Chapter 177

Two Weeks Later

The campus had settled into routine.

Emma had found her rhythm — office hours steady, guitar and piano classes running smoother each week. She moved through the halls with more confidence now. Less new. More established.

But something else had settled too.

Awareness.

Not loud.

Not scandal.

Just… presence.

Faculty Lounge – Late Morning

Emma stepped into the faculty lounge between classes, laptop tucked under her arm, mug in hand. The room carried that familiar mix of burnt coffee, paper, and dry-erase marker.

Professor Langley sat near the window, grading. Dr. Patel was across from him, scrolling through something on a tablet. Another professor, Dr. Reynolds, leaned against the counter flipping through a syllabus.

Emma moved to the coffee machine, pouring herself a refill.

“You’re settling in well,” Langley said without looking up.

Emma glanced over her shoulder with a small smile. “I’m trying.”

Patel looked up next. “Students seem to like you.”

Emma turned slightly, resting her hip against the counter. “That’s good to hear.”

Reynolds chimed in, smirking lightly. “More than like, from what I’ve heard.”

Emma raised a brow. “Oh?”

Langley finally looked up from his papers. “You’ve made an impression quickly.”

Emma nodded once. “I’d hope that’s because of my teaching.”

A pause.

Langley gave a small shrug. “That’s part of it.”

Reynolds added, casual but pointed, “Could be your looks too.”

Emma blinked once, then smiled—polite, controlled, not flustered.

“Well,” she said lightly, “thank you.”

Reynolds chuckled. “I’m serious. You walk into a room, people notice.”

Patel nodded in agreement. “You’ve got a presence. Students respond to that.”

Emma lifted her coffee, taking a small sip before answering. “My wife thinks so too.”

The word landed softly.

Wife.

There was a brief shift in the room—not uncomfortable, just noted.

Langley leaned back in his chair. “That would explain the… consistency.”

Emma tilted her head slightly. “Consistency?”

“Same visitor. Same time blocks,” he said casually. “People notice patterns.”

Emma held her composure. “We’re both on campus. It’s convenient.”

Patel nodded. “Nothing wrong with that.”

Another pause.

Reynolds crossed his arms. “You’ve got good energy in the classroom, though. I heard your piano students actually stayed after to keep playing.”

Emma’s expression softened just a little. “They did.”

“That doesn’t happen often,” Patel added. “Usually they pack up the second time’s up.”

Langley tapped his pen against his paper. “And your guitar class—someone mentioned you made it feel less intimidating.”

Emma let out a quiet breath, some of the tension easing. “That’s the goal.”

“To make them feel like they belong there?” Patel asked.

“Yeah,” Emma said simply. “If they’re comfortable, they’ll actually learn.”

Langley nodded slowly. “That part? That’s what will matter long-term.”

A beat.

Then, quieter—

“Just make sure that’s what defines you.”

Emma understood exactly what he meant.

Not an accusation.

A redirection.

She gave a small, respectful nod. “It will be.”

Reynolds pushed off the counter. “Either way, you’ve got people talking.”

Emma smiled faintly. “Hopefully for the right reasons.”

Langley gave her a look. “Make sure it stays that way.”

Emma didn’t argue.

“I will.”

The conversation shifted after that—back to grading, deadlines, curriculum changes—but the message had already been delivered.

Clear.

Measured.

Intentional.

Emma picked up her coffee and her laptop.

As she walked out of the lounge, her posture was still composed—

But now she knew for sure.

They weren’t guessing anymore.

They were watching.

Abigail pushed the practice room door open with her shoulder, her guitar case brushing against her leg as she stepped inside. The door shut behind her, and the quiet hit instantly.

It was different in here. Still. Controlled. Safe.

She dropped her bag near the wall, then set her guitar case down more carefully, flipping the latches open before lifting the guitar out. As she sat, she rested it against her thigh, her fingers naturally finding their place along the neck like they always did.

She exhaled slowly. “Alright…” she murmured under her breath.

No distractions.

Just this.

She gave a few soft strums, adjusting slightly, listening as the notes echoed cleanly back to her. Then she started playing for real, her fingers moving through the progression she’d been working on. It came easier this time—smoother, more natural.

After a second, she started singing.

Her voice was soft at first, almost testing the space, then it settled—steady, controlled, real. The lyrics came out exactly how they’d been sitting in her chest, unfiltered and honest. As she kept going, she leaned into it more, letting the melody carry her instead of holding back.

By the time she reached the end, her voice softened again, easing out on the last line. Her fingers pressed into the final chord and let it ring.

Then silence.

Abigail sat there for a second, her chest rising and falling as she processed it.

That one felt right.

“Okay…” she whispered.

She shifted slightly, reaching for her phone to run it back—

A knock hit the door.

Her head lifted. “Yeah?” she called out.

The door opened anyway.

The second she saw Professor Shields, her expression changed.

Tight. Guarded.

Shields stepped inside like she belonged there, closing the door behind her. “That was beautiful,” she said smoothly.

“Thanks,” Abigail replied shortly, already reaching for her phone again. Her thumb moved fast—unlock, call.

Emma.

But before the call could connect, Shields stepped forward and took the phone out of her hand.

Abigail’s head snapped up immediately. “What are you doing?”

Shields ended the call and lowered the phone like it was nothing. “That’s not necessary.”

Abigail stood up instantly, her body going rigid. “Give me my phone.”

Instead of backing up, Shields stepped closer.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you,” she said, her tone shifting into something that made Abigail’s stomach turn.

Abigail took a step back. “No. Whatever this is—no.”

“You’re talented,” Shields continued, ignoring her. “I can help you. Performances, connections—”

“You’ve already said that,” Abigail cut in, sharper now. “And I told you I’m not interested.”

Shields tilted her head slightly. “I don’t think you’ve really considered what I’m offering.”

“I have,” Abigail said firmly, moving back again to keep distance between them. “And I don’t want it.”

Shields’ voice softened. “You don’t have to call it anything. Just let me take care of you.”

That did it.

Abigail straightened, her expression hardening completely. “You are my professor,” she said clearly. “And I’m already in a relationship.”

Shields didn’t move.

Abigail stepped forward this time, taking her space back. “You keep trying to come on to me,” she continued. “And I don’t want you.”

The room went still.

“You need to stop,” she added, her voice steady but firm. “Because this is inappropriate, and I should report you for this.”

That landed.

She held her gaze, not backing down.

Then extended her hand slightly.

“Give me my phone.”

Abigail’s hand stayed out, steady, waiting.

“Give me my phone.”

Professor Shields didn’t move.

She just stood there, still holding it, her attention locked onto Abigail like the rest of the room didn’t exist. For a second, it was like she hadn’t even registered the demand.

Abigail’s jaw tightened.

“You’re not hearing me,” she said, her voice sharper now. “Give me my phone.”

Still nothing.

And that’s when it clicked.

Shields wasn’t even paying attention to what she had just done.

Abigail straightened slightly, her eyes narrowing.

“Do you hear yourself right now?” she continued, her tone shifting—stronger, louder, done being polite. “This is literally stalking.”

Shields’ expression flickered, but Abigail didn’t stop.

“If it’s not the grocery store, it’s the club. If it’s not the club, it’s somewhere else on campus,” she went on, her voice rising with every word. “Can you just leave me alone?”

Abigail’s hand stayed out, steady. “Give me my phone.”

Professor Shields didn’t move. She just stood there, still holding it, her attention fixed on Abigail like nothing else mattered. It was like she hadn’t even registered what she’d done.

Abigail’s jaw tightened. “You’re not hearing me,” she said, sharper now. “Give me my phone.”

Still nothing.

That’s when it clicked—Shields wasn’t even paying attention to the fact that Abigail had already hit call.

Abigail straightened, her eyes narrowing as her patience snapped. “Do you hear yourself right now? This is literally stalking.” Her voice rose, frustration breaking through. “If it’s not the grocery store, it’s the club. If it’s not the club, it’s somewhere else on campus. Can you just leave me alone?”

Across campus, Emma had just stepped out when her phone buzzed. Abigail.

She answered immediately. “Abigail—”

But Abigail wasn’t talking to her.

Emma stilled, listening.

Back in the practice room, Abigail paced slightly now, her voice steady but heated. “You come in here and disturb my practicing—wait… how did you even know it was me playing?”

That question changed everything.

Emma’s expression hardened instantly. The confusion disappeared, replaced with something sharp, alert. She pulled the phone back just long enough to send one message.

Ashley: 911 at the campus. I might go to jail today.

Send.

Then she moved.

Fast.

Abigail’s eyes stayed locked on Shields. “Answer me,” she said, lower now, but more intense. “How did you know I was in here?”

Shields stepped forward.

“I pay attention.”

That wasn’t an answer.

Abigail stepped back immediately. “Stay right there. Don’t come any closer.”

But Shields didn’t stop. She stepped forward again, reaching toward her—

The door slammed open.

Emma didn’t hesitate.

She crossed the room in seconds.

And before Shields could even react—

Emma’s fist connected with her face.

The sound cracked through the room.

Shields stumbled back, completely caught off guard as the phone slipped from her hand and hit the floor.

“Emma—!” Abigail shouted, shock hitting instantly as everything exploded.

But Emma didn’t stop.

She lunged forward again, grabbing Shields and driving her back, pure adrenaline taking over as she swung again.

“Don’t you touch her!” Emma snapped, her voice sharp, furious, every word laced with something deeper than anger.

Shields tried to push back, to defend herself, but Emma was already on her, the fight turning messy, fast, chaotic.

“Emma, stop!” Abigail rushed forward, grabbing at her arm, trying to pull her back. “Emma, stop—this isn’t—”

But Emma barely registered it, her focus locked, her movements fueled by everything she had just heard.

“Get off me!” Shields shouted, struggling now as she tried to shove Emma away.

Abigail wedged herself between them, pushing at Emma’s shoulder, her voice rising. “Emma, you’re going to get in trouble—stop!”

For a second, it looked like Emma might not.

Then—

The door burst open again.

Ashley.

Breathing hard, eyes wide as she took in the scene instantly.

“Oh hell no—”

She rushed forward without hesitation, grabbing Emma from behind. “Emma—Emma, chill—chill!” she said, pulling hard, using all her strength to drag her back.

It took effort.

Real effort.

But finally, they managed to separate them.

Emma stumbled back slightly, chest heaving, her eyes still locked on Shields like she might go again at any second.

“Are you okay?” Ashley shot quickly to Abigail without looking away from Emma.

“I’m fine,” Abigail said quickly, though her heart was still racing.

For half a second—

It looked like things might settle.

Then Ashley’s head snapped toward Shields.

And something in her expression changed.

“Oh, nah,” she muttered.

Before anyone could react—

Ashley let go of Emma.

And went straight for Shields.

Her fist connected just as hard.

Then again.

“Don’t you EVER put your hands on her!” Ashley snapped, her voice loud, heated, each word punctuated with movement as she swung again.

“Ashley—!” Abigail moved again, trying to grab her this time, but Ashley was already in it, fueled, just as ready as Emma had been seconds ago.

The room spiraled again.

Louder.

Messier.

Out of control.