Chapter 24

Avery’s POV

The nurse’s room smelled of antiseptic. The cut was a surface wound, but it represented more than a sting on my forehead. It marked the bowler’s smirk and the intent behind that ball. It served as a reminder of Ms. Rose’s worried face when I lost consciousness.

I adjusted my bag, ignoring the pulse of pain from my temple. I had no patience for being coddled. I wanted to walk out and continue my life as though nothing had happened. 

The hallway buzzed with the chatter of students, but as I stepped into my classroom, the sound faded into a personal warmth.

Elize and Victoria were at their desks, packing bags to leave. Their eyes landed on me, and their expressions softened with relief. “Avery!” Victoria exclaimed, dropping her notebook into her bag and rushing toward me. Elize followed, a smile tugging at her lips.

Before I could react, both wrapped me in a tight hug. “Easy,” I muttered, wincing as the pressure touched my head. Elize pulled back, brows knitting with concern. “Sorry. We’re glad you’re fine.” Victoria chimed in, tone laced with mock sternness but underlying warmth. “Okay—we are not going to preach about that hit, promise. But,” she added with a smirk, “apart from that incident, we’re celebrating your victory tonight. What say you, champion?”

Their words made my lips curl into the first smirk I allowed myself all day. Victory. Yes, despite the blood and the near-fainting, we won the match. 

“Alright,” I said, allowing myself to be swayed. “Celebration sounds fine with me.” 

“Good,” Elize said with a nod, zipping her bag. 

“Then we’ll leave you to it. But,” she added, eyes twinkling, “we’re sure you won’t go home without your TA duties, will you?” Victoria smirked, nudging me with her elbow. “We know you too well, Avery Von Carter.”

I exhaled a laugh.

They were not wrong. As they left, the classroom emptied, and I stood for a moment before I started walking toward the one place I would find her—Ms. Rose’s office. 

Her door was closed, a barrier between her ordered world and the chaos outside. Normally, I would follow protocol: knock, wait for her voice to grant entry, then step inside with Von Carter composure. 

But today—today, something rebellious pulsed in my veins, fueled by the day’s emotion.

I turned the knob and pushed the door open without a knock, striding inside. The effect was instant. 

Ms. Rose, who had been bent over her desk scribbling notes, snapped her head up. Her eyes widened in alarm, and she nearly dropped her pen. “What the—” she half-yelled, standing up, her chair scraping the floor. “Avery! Are you trying to kill me with shock or yourself with recklessness? What are you doing here? You’re injured! You should be under medical observation at home!”

Her voice carried the sharp edge of disbelief mixed with panic. I leaned against the doorframe, unfazed by her tone. “Professor, take a breath. I can answer your questions, if you like.” 

Her hands went to her hips, and her dark glare could have set me on fire. “Fine. Then tell me—what are you doing here?” 

“TA duties,” I said, folding my arms across my chest, adopting my professional tone. 

She hummed, acknowledging the truth, but her voice hardened with severity. “Tell me honestly, Ms. Carter… are you out of your mind? Do you realize you are injured, potentially concussed, and you’re here spouting something about TA duties?”

I smirked, enjoying the storm raging in her expression. “The nurse told me it wasn’t a serious injury. I fainted because of exhaustion and low blood sugar. The injury is a minor surface cut. You can see it if you doubt me.” 

I tilted my head, showing the white bandage. 

Her eyes flickered to the bandage, her jaw tightening, before she exhaled a sigh. “But still, Avery…”

“Besides,” I cut in, letting my voice soften, “I like it here, Professor.” Her brows arched, caught off guard by the declaration.

I shrugged, adding casually, “I don’t like the sterile smell of that nurse’s room. It smells like a public hospital ward. Not my thing.” 

That earned me something rare. 

A low, rich laugh that lit her face in a way that made my lips twitch. “Unbelievable,” she muttered, shaking her head. 

Then, her eyes narrowed with suspicion, resuming the challenge. “So tell me, Avery—why didn’t you bother to knock when you barged into my office?”

Here, a reckless idea bloomed in my mind. 

I put on a faint wince, flexing my wrist. “Actually, Professor,” I said in a pained tone, “I’ve got a throbbing pain in my right hand…” 

The shift in her demeanor was immediate and alarming. 

She abandoned her desk and came toward me, closing the distance with urgency. 

Her hands reached for mine, as though my hand were the most fragile thing in existence. “What happened to your hand, Avery?” she asked, genuine panic lacing her tone. 

Her grip was tender, her touch featherlight, as if holding me wrong could cause me to shatter.

I couldn’t stop the triumphant smile that spread across my lips. “You weren’t lying earlier about that part, Professor,” I whispered, holding her gaze. “That you care about me.” 

Something profound changed in her. 

Something sharp. 

Something dangerous. 

Her eyes darkened, her demeanor hardening into stone. 

In one move, she grabbed the front of my collar—the same way I had grabbed the bowler’s—and yanked me until I was staring into her furious eyes. 

The proximity stole my breath and set my pulse racing. Her voice dropped, low, lethal, and serious. “Don’t you ever joke about this, Avery. Understood?”

The authority and the force in her blazing gaze shocked me to my core. For once, all words abandoned me. 

I was stunned. 

I was shocked. 

And then, she released me. 

I staggered back, running a shaking hand through my hair to regain my composure. 

I forced a smirk onto my lips, though my heart thundered in my chest like a trapped bird. 

“You know, Professor,” I drawled, pretending to regain control, “that’s rich—someone daring to reach for a Von Carter’s collar. Impressive.” 

Her eyes glittered, and without missing a beat, she retorted, “Well, Avery, someone told me that I don’t look at them like they’re some untouchable Von Carter.”

The words hit me harder than any cricket ball. 

I froze, my smirk faltering. 

Because those were my own words, thrown back at me with surgical precision. 

The silence stretched between us, thick with unspoken truths. 

I swallowed, shifting under her unrelenting gaze. 

The office felt small, heavy with a nameless something that neither of us dared to name. “Touché, Professor,” I finally muttered, forcing a dry grin. 

Her expression softened, but her eyes never left mine. “Don’t test me, Avery. Not with vulnerable things.” 

I nodded, accepting the warning, but my chest burned with the echo of her voice and the ghost of her hands gripping my collar, like I was something she refused to let slip away.

As I stood there, with the smell of chalk dust and paper between us, I realized a truth: I wasn’t sure if the fainting, the bleeding, and the exhaustion were solely from the cricket match. 

Or if it was because of her. 

Because every time she looked at me that way—worried, unflinchingly, intense—I felt like I wasn’t human. 

Like I was something that belonged only to her. 

Then I chuckled, tilting my head, regaining my edge. “You’ve got a photographic memory, Professor.” 

“I should hope so, Ms. Carter,” she said, smoothing her sleeve to mask the internal storm. “It’s part of my job description.”

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on her desk. “So, since we’re stuck here—why don’t we make this dynamic easier? We work together, you scold me, I irritate you. But… we barely know each other outside of our titles and tempers.” 

Her brows arched in curiosity. “And you suggest what, exactly?” 

“Let’s start simple. Favorite things. Step by step.” 

She stared at me, a mix of shock and amusement in her expression. “You faint on the field, walk into my office uninvited, and now you want to play a game of twenty questions?”

“Exactly,” I grinned. 

“Come on, Professor. You go first. Favorite color, please.” 

Her lips pressed together, fighting a smile, but I saw the smirk win. “Blue. Dark blue, specifically.” 

“Figures,” I teased. “Matches the stormy, controlled attitude.” 

Her eyes narrowed in playful warning. “Careful, Avery.” 

“My turn,” I said. 

“Favorite color black. Timeless, commanding. Like me.” She rolled her eyes. “Arrogant much?” “Confident,” I corrected. 

Her gaze softened, conceding the point. “Alright. My turn: Favorite book?”

I leaned back, pretending to think. “I don’t read for pleasure outside of what’s shoved at me. But if I had to pick—’The Art of War’ by Sun Tzu.” 

Her lips twitched with amusement. “Of course. You would choose something about strategy and dominance.” 

“And you, Professor?” I prompted. Her gaze dropped to the desk, a moment of vulnerability, before meeting mine again. “‘Pride and Prejudice’ by Jane Austen.”

I smirked triumphantly. “A romantic hiding behind all that strict professionalism. I did not see that coming.” 

“Don’t test me with labels, Carter,” she warned. 

But her voice lacked the sharp edge, and instead carried something warmer and human.

I leaned closer, resting my chin on my hand. “So, Professor… what about simple guilty pleasures? Everyone has one.” 

She gave me a contemplative look before finally admitting, “I binge-read trashy mystery novels when I should be grading papers.”

I laughed. “That’s adorable, Professor.” 

Her eyes softened at the sound of my laughter, though she quickly masked it with a professional glare. “Your turn.” 

“Fine,” I said, grinning. “My guilty pleasure is that I sneak out of boring family events to avoid small talk. I usually end up on the roof, alone, watching the stars.” 

She tilted her head, something unreadable flickering in her eyes. “That… I didn’t expect from the famous Avery Von Carter.” 

“See?” I pressed. “Step by step.”

The air grew heavier, the banter giving way to a quiet understanding. 

I could still feel the ghost of her grip on my collar and hear the warning in her voice. 

Here we were—sharing favorite things like two people who weren’t supposed to. 

Finally, she leaned back, exhaling, a sound of gentle defeat. “You are reckless, Carter. But you’re… different than I thought.” 

“Different good, Professor?” I asked, pushing the boundary. Her eyes met mine, and for a second, her guard dropped.

“Different… confusing, Avery.” I smiled, accepting the admission. “I’ll take that.” 

The clock ticked, the office bathed in the golden light of the sunset. 

For the first time, neither of us felt like teacher and TA. 

Just two people, discovering the essential pieces of each other. The hum of the evening wrapped the office in a cocoon of warmth. Outside, the campus was alive with the chatter of students, but inside, it felt like the world had narrowed to the two of us, the sunlight pooling on the desk, highlighting the angles of her face and the curve of her jaw.

I leaned back, watching her. She seemed different in the fading light. 

Less untouchable, less like the imposing professor whose voice could command a lecture hall. 

Here, she was human. Vulnerable in ways she rarely allowed anyone to see. “You’ve never told me anything about yourself, Professor,” I said, my voice barely above the rustle of papers. “Not the part outside the classroom.” 

Her dark eyes flicked to mine, guarded. “My life outside this office isn’t riveting, Avery,” she said, though the quiver in her tone betrayed the truth.

I tilted my head, sensing the truth behind her words. “Try me. I’m not bored. And I think knowing someone’s real life is more revealing than the mask they let the world see.” 

She exhaled, her fingers drumming against the desk, a sound that was both nervous and deliberate. “If I had to start somewhere… I’d say childhood. I grew up in a strict household that valued achievement over affection. I learned mistakes weren’t allowed. Vulnerability was considered a weakness. If you showed it, you had to hide it or be punished.”

Her gaze flicked away, and I saw a shadow of past pain cross her demeanor. “That’s why I work so hard. That’s why I must maintain control over everything. Over myself, over others, over what I let them see.” I nodded, letting her words settle between us. I could feel the truth in them, the tremor beneath the professional polish she wore like armor. 

“That makes sense, Professor,” I said. “I get it. I’ve had someone like that too. My mother—she’s a force of nature. Never lets anything slide, expects impossible perfection. I’ve learned to navigate it, but sometimes it feels like no one sees me beyond the surface of the name.”

She looked at me then, truly looked, and for the first time, I caught a glimpse of something softer in her expression—empathy. “And you feel overlooked, Avery?” she asked, her voice full of understanding. I shrugged, a faint smile tugging at my lips. “

Sometimes. But with you… it’s different. You see me, even when I’m being reckless, even when I push your boundaries. You see the parts I try to hide.” 

Her lips pressed together, and her gaze lingered longer than was professional. “You make it difficult for me to maintain my composure, Avery,” she murmured, almost to herself. “You push, but it forces me to acknowledge things I’ve been avoiding for years.”

I leaned forward, chin on my hands, the smirk returning to my lips. “Acknowledging things isn’t so bad, Professor. It’s honest. And honesty can be freeing.” 

She let out a reluctant laugh, a sound like a release I hadn’t realized the room needed. “You talk a lot about honesty, Ms. Carter,” she said, voice softer, more intimate. “But do you always live it? Even when you’re alone?”

I met her gaze, letting the weight of my answer show in my eyes. “I try to. But it’s hard. I’ve spent most of my life performing. Putting on a mask for my mother, for society, for everyone. But here… with you… I want to drop it. I want to be me. Even if that ‘me’ is messy, reckless, and unpredictable.” 

Her eyes flickered with curiosity, intrigue, and a quiet admiration. “Messy and reckless… I suppose those aren’t things I would have expected from the Von Carter heiress,” she said, leaning back in her chair, studying me. “I assumed you were calculated. Strategic. In control of everything.”

I laughed, low and genuine. “Oh, I am… in certain ways. But I’ve learned that life is chaotic, Professor. And sometimes the chaos is the most truthful part.” 

She studied me, her gaze probing, as if peeling back every protective layer I had constructed. “And what about fear, Avery?” she asked, her voice a whisper. “Do you ever let yourself feel it?” 

I frowned, caught off guard by the question. “Fear? Of what?”

She nodded, voice still a whisper. “Fear of failure, of being seen… of letting someone get too close. Fear of being vulnerable.” 

I swallowed, letting her words resonate with my thoughts. “All the time,” I admitted, meeting her eyes. “I’ve learned to hide it, to control it, to channel it into action, strategy, success. But sometimes it overwhelms me. That fear of letting someone in, of trusting, of being exposed. That’s terrifying.”

She nodded, leaning forward, fingers steepled. “That’s what makes you human, Avery,” she murmured. “And that terrifies me too. Because seeing you like this, sharing this… it forces me to confront my own walls, my own fears. And I’m not always ready for that vulnerability.” I let a silence settle between us, thick with the weight of shared truths. 

For the first time, the room didn’t feel like a classroom or a professional office.

It felt like a confessional, a space where masks could be shed and people could meet without pretense. “I think,” I said, leaning closer, “that’s why I’ve been drawn to you, Professor. There’s so much more to you than the sharp words, the authority, the control. There’s fire. There’s fear. And it all makes you real. And irresistible.” 

Her eyes widened, and I saw a flush cross her cheeks. “Avery…” she whispered, her voice low, charged with emotion. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

I let the words hang in the air, the tension thick and electric. “Neither do you, Professor,” I said. “Not fully. But maybe that’s the point. We’re learning, step by step. Not rushing. Not pretending. Just being honest.” 

She exhaled, leaning back, hands pressed to her forehead, as if savoring—or resisting—the honesty I offered. When she opened her eyes, her gaze was softer, more vulnerable than before.

“You’re truly extraordinary, Avery,” she whispered. “And terrifying. All at once.” 

I let out a low, satisfied laugh, leaning back comfortably, letting the moment stretch out, comfortable yet charged with possibilities. “Terrifying… that seems to be our central theme,” I said, my voice teasing. 

Her lips curved into the smile, one I hadn’t seen before, one that felt only for me. “Perhaps,” she murmured. “But maybe, Avery… that’s exactly what we both need.”

The clock ticked, the golden light fading into twilight, and I realized—truly realized—that this connection, this understanding between us, was only the beginning of a long, unpredictable road. 

Because the walls we’d built, the fears we’d hidden, the masks we’d worn to protect our vulnerabilities… none of that mattered anymore. 

Not here, not now, not with her. 

As I watched her, the fierce, brilliant, complex woman who had captured my attention and challenged my every assumption, I knew one thing with clarity: I was no longer afraid of feeling. Not with her. Not with her. And somehow, I knew… she wasn’t either.