Chapter 20

Avery’s POV

The morning air at college carried its usual crispness—a restless blend of hurried chatter, the impatient shuffle of countless student feet, and the grinding hum of expensive cars pulling into the lot. None of that background noise registered or mattered.

My mind was occupied by one overriding thought—would Ms. Rose come to class? I adjusted the strap of my bag, biting the inside of my cheek as I walked through the polished hallway.

The floor reflected my face, distorted and shimmering—just like the spiraling thoughts trapped in my mind. Something about yesterday’s absence gnawed at me.

Ms. Rose never missed class. She was not the type to hand over her responsibility, her meticulous schedule, to someone as dull as Ms. Collway. If she was not here, something was wrong.

But wrong how? I had no context, no information.

The worst, most frustrating part? I knew I did not have the right to ask such a personal question. I pushed the thought aside as I reached the classroom door.

The familiar scene unfolded—students scattered in groups, heads bent over notes, some whispering jokes. The air buzzed with the anticipation of another lecture.

There, near the window, sat Elize and Victoria, waving at me. “Avery!” Elize’s voice rang out, cheerful as always.

I managed a tired smile and walked toward their corner, sliding into my seat beside Elize. She leaned close, her voice dropping to a whisper.

“You’ve been looking at the doorway since you walked into the hall,” she noted, her eyes sharp.

I blinked, feigning ignorance. “What? No, I haven’t. That’s absurd.”

Her smirk told me she did not believe a word. “Waiting for someone specific?” she teased, her tone dripping with innuendo.

I rolled my eyes, trying not to betray the way my stomach twisted with anxiety. “Just hoping the lecture starts on time, Elize. It’s a busy day.”

Before Elize could fire back another remark, it happened. The sound. Click. Click. Click.

The steady, confident rhythm of heels striking against the marble floor. A rhythm I could pick out even in a crowded hallway.

My head snapped toward the doorway against my will. Ms. Rose.

She walked in, her posture sharp and uncompromising, her expression cool, composed, and unreadable. Her tailored suit jacket fit her slender frame, her dark hair tied back in a severe bun that did not allow for a single stray strand.

She did not look at anyone. Not at me. Not at anyone else.

Just straight ahead, focused, as if the entire world outside her line of vision did not exist. She reached her desk, set down her bag with a thud, and pulled out a piece of white chalk.

On the blackboard, in her severe handwriting, she wrote: Fiscal Policy. The word looked severe on the board, stark and uncompromising, as if it carried the dizzying weight of the entire global economy.

Her voice followed—clipped, clear, but subtly different. I felt a chill.

Something was off. Her tone did not possess the musical lilt of command it usually carried.

The professional authority was there, yes, but the warmth—the sarcastic flicker, the half-curve of an amused smile, the intense sparkle in her eyes when she caught someone off guard—all of that was missing.

Instead, her eyes looked heavy. Profoundly tired.

As though they carried a crushing, private burden she fierceley refused to acknowledge or set down. Maybe I was imagining it, I rationalized.

Maybe I was reading too much into her mood. But every time I risked a glance at her, the question pressed against my ribs.

What happened to you yesterday, Professor? I shifted in my seat, biting the inside of my cheek, trying to force myself to focus on her words.

Fiscal deficit, budgetary implications, monetary adjustments—the lecture flowed like a clockwork machine. Students scribbled notes, some nodded along, others struggled to keep up with the technical complexity.

But me? I barely registered the academic content.

All I could perceive was the shadow in her eyes, the stiffness in her movements, the coldness of her delivery. By the time the lecture drew to a close, my pen hovered above my notebook, the page half-empty.

She turned from the board, her expression unreadable. “There will be a comprehensive weekly test tomorrow morning. Be prepared. That’s all.”

And just like that, with finality, she dismissed the class. Chairs scraped, the chatter returned, and students spilled out of the room in groups.

But I lingered. Partly because I felt a reluctance to leave her presence, partly because my scheduled TA duties meant I could not leave yet.

Elize gave me a knowing glance before heading out. “Don’t burn yourself out obsessing over her mood, Avery,” she whispered with a smirk. “Professors, believe it or not, have private lives too, you know.”

I ignored her comment. When I walked to the front, I reached Ms. Rose’s inner office door and knocked.

Her clipped voice came from within: “Come in.” I entered and saw that Ms. Rose was seated, her reading glasses perched low on her nose as she arranged a stack of graded papers.

“Permission to begin my duties, Professor?” I asked, closing the door.

She did not glance up from the papers. “Granted.”

Her clipped, dismissive tone stung my ego more than it should have. I pulled up the vacant chair, grabbed the stack she indicated, and began the routine process of grading.

The silence between us was thick, heavy, and laden with the unspoken words hanging in the air. Minutes crawled past.

My pen hovered above the page again, not because I was distracted by the numbers, but by her. Unable to hold the question, I asked, my voice barely audible. “Are you… fine, Professor?”

Her eyes lifted, cutting into mine with precision. “None of your business, Ms. Carter.”

I inhaled, forcing my lips into a thin smile. “Right.”

I hummed, a low, melodic sound, more to myself than anything, and went back to the task of grading papers. The scratching sound of my pen filled the room again.

But after a few moments, driven by impulse, I tried once more, pushing the boundary. “You didn’t come in yesterday.”

She did not bother to look up, her resolve absolute. “That is not within your authority to ask.”

Again, I hummed, this time drawing small, meticulous circles on the margin of a finished paper before recording the final grade.

She slammed her pen down onto the desk, startling me. “Stop doing that, Ms. Carter.”

I blinked, lifting my eyes to meet her glare. “What? Asking reasonable questions?”

Her glare narrowed. “No. That irritating humming noise you’re making.”

I chuckled under my breath. “Okay then. I’ll take that as a sign that you prefer me asking you questions instead of humming.”

Her brow arched, her patience wearing thin. “Excuse me?”

I leaned forward, lowering my voice, a playful, challenging smirk tugging at my lips. “So allow me to rephrase the question for you, Professor. I was disappointed that I didn’t get to see your beautiful, commanding face yesterday. Why was that so?”

Her lips twitched—not into a smile, but into a line of controlled irritation. “Flattery will not earn you grade points or special favors, Ms. Carter.”

I corrected her, maintaining the teasing tone. “Avery. My name is Avery. Not Ms. Carter.”

Her dark eyes flickered, acknowledging the shift in boundary, and she matched my intimate tone. “Alright then. Let me also rephrase it for you, Avery. Flattery will not earn you grade points, darling.”

The word—darling—slipped from her mouth with a sharpness, but the way it vibrated and lingered in the charged, silent air made my heart stutter.

I leaned back, clutching my pen like a lifeline. “Are we flirting now, Ms. Rose?”

Her smirk was faint, cutting, and effective. “Oh, princess from the ivory tower, you don’t even begin to match my exacting standards for flirting.”

I clutched my chest, feigning mortal injury. “Ouch. That hurts, Professor. Right here.”

“It should,” she said, without missing a beat, her eyes glinting with a dangerous, playful intensity for the first time all day.

The air between us shifted. It was not warm—but it was no longer cold and professional.

Somewhere within the sharp edges of her defensive words, I found a thrilling familiarity. I stacked the last of the finished papers neatly and pushed them toward her across the desk.

“Okay. Grades are done. Job is complete. May I officially take my leave now, Professor?”

She did not look up from the papers, but her clipped tone softened. “Sure. You’re dismissed.”

I reached for my heavy bag, pulling it toward me. As I did, my fingers brushed against something small and smooth in the front pocket.

A sleek box—the imported chocolate I had picked up earlier on campus. Elegantly wrapped, it looked expensive, as though it were worth a million corporate dollars.

Without thinking, acting on impulse, I slid it silently across the desk toward her, where it stopped next to her inkwell. She blinked, her sharp eyes flickering with confusion at the gift.

I shrugged, maintaining a casual demeanor. “You seemed offbeat today. Maybe hurt. Maybe I assumed too much. Maybe it’s not within my authority to ask you about it. But still—just have it. You’ll feel good after a piece.”

Her eyes lingered on the chocolate, then lifted back to me. But I did not wait for her response.

I rose, slung my bag over my shoulder, and walked toward the door. My hand touched the cold knob, twisting it.

And then— “Thank you, Avery.”

Her voice, quiet and sincere, stopped me in my tracks. I turned, my heart thudding against my ribs.

She was not just looking at the chocolate now. She was truly looking at me.

And for the first time that day, her lips curved into a magnificent smile. A real one.

Not the polite twitch of a muscle. A genuine, sincere smile that softened her entire, severe face.

She added softly, her voice carrying a warmth I had never heard. “Not just for the unexpected chocolate. But also for… those humorous, challenging talks, I must reluctantly say.”

My breath caught in my throat. That smile—it was worth more than any grade, any corporate recognition, any polished compliment I could ever give her.

I grinned back, unable to hold it in. “Anytime, Professor. Anytime.”

And with that, I slipped out the door, the echo of her smile following me down the hallway like the sweetest, most exhilarating reward.

The evening sun bled a wash of orange and crimson across the college cricket ground. My bat made contact with the ball, the crack echoing in the quiet air, and the leather shot past the fielders in my mind.

Sweat dripped from my temple and stung my eyes, but I did not stop my training. Practicing for tomorrow’s match had become more than a routine—it was a form of therapy.

The physical rhythm of the game steadied me, keeping my thoughts in a line, until—my phone vibrated on the bench. I sighed, set the bat down, and picked up the device.

Elize. I answered, half-exasperated, half-curious.

“Where in the world are you right now?” she asked, her voice too bright to be casual.

“Still on the ground. Bat, ball, the usual training routine. Why the urgency?”

Her chuckle came teasing over the line. “Because, Avery Von Carter, you’re coming out with me tonight. There’s a crucial party.”

I groaned, dragging the towel across my face with annoyance. “Party? Elize, I have a massive cricket match tomorrow. You know, actual competition, not… endless cocktails and fake, pretentious laughs.”

“Don’t be such a bore. It’s not just any party. It’s at that sleek, new pub downtown—you know, the one with the marble counters and the reputation for being where only the cream of the city crowd hangs out.”

She paused for effect. “And you, darling, are supposed to be the ultimate cream.”

I rolled my eyes, though she could not see. “I’m not in the mood for—”

“No excuses are accepted,” she cut me off, her voice leaving no room for negotiation. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”

And just like that, the call ended. By evening, the city had shifted into its glittering, demanding nighttime self.

Neon signs glowed with intensity, expensive cars lined the streets, and the sleek pub Elize dragged me into reeked of manufactured sophistication—crystal chandeliers, velvet drapes, and the sound of brittle, forced laughter laced with the clinking of glasses.

I followed Elize through the crowd, my posture stiff, but my insides reluctant. The music was soft, unobtrusive jazz, the kind of background noise meant to make you feel that everything around you cost more than your annual rent.

But then— My breath stalled.

My eyes caught someone—that ripped the ground out from beneath me, sending my heart into a freefall. At the far side of the pub, seated intimately in a corner booth under golden lights, was Ms. Rose.

For a heartbeat, I wondered if the tequila fumes from nearby tables had crawled into my head and made me hallucinate. “What the f—” I whispered, stunned. “Am I hallucinating?”

Elize, noticing my frozen stare and following my gaze, had her eyebrows shoot up. “Wait… that’s definitely our professor, isn’t it? Ms. Rose?”

I nodded, scoffing with sharp possessiveness. “What in God’s name is she doing here? Is she… actively stalking us now?”

Elize gave me a playful shove. “Please. Professors don’t stalk their students, Avery. You sound paranoid and ridiculous.”

But I was not listening to her practical advice. My eyes stayed glued to Ms. Rose—and not just her, but the man she was sitting across from.

Late thirties, an aggressively sharp suit, the kind of inherent arrogance that seeped out of every pore. Elize leaned closer, whispering, “Is she married to that man? He looks… intense.”

That question stung. Harder and deeper than I could have expected. “If she were married, she wouldn’t be a Ms., would she?”

My tone was clipped, far too sharp, but my chest twisted with something ugly I did not want to name: jealousy. Dating.

The thought felt heavy, bitter, something acrid I wanted to spit out and discard. Before I could move toward her table, Elize grabbed my wrist tightly. “Don’t even think about it, Avery.”

I clenched my jaw so hard my teeth ground together.

“She’s a professor. You’re her student. Stop this madness. It’s better not to interfere in her personal affairs.” Elize’s grip was firm and commanding.

I exhaled, forced myself to retreat. But then—just like smoke slipping through fingers—Ms. Rose and the man vanished into the milling crowd, leaving me with nothing but a hollow, gnawing ache in my chest and a burning sense of rejection.

So I did the only thing the Von Carter heir knew how to do when overwhelmed: Shots.

One, two, three… the fiery tequila burned its way down my throat until the edges of the night blurred. The party lights seemed far too bright, the surrounding laughter too fake, and I slammed the empty glass down and announced, “I’m leaving this ridiculous place.”

Elize, sensing more about my state than she let on, nodded, her expression concerned. “Okay, Avery. Be safe, please call me when you get home.”

The cool night air slapped my hot face as I walked toward the distant parking area. A sharp sense of déjà vu pricked my skin—this same empty lot, where Ms. Rose had once caught me in a compromising position.

But tonight, the roles were about to flip. Because there she was, visible through the yellow light.

Ms. Rose stood alone under the harsh overhead lamp, her posture taut, her voice raised in distress. She was arguing, heatedly, with the arrogant man from the pub.

I slowed my pace, every instinct screaming at me to stay back, to retreat, to mind my own business. And then I saw it.

He raised his hand. It was not a moment of hesitation.

It was not a playful, dramatic gesture. It was a hand raised, poised and ready to strike her. The world tilted—everything went red, sharp, and furious.

My protective instincts kicked in with no hesitation, overriding all rational thought. “Don’t you dare lay your hand on her, you coward!”

The words ripped out of me, echoing through the empty parking lot. Both of them froze, caught mid-action.

Ms. Rose turned, her expression flabbergasted, her dark eyes wide with shock and fury. “Avery? What in God’s name are you doing here?”

I stepped forward, my pulse hammering a frantic rhythm. “I’ll explain later, Professor. Right now, this man needs to back off and keep his hands to himself.”

Her expression hardened, conflicted. “Stop this. This is not something you have the right to interfere with, Avery.”

I scoffed, a bitter, angry laugh escaping me. “Really? Watching some disgusting man try to hurt you, and I’m supposed to stand here and stay out of it? That is not happening, Professor.”

The man’s lips curled into a venomously amused smirk. “Ohhh, the sole heir of the great Von Carters. What an pleasant and dramatic surprise this is.”

The mention of my name felt like a weapon hurled from his mouth, as if he intended to use the Von Carter reputation against me.

“Robin,” Ms. Rose’s tone was ice, commanding and dangerous, “just go. Leave now. We will talk later when you’ve calmed down.”

He glanced mockingly between us, his smirk deepening with smug superiority. “Fine. As you wish, my love. But you had better keep this little arrogant pawn of yours out of our matters, woman.”

And with that threat, he turned and disappeared into the shadows of the night. The silence that followed his departure was louder, far more immediate than his hurried footsteps.

When Ms. Rose finally looked at me, it was not gratitude I saw. It was fire.

Her eyes sharpened into dangerous, black blades, her stance radiating intense, controlled fury directed at me. For a fleeting second, I swore she would eat me alive.

Eat me. My thoughts twisted, and I cursed my subconscious mind.

Wrong choice of word, Avery. Wrong.

Maybe she would just grab my neck instead, I thought. Snap it in one swift, brutal twist, and that would be it.

Dead. Von Carter heir reduced to a cracked spine in a dirty parking lot. An embarrassing end.

I swallowed hard, aware of how fast my heart was still racing, threatening to burst from my chest. And then— “Stop thinking about the ridiculous method by which I’ll decide to kill you, Avery.”

My blood ran cold. My eyes widened in shock. “W-what? What did you just say?”

She arched one eyebrow, her voice clipped but deliberate. “I can see your dramatic thoughts written all over your face, Ms. Carter.”

I blinked, stunned into silence. “Are you… a mind reader, Professor?”

Her lips twitched into something that was almost—almost—a smirk, a flicker of dark amusement. “No. You’re simply predictable in your dramatic thoughts.”

Her words landed like a sharp strike, half-insult, half… something else. A bizarre, shared intimacy.

I stared at her, chest tight, caught between awe, frustration, and something far more intoxicating. Something that had nothing to do with the simple labels of student and professor.

For a moment, neither of us spoke. The distant hum of the city filled the physical silence, but between us hung an emotional tension thick enough to choke on.

Finally, I forced my voice out. “You didn’t need to let him—”

She cut me off, her tone low, final, and uncompromising. “This is not your business, Avery. Not your fight, and not your problem.”

My jaw clenched in defiance. “If it involves some disgusting man raising a hand at you, Professor, it damn well is my fight, whether you like it or not.”

Her eyes flashed, a storm brewing beneath the surface. But beneath the steel, I caught something else—deep, profound hurt.

A chilling vulnerability. The crack in her meticulously constructed armor.

For once, Ms. Rose, the unshakable professor, looked human.

It terrified me to my core. But it also made me want to step closer.

To know more. To protect her. The night air crackled from the raw confrontation.

The parking lot lights buzzed, casting long, dramatic shadows across the pavement like silent whispers. Ms. Rose stood before me, arms folded, lips pressed into a thin line as though she held back a violent storm.

Robin had disappeared into the night, leaving behind an acrid aftertaste of male arrogance that clung to the air. For a significant moment, neither of us spoke.

The silence was heavy, unbearable in its intensity. My pulse quickened from the protective instinct that flared within me—that undeniable need to shield her.

She looked at me, sharp eyes narrowing, as if she tried to peel away the superficial layers of my shock and access my true thoughts. I cleared my throat, trying to shake off the remnants of the tension. “So… we’re just going to leave this entire insane situation at that?”

Her brow arched. “For now, yes. Unless you truly want me to kill you tonight, Avery. I’m quite capable.”

I raised both hands in surrender, a nervous, high-pitched chuckle escaping me. “No killing tonight, Professor. I promise I won’t breathe a word about this to anyone. We’ll forget the whole thing.”

Her formidable gaze softened, though her posture remained guarded. I hesitated, then took a small step closer, my voice lower, moving into the realm of persuasion.

“Professor… if I could just take you somewhere? Just for a little while?”

Her head tilted, curiosity flickering across her face. But then her lips curved into a challenging smirk, her eyebrow lifting in mockery. “Somewhere? And what precise kind of ‘somewhere’ are we talking about, Avery? Because if this ‘somewhere’ involves either murdering me, or worse—a formal, guided tour through your elegant, enigmatic, polished, poised, sophisticated Von Carter empire… then I will have to pass.”

I threw my head back and laughed. A unrestrained, belly-deep laugh that shattered the remaining heaviness of the air. “Not at all,” I grinned, shaking my head. “No corporate empire, no boardrooms, no polished Von Carter masks required. Just… a place. That’s all.”

She pursed her lips, considering me, weighing the potential risk. “A place.”

She repeated the word as though testing its hidden meanings or traps. “Yes.”

I met her eyes, searching for any final trace of refusal. “Just a place. Neutral ground. No Professor Rose, no student Avery. Just two very tired people.”

Her challenging smirk widened, though warm amusement shimmered in her eyes. “You do remember, don’t you, that we are, in fact, officially Professor and student? This is inappropriate.”

I leaned forward, pushing the playful challenge. “Come on, Professor… we’re not on campus right now, are we?”

That earned me something rare—an actual, melodic laugh. A soft, lilting sound that felt like a warm flame against the cool, dark night.

She shook her head, her dark hair catching the light of the overhead lamps. “Alright then. Since you’re acting exactly like a petulant, whiny child tonight, I suppose I will humor you. I’ll come with you, Avery.”

I gasped, placing one hand over my beating chest. “Whiny child? Excuse me, Professor?”

Her eyes glittered as she leaned closer, enjoying my reaction. “Sure, you’re not a child.”

She dragged the denial out, like a predatory cat toying with its captured prey. I scowled in offense, but could not hold the pretense. “You’re mocking me.”

She smiled, unrepentant. “Oh, Avery. I wouldn’t dream of it, my dear.”

“Uh-huh,” I muttered, though the corners of my lips betrayed me, curving into an undeniable grin.

For a fleeting second, we just stood there—me, grinning like an idiot, and her, arms folded with that irresistible, mischievous smirk that made my chest tighten in strange, new ways I couldn’t begin to explain. The intense, dark tension from earlier seemed to melt away, replaced by something much lighter… yet intoxicating and dangerous in its complex way.

She followed me to my car, her heels clicking against the pavement, each sound echoing like a defiant challenge. I opened the passenger door with a flourish.

“After you, Professor.”

She eyed me, her distrust palpable. “If this is some elaborate, secret ploy to kidnap me, I’ll warn you now—I have very sharp heels and I know precisely how to use them as effective weapons.”

I snorted. “Duly noted, Professor. But no kidnappings tonight. Just… trust me, please.”

Her lips twitched, but with a defeated sigh, she slid into the plush seat. I closed the door before circling around and slipping behind the steering wheel.

As the engine hummed to life, the silence between us felt strangely charged. I could feel her sharp eyes boring into me, curious, assessing, weighing my every movement.

I tightened my grip on the steering wheel, reminding myself not to let my mind spiral into thoughts of what she could be thinking about my erratic behavior. Finally, she broke the silence, her voice soft and level. “You still haven’t told me where in the city we’re going, Avery.”

I smiled, keeping my eyes fixed on the road ahead. “That’s the most fun part, Professor. You’ll just have to wait and see.”

She sighed, leaning back against the seat, her surrender absolute. “You are impossible, Avery Von Carter.”

“And yet,” I glanced sideways, meeting her gaze in the dark, “you still agreed to come with me.”

She didn’t verbally respond to that truth, but the faintest, most subtle blush crept across her cheeks as she turned her face toward the passing dark window.

After a long, silent twenty-minute drive, I pulled the car into a quieter, older part of the city. No harsh flashing lights, no loud pubs filled with raucous laughter, no polished crowds of elite youth.

Just a small, ancient park, tucked away between old stone buildings, its wrought-iron gates hidden by thick, climbing ivy. She blinked in surprise as I killed the engine. “A park? You brought me all the way across town to a park?”

I nodded, stepping out and gesturing for her to follow. “Yeah. But not just any park, Professor. This specific place is kind of… mine.”

She raised an eyebrow as she followed me through the weathered gate. The air here was softer, cleaner, filled with the faint, sweet perfume of night-blooming flowers and wet earth.

The gravel path curved, lined with old, ornate lampposts that flickered with a warm, golden light. We walked in silence for a while, her expensive heels clicking against the loose gravel path. I could feel her presence beside me, calm yet sharp, as though she were waiting for me to reveal the true reason behind this detour.

Finally, we reached the heart of the park—a small, dark, still pond that reflected the distant city stars like scattered shards of glittering diamonds. A weathered bench sat near the water’s edge, old but sturdy and inviting.

I gestured toward it with an open hand. “Here. This is the place.”

She looked around, her expression unreadable in the dim light. “You brought me… to a literal pond, Avery.”

I chuckled, honestly. “Yeah. Sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it? But this is the one single place where all the external noise disappears for me. No business, no endless expectations, no polished masks. Just… quiet. Just me, feeling like myself.”

Her formidable gaze softened, as she sat down on the bench. I joined her, the silence between us no longer thick and heavy, but strange… easy and comfortable.

She tilted her head, her eyes fixed on the dark water. “You bring people to this spot often, Avery?”

I shook my head, definitively. “No. Never. Just me. And now… only you.”

Her lips curved, a subtle, shift in her composure. “Why me, Avery?”

I exhaled, watching the distant stars dance on the water’s surface, choosing my words. “Because you’re… different from everyone else, Professor. You don’t treat me like the Von Carter heiress, like my name means anything. You don’t care about my polished masks. You… see me. And tonight… after what I saw with that man… I thought maybe you needed this quiet, protective place too.”

When I dared to glance at her, her expression had shifted. Her sharp, defensive edges had softened, her eyes shimmering with something deep and vulnerable I couldn’t name.

For the first time since I met her, she looked less like the untouchable, ice-cold professor and much more like a woman—someone carrying a heavy weight, someone who for once wasn’t in control of her world. For a terrifying moment, I wondered if I’d gone too far, crossed an irreparable boundary.

But then she spoke, her voice quiet, almost fragile. “You’re not nearly as predictable as I thought you were, Avery.”

A wide, genuine grin tugged at my lips, a rush of triumph flooding me. “That, Professor, is the nicest thing you’ve said to me all semester. I’ll take it.”

She laughed, a beautiful sound, and shook her head in fond exasperation. “Don’t you dare let it go to your head, you impossible child.”

I leaned back, feeling a profound sense of peace, watching the distant stars dance on the pond’s surface. “Too late, Professor. Way too late.”

The dark night stretched around us, filled only with the faint, comforting sound of crickets and the gentle, rhythmic ripple of the pond water. Our sharp, defensive banter had ebbed into something softer, something unspoken but palpable.

For once, neither of us felt the urgent need for masks—no intimidating professor, no defiant student. Just two complex people, sitting quietly at the edge of a still pond, caught somewhere between rigid professional boundaries and the possibility of crossing them together.

And for the first time in what felt like my entire life, I didn’t feel like the untouchable Von Carter heiress. I just felt like Avery.

And somehow, sitting beside Ms. Rose… that was finally, gloriously, profoundly enough.