”

I allowed myself the faintest curve of lips. “Perhaps you’re behaving for once.”

The banter faded quickly, replaced by something heavier, almost… steady. She asked me—of all things—why I chose Geography.

I answered. Too honestly.

I saw the shift in her when I spoke of mountains, rivers, the histories written in stone and sea. Her eyes softened, listening intently. And when I realized how much I had revealed, I cut myself short, reassembling the mask.

She noticed, of course. She always did.

When she finally left that evening, the silence in my office pressed heavier than usual. I almost missed her chaos.

Almost.

❖

And then, the party.

I hadn’t meant to see her. But fate—or misfortune—placed me there, walking across the parking lot just as I heard laughter, breathless, hurried.

I stopped.

There she was. Avery Von Carter, pressed against a car, lips tangled with some nameless girl. Hands desperate, bodies flushed with alcohol and recklessness.

For a moment, I couldn’t move.

The great Von Carter—reduced to this.

The girl pulled back when she saw me, muttering something before fleeing. I didn’t bother with her. My eyes were fixed on Avery.

She straightened, her smirk forced, a poor shield against the cold knot twisting in my chest.

“Well, well,” I said, stepping closer, my voice like glass. “I never knew the great Von Carter resorted to parking lot indiscretions.”

Her jaw tightened. “Professor.”

I tilted my head, feigning amusement though my pulse thundered. “Should I be impressed? Or disappointed?”

She bit back, her arrogance flickering even now. “Depends. Were you spying? You keep showing up everywhere I am.”

I let a smile ghost across my lips, sharp and cutting. “Coincidences happen. But you do make it very hard not to notice. Always reckless. Always needing an audience.”

Her retort was quick, too quick. “And yet here you are. Watching.”

The words struck deeper than she realized.

I stepped close enough that the lamplight caught her eyes, defiance and something else simmering there. My voice lowered, deliberate.

“Careful, darling. Some habits ruin reputations. Even ones as untouchable as yours.”

Her breath hitched, though she masked it with a smirk.

And for the briefest instant, I almost reached for her—out of anger, out of frustration, out of something I refused to name.

But I didn’t.

I turned, my heels carrying me away before my control slipped further.

I left her standing there—rumpled, reckless, lips still stained—while my own chest ached with a confusion I could not afford.

Because Avery Von Carter was dangerous.

And I, against every instinct, was already too entangled.