Chapter 43

Avery’s POV

I knew she would confront me. The look on her face in the library—that sharp mask of restraint where her eyes betrayed what her lips refused to say—told me more than words ever could.

I knew she had seen me with Marissa. I knew she had been fighting the urge to march over and demand answers. I knew she had been burning.

The knowledge that I could strip away her professional armor with a single act of defiance sent a dizzying rush of power through me. I was late reporting to her room.

I had lingered, letting the anticipation build, allowing her fury to coil tighter. I wanted the explosion. I needed the intensity.

It was the only way I felt alive, and she was the only one who could push me to that edge. When I slipped into her room, hours after I should have, I was prepared for the storm.

Her door creaked open, and there she stood. Not in her usual sharp suit, but in a silk nightgown, a dangerous softness that was more intimidating than her usual rigidity.

Her dark hair spilled down like an ink curtain across her shoulders. Her brows arched, her lips pressed tight.

She looked magnificent—a coiled spring ready to snap. But she did not push me away.

Instead, she stepped aside, silent, letting me in. She never kept me out, no matter how angry she was.

That was our secret truth. I closed the door and leaned against it with a grin.

“What?” I asked, feigning innocence, my voice light, calculated to irritate.

She folded her arms across her chest, the satin whispering over her skin, tilting her head like she was interrogating a suspect who already knew the verdict. “Don’t play coy with me, Avery.”

Her voice was low, a rumble of thunder before the downpour. I let the smirk tug at my mouth, because teasing her was a delicious crime.

“Play coy? Me? Never.”

Her eyes narrowed, fire blazing in those hazel depths, those incredible, expressive eyes that always betrayed the Professor’s polished control. “Who the hell was that woman?”

There it was. Direct. No preamble.

I admired her for it—the elegant woman never wasted time dancing around her emotions, especially the ugly ones. But her use of “hell” was a victory.

I had made her swear. Instead of answering, I pushed off the door and sauntered toward her, slow and deliberate, letting the silence stretch, thick with unspoken accusations and undeniable desire.

Her eyes tracked me the way prey watches a predator—a predator it secretly longs to be caught by. I perched on the edge of her bed, elbows on my knees, and tilted my head with mock innocence.

“Jealousy looks good on you, Professor,” I murmured, letting the word curl from my lips like smoke. It was a truth I knew she desperately wanted to deny.

Her voice cracked like a whip, sharp and immediate. “Avery.”

I chuckled, shaking my head. “God, you should have seen your face in that library. All stern and commanding, trying to wrangle students, but your eyes? They were locked on me. Or rather, on her.”

I emphasized the last word, watching the tightening in her jaw. Something in her jaw flexed, and for the briefest moment, I thought she might actually strangle me—a delicious thought.

Instead, she hissed, the sound audible. “Answer the question.”

I sighed, running a hand through my hair before leaning back on my hands. “Fine. If it eases your tortured, possessive heart.”

Her glare could have burned me alive, yet it only fueled me. I straightened, deciding to give her a truth she could handle, a truth that would disarm her jealousy without revealing the full danger.

“That woman’s name is Marissa,” I began, the shift in my tone subtle but absolute. “She’s not a lover, not a fling, not even remotely that.”

I watched the flicker of relief cross her face before she masked it, the swiftness of her reaction telling me exactly how deep her fear had run. “She’s one of the senior employees attached to our company branch here in Italy. Every time I’m in the country, she updates me on the state of things.”

The older woman blinked, still trying to gauge if I was telling the truth. The Professor in her was fighting the woman who was trying to believe me.

“Then why the secrecy? Why bolt like that in the middle of a lecture?”

“Because,” I said, dropping the smirk, leaning in just enough to draw her into the confession, “there are fishy things happening in the company here. Transfers and accounts that do not add up. Marissa did not want to explain it over the phone, especially not with my father’s security team likely monitoring everything. She called me to meet her in person, off-site. That is why I bolted out of the library.”

Her lips parted. “Fishy things?”

I nodded, my expression settling into something cold and serious that she rarely saw. “Yeah. Embezzlement. Unauthorized deals. People dipping into funds they should not. And my family name does not tolerate rot. We do not allow theft, especially not internal theft that threatens the whole structure.”

Her expression softened, but only slightly. I could see the gears turning in her head—the Professor in her wanted to question, to press further, perhaps for the sake of the Economics of it all, but the woman in her?

She was simply relieved. And, perhaps, intrigued by the unexpected drama of my life.

I leaned closer, lowering my voice, ensuring she felt she was privy to a grand, dangerous secret. “So no, Tiffany. There was nothing romantic about it. Unless you count a passionate love affair with corporate fraud.”

That earned me the tiniest twitch of her lips, a brief, silent acknowledgment of my dark humor. Victory.

Still, I could see the tension in her shoulders, the way she was fighting not to give me the satisfaction of seeing her relax. She needed to reassert control.

So, naturally, I had to push the moment further, pivot the focus back to her raw, forbidden emotion. “You know,” I murmured, my hand reaching out, my fingers brushing a strand of hair from her face, the touch feather-light yet demanding attention, “I like you like this. Positively seething with jealousy. Possessive. Territorial. You’re devastatingly beautiful when you’re furious.”

Her hand shot up, quicker than a striking snake, gripping my chin, tilting my face toward hers. Her voice dropped to a dangerous whisper, the one that meant the rules of the academy were irrelevant.

“Don’t you dare mistake this for amusement, Avery.”

Damn it, that flicker in her eyes—half fury, half hunger, a desperate, intoxicating cocktail—made my stomach flip. It was the moment she stopped being my Professor and became just the woman I could not live without.

I licked my lips, grinning anyway, unwilling to cede the moment. “Oh, Professor, I would never.”

She exhaled, letting me go, but her eyes stayed locked on mine, hazel locking onto green. “You drive me insane.”

I leaned back with a shrug, the movement casual, masking the frantic rhythm of my heart. “That’s the plan.”

The silence between us stretched, thick and charged, a dense, intoxicating blanket. I knew she was weighing whether to believe my corporate embezzlement story, whether to press harder for details, but the need to maintain her professional distance always won… until I gave her permission to cross it.

Then she asked, softer this time, the steel replaced by a careful concern. “So what’s next?”

I nodded, the gravity of the situation returning for a beat. “Nothing she would just text me details. She wants to explain everything in detail, all the documents and legal steps. And since I’m already here, in the same city, it makes sense to handle it.”

Her brows knitted. I saw the faint crease of worry. “So, you would handle all the things alone? This sounds like serious trouble, Avery.”

“Yes.” My answer was firm.

I did not need a babysitter, and I certainly did not need the school trip interrupted. I saw the flicker of frustration in her eyes, the battle between her protective instincts and her restraint.

God, she was magnificent when she warred with herself like that. She wanted to wrap me in cotton wool, but she knew I would shred it.

So I leaned in, lips brushing her ear, the warmth of my breath against her skin a deliberate distraction. “Don’t worry. I do not walk into danger blindly. And…”

I let the smirk return, a flash of the confidence that was my shield, “…did you forget? We have our ways to know what’s happening around them. I have the resources and the people to handle this, Tiffany.”

That earned me the reaction I wanted—her groan of exasperation, her rolling eyes, her muttered, “For God’s sake, stop flaunting this family thing.”

I could not stop laughing, the sound low and rich, filling her room. I dropped my forehead to hers, letting my voice soften, replacing the boast with raw affection.

“But it does impress you.”

Her lips pressed tight, fighting a smile. “It does not.”

“Liar,” I whispered, pulling her closer, closing the space between us.

In that moment, watching her struggle not to give herself away, I knew I had won—not the argument, not the explanation, but the battle of hearts. Because she was mine, whether she admitted it out loud or not.

Her room smelled of lavender, soft and soothing, a contrast to the volatile tension that usually filled the air when we were together. It was as if the walls themselves conspired to lull her into peace.

And there she was—the beautiful professor—still standing before me in her satin nightgown, the initial fury dissolving into a cautious, guarded tenderness. She had settled down, but she was not quite ready to let the student off the hook.

She narrowed her eyes. “Avery, one thing still does not make sense.”

I tilted my head, feigning innocence that was far too late to be convincing. “Just one? I feel like I usually confuse you on at least three major points.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line, but the corner twitched upward despite herself. “Yes. Don’t deflect. You claimed you did not know my room number. You even insisted on asking me, almost begging.”

I smirked, lounging back against her headboard like I owned the place, a posture of absolute confidence. “Correct. It was a tedious exercise in futility, but yes, I played along.”

“Then how,” she said, each word deliberate, her gaze penetrating mine, “did you manage to sneak into my room night after night with the ease of someone who already knew exactly where to go? No one saw you. No one heard you. It was impossible.”

The grin spread across my face before I could stop it. This was the moment for the final act.

The final curtain call of my elaborate performance. I leaned forward, lowering my voice as if it were a grand confession—a secret too magnificent to be shouted.

“Because, Professor Rose, the major stakeholders of this beautiful hotel—La Plaza—are none other than my family.”

Her eyes widened for a heartbeat, before narrowing into that suspicious glare I adored. It was the look of a scientist whose carefully constructed theory had just been blown apart by a single, inconvenient fact.

“You’re telling me you’ve had the information all along? The room number. The security codes. Everything?”

“Of course.” I shrugged, casual, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I have my ways. Always. I know which hotels to choose for maximum privacy and minimum complications.”

“And yet,” she said, tilting her head, a hint of something like hurt mingling with her confusion, “you insisted on asking me. Over and over again. Why the game, Avery?”

I leaned closer, letting the tension stretch between us, watching her eyes search mine for honesty, for the truth that lay beneath the theatrics. “Because…”

I paused, savoring the moment, “…I wanted to see how hard it would be to access your sanctuary.”

That earned me a reaction I had not expected. She blinked, caught between disbelief and the tug of amusement. “My what?”

“Your sanctuary.” My tone softened, the playful arrogance receding to reveal the kernel of genuine feeling. “Your room. Your space. The one place where you shed the role of professor and become just yourself. The woman who actually sees me, not the family name. I wanted to see how much effort it would take for me to get past your walls. How much you would fight me.”

Her lips parted, but no words came out. For once, the fierce, untouchable woman was silent, stunned into submission by the truth of my motivation.

I let my smirk curl, but my voice dropped to something quieter, deeper. “Turns out, it was not the room number that mattered. It was your permission. It was the moment you lowered your guard and let me in. And lucky me…”

I reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek, a gesture of soft adoration, “…you opened the door.”

Her laugh burst out, soft but genuine, filling the room like sunlight breaking through clouds. It was a beautiful sound.

She shook her head, stepping closer, and before I could utter another word, she wrapped her arms around me. The hug was fierce, tight, grounding.

It was not a professor’s hug, or a friend’s. It was the hug of a woman who was terrified of losing the one person who challenged her most.

And me? I melted right there.

All the teasing, all the walls I put up, all the bravado of who I was supposed to be—they dissolved the moment her body pressed against mine, her heartbeat thrumming steady against my chest. She was my anchor.

I closed my eyes, inhaling her lavender scent, and for once, I did not feel like the girl who had to prove something to the world. I just felt… hers.

I pulled back, enough to see her face. She still had that small, knowing smile, the one that said she saw right through my layers of confidence to the raw, needy girl underneath.

“You’re impossible,” she murmured.

“Impossibly charming, yes.”

Her laugh this time came with a shake of her head. “Impossibly arrogant.”

“Same thing.” I winked.

She rolled her eyes, but the way her fingers lingered at the back of my neck told me I was forgiven. Or maybe, more dangerously, adored for it.

“You know,” I whispered, my voice thick, “you hugging me like that? I might never recover.”

“Oh, please.” She nudged my shoulder, though her cheeks betrayed the faintest pink in the low light. “Don’t pretend you do not know what you do to me.”

Her brows lifted, a playful challenge sparking in her eyes again. “And what exactly do I do to you, Avery?”

I leaned in, lips brushing her ear as I whispered, the words a sacred admission, “You ruin me.”

Her breath caught. Enough for me to notice the sudden, delicious tension in her body.

And there it was again—that charge between us, that unspoken truth that pulsed in the silence. The reason we could not stay away from each other.

She tried to mask it, pulling away and busying herself by adjusting the pillows on her bed, as if that would hide the fact that her hands trembled. I watched her, smirking to myself.

The woman who never lost control, unraveling at the edges because of me. Finally, she sat back down, a long, contented sigh.

“So… you knew my room number all along.”

“Yes.”

“And you played this little game anyway.”

“Obviously. The chase is always better than the catch, Professor.”

Her lips curved into a smile she could not hide, a brilliant, genuine flash of happiness. “Why am I not surprised?”

“Because you know me too well.”

I tugged her hand, pulling her back into my arms, demanding the closeness. “And because deep down, you like it. My drama. My stubbornness. My relentless need to break through your walls.”

She nestled against me with another quiet laugh. “Relentless is one word for it.”

“Effective is another,” I countered, burying my face in her hair.

Her fingers tapped against my chest. “You really are insufferable.”

“Yet, here you are,” I murmured, kissing the top of her head.

For a long while, we just stayed like that. No words. No teasing. Just her head resting against me, her arms wrapped around me, my heartbeat aligning with hers.

It was an unspoken vow. And as I held her, I realized—this was the part I craved most.

Not the playful sparring, not even the stolen kisses, but this: the woman choosing to hold me close, allowing herself to melt into me the way I always melted into her. The room number, the hotel shares, the power plays—it all faded into insignificance.

What mattered was this hug. What mattered was her.

❖

The hotel corridor was quiet, hushed, the lights dimmed for the late hour, as if the walls themselves knew the secrets I carried. My lover was asleep—or pretending to be asleep, I could never tell with her—her grip having finally loosened into the deep, trusting sleep of exhaustion.

I had slipped out of her arms, moving like a thief in the night. One wrong move, one sound, and she would have woken, demanding answers in that low, dangerous tone of hers.

And though I loved her fire, tonight was not her battle. Tonight was mine.

My phone buzzed once in my pocket, a silent alarm. The message was brief, a chilling communication that snapped me out of the lavender-scented haze of the room and back into the cold reality of my family’s world.

“Marissa: Waiting outside. Black car. No headlights.”

I exhaled, my pulse quickening, the fear that I had hidden from the woman upstairs now gripping my chest. This was not a game anymore.

This was my legacy on the line. The night air bit at my skin as I stepped out of La Plaza. The grand facade of the hotel seemed to watch me, judging the betrayal of its own stakeholder.

True to her word, Marissa was waiting in a sleek black sedan, its engine silent, headlights dark, parked in shadow near a massive stone planter. She rolled down the window, her eyes sharp, calculating, a soldier ready for war.

“Avery,” she said, her voice taut, laced with impatience. “You’re late. The night is short.”

I smirked, pulling the door open and sliding into the passenger seat. “I prefer dramatic entrances. And I had a pressing engagement with my Professor.”

The last part was a defiant whisper, a boast I knew she could not dare repeat. Her lips twitched, a faint acknowledgement of my insolence.

“Always the same way. Always prioritizing the thrill.”

The car smelled of leather and something metallic—subtle but unmistakable: gunpowder. This was not a friendly catch-up over spreadsheets.

This was serious. I leaned back, crossing my arms, letting my own arrogance fill the space.

“So. What’s so urgent you had to pull me out in the middle of the night? And why the cloak-and-dagger routine? I told her it was just a simple update.”

The woman beside me did not answer. Instead, she reached into the briefcase at her side and pulled out a thin file, its edges worn, the contents causing her significant stress.

She placed it on my lap. The weight of it felt like lead.

“Two possible suspects,” she said. Her voice dropped, laced with tension. “Forging documents. Bleeding money through false invoices and shell companies. If this continues, it could cripple your branch here in Italy—and, more importantly, tarnish your family name with scandal and criminal investigation.”

I flipped the file open, my breath catching. Inside were spreadsheets, damning emails, and questionable contracts.

But it was not the numbers that caught my attention. It was the names, written in bold, official font.

Luca DeLuca. Matteo Bianchi.

I read them aloud, tasting the weight of each syllable. “DeLuca. Bianchi. Both senior executives. The very men Father trusted with the Italian operations.”

The agent nodded grimly. “Men you’ve trusted. Men your father once praised as being ‘family’ to the company. They have been systematically draining the accounts for months.”

My jaw tightened, locking away the betrayal. Betrayal always came dressed in respectability, a tailored suit and a confident smile.

It was never the outsiders. I looked up at her, my eyes cold, my face a mask of ruthlessness.

“How long?”

“Months. Maybe longer. They covered their tracks well—too well. I only got in because I anticipated they would be foolish enough to use the corporate VPN for their personal exchanges. If I had not gotten into their private communications, we would still be in the dark.”

A slow, dangerous smile spread across my lips, mirroring the darkness in the car. “You hacked them. You accessed their personal and corporate accounts without legal permission.”

She shrugged, unapologetic, her gaze meeting mine without flinching. “I did what had to be done. The damage they are causing far outweighs the risk of an internal investigation.”

For a moment, silence thickened, broken only by the hum of the city. I was not just facing corporate fraud; I was facing the brutal reality of leadership.

My father would have made the problem disappear. My instinct was different, but no less aggressive.

I tapped the file against my knee, thinking. “And what exactly do you expect me to do with this information, Marissa? I’m here on a university trip. I’m not running the company.”

Her eyes flashed. “What you do best. Take control. You are the heir. Your presence here, even unofficially, changes the dynamic. You cut out the rot before it spreads. You make an example of them.”

I tilted my head, studying her. “Funny. For someone who works for my family, you sound a lot like you’re giving me orders, not asking for guidance.”

The woman leaned closer, her perfume sharp with steel and citrus—a perfect scent for corporate espionage. “I am not giving you orders. I am giving you a chance to save your empire.”

The word empire lingered in the air, heavy and poisonous. I thought of the woman upstairs, asleep, trusting me with pieces of herself she gave no one else.

I thought of the orphanage children, whose future depended on the stability only we could provide. And then I thought of Luca and Matteo, men in suits with smiles sharper than knives, stealing from the vulnerable.

My hand clenched around the file. “Then it’s war.”

A satisfied smirk appeared on her face. “I thought you would say that. I knew you would not let this stand.”

But I was not smiling. My veins were fire, my heartbeat a drumbeat of rage and resolve.

This was not business; it was personal. They had insulted my intelligence and threatened my future.

I stared at the names again, letting them sear into my mind. “First thing in the morning, I want a list of every deal these bastards touched. Every false invoice. Every forged paper. Every accomplice. I do not care how deep you have to dig. Use whatever means necessary. Get me their families’ financial records, their holiday invoices, every little lie.”

She nodded once, crisp and precise. “Already working on it. I have an internal audit team ready to move as soon as you give the word.”

“Good.” My voice was ice. “Because once I have irrefutable proof, I am going to tear them down. Publicly.”

Marissa arched an eyebrow, surprised. “You’re planning exposure? Not quiet dismissal and asset recovery?”

“Of course.” I leaned in, my voice sharp enough to cut. “Our name is not just a business. It’s a legacy. And no one—no one—makes a fool out of us. They will know the cost of betrayal. I will crush them under the weight of their own incompetence and greed.”

A faint smile returned to her face, her eyes gleaming with respect. “You sound like your father. But with more fire.”

I flinched, just slightly. Enough for her to notice the sensitivity of the comparison.

“My father,” I said coldly, my gaze hardening, “built walls and paid problems to disappear. I build fire. I make them watch the flames.”

And then I snapped the file shut, the finality of the sound sealing their fate. For a moment, silence lingered.

Then the woman spoke again, her tone softer, curious, like an anthropologist observing a rare species. “You’ve changed. Last time I saw you, you were all bravado and charm. Tonight… you’re sharper. Focused. Almost… disciplined.”

I did not answer. My thoughts slipped, unbidden, to the professor upstairs.

The soft scent of lavender. The feeling of her arms around me, fierce and protective.

The way she laughed when she thought no one heard. The way her eyes softened when I called her by her first name instead of Ms. Rose.

The way she kissed me like she was drowning and I was the only air she trusted. That discipline, that focus… it was all for her.

“She changed me,” I whispered before I could stop myself, the truth a warm rush against the cold anger in my veins.

Marissa tilted her head, pressing me. “She? The Professor?”

I snapped my gaze to her, my voice low and dangerous. “Don’t. Don’t ever link my personal life to the company. My feelings are not your business.”

She held up her hands in mock surrender, a sly glint in her eyes. “Fair enough. Your secrets are safe with me.”

“They had better be,” I muttered, sliding the file into the secure inner pocket of my jacket. The driver started the car, headlights cutting through the dark.

“So what now? Are you leaving for Milan tomorrow?”

“No. I’m staying put.” I could not leave the woman I loved.

Not now. “I’ll be running the operation remotely. I want daily encrypted reports. No calls. No meetings. Nothing that traces back here. I’ll make an appearance in Milan when the trap is ready to spring.”

Marissa nodded. “Understood. You have a plan?”

I smirked, though my blood still boiled with the thought of the betrayal. “Now? I go back upstairs. Pretend nothing’s wrong. Because if she finds out where I’ve been tonight, or what I’m planning, she will skin me alive before Luca and Matteo even get the chance.”

A brittle laugh escaped her lips. “The bold heir I know, afraid of someone? That’s new.”

“Not afraid.” I stared out the window, at the glittering lights of the sleeping city, the beautiful, dangerous facade of my world. “Just… undone. She is my only weakness, Marissa. And I won’t give them a tool to use against me.”

Nothing more was said. She drove me back to La Plaza, silent except for the hum of the engine.

When the car stopped, I opened the door, stepping into the night. “Be ready tomorrow,” I said, looking back at her. “This is not business anymore. It is war. And I never lose a war.”

She nodded. “Understood. I will await your command.”

And then I closed the door, the sound sharp in the quiet, and walked back inside, leaving the black car and the corporate secrets behind. I had to become the carefree student again, the girl who only cared about annoying her professor.

I had to go back to the lavender-scented room and the warm embrace of the woman who held my heart, oblivious to the war that was now raging in her city, a war I would fight, alone, for her. My destiny was no longer just my own.

It was tied to hers. And for her, I would burn the whole world down.