Sid's pov-
I walked into the detention room like it owed me something.
The heels. The hair. The smirk.
He was already there—leaning against the desk, sleeves rolled up again like sin dressed in academia.
But I didn't look at him.
Not right away.
Instead, I strolled past like the floor was velvet, settled on the leather couch like it had been brought in just for me. Legs crossed, ladylike. Dangerous.
I pulled out my Chanel glasses and finally, finally, gave him my attention.
A smirk curled at the corner of my lips.
"Hi, Prof."
My tone? Casual. Careless. The kind that set fire to patience.
He didn't answer immediately.
Just looked at me like he was trying to decide whether to lecture me or lock the door.
"I see punctuality isn't your sin today," he said finally.
"Can't be late to something that shouldn't exist," I replied, brushing imaginary lint off my skirt. "Honestly, detention's a bit cliché. What's next? Chalkboard lines and emotional damage?"
"I don't need chalk," he said smoothly, walking toward the desk across from me. "And you came preloaded with the damage."
I laughed. Soft. Surprised.
So he did bite back.
Theo sat down across from me, arms crossed, eyes unreadable.
"This isn't a punishment," he said. "It's an exercise."
"Oh?" I arched a brow. "Are we bonding now? Should I braid your hair while we share trauma?"
"No." His jaw tightened. "You're going to sit there and write a reflection."
I blinked. "A what?"
"A 500-word essay," he said, slow and precise, "on the difference between power and privilege."
He slid a notebook across the desk, the pages pristine and blank. Like a challenge.
I stared at it. Then at him.
And smiled.
"You really think you can make me write something?" I asked.
His gaze didn't waver. "No, Sid. I think I can make you think."
And for the first time since I walked in, I didn't have a comeback.
Just a pulse that thudded once, heavy, right behind my ribcage.
I stared at the notebook like it had insulted me.
Power vs. privilege?
Cute.
I stood up, slow and deliberate, heels clicking on the floor like warning shots.
"You want me to write an essay?" I asked, walking toward his desk. "You think words are going to… what? Humble me?"
Theo didn't flinch. "I think you need to confront the difference between what you've been handed and what you've earned."
I tilted my head, smiling sweetly. "And you think you've earned the right to teach me that?"
"I'm the professor," he said.
I leaned in slightly, palms on his desk, close enough to smell the coffee on his breath, the crisp edge of his cologne. "No. You're the first person who's said no to me without stuttering."
He didn't move.
Didn't blink.
And neither did I.
"You're not here to teach me a lesson," I said, voice lower now, silk over something sharper. "You're here because I make you nervous. Because I walk in and change the temperature of your entire day."
He exhaled once, slow and quiet, like he hated how right I was.
"You think you're power," he said, voice steady. "But you're just noise in designer packaging."
The insult hit, but it also landed like a dare.
I straightened, slowly, circling behind him until I was at his back. Close. Too close.
"Careful, professor," I whispered. "Keep talking like that, and I'll make it my mission to see how loud that 'noise' can get inside your head. I don't need fists to ruin you. One call, and your entire bloodline is wiped from existence. Your credit score? Erased. Your job? Gone, and never to be found. Your apartment? Locked, like it was never meant for you. You'll wake up to nothing—frozen accounts, unanswered calls, and your name erased from every record, as if you never lived. And as for your bloodline? A legacy destroyed, generations lost, all forgotten. I'll be in the shadows, watching your life crumble, sipping champagne in silk sheets, while your family name fades into nothingness. So mind your tone with me."
He turned just as I stepped away, his expression unreadable—but his grip on the desk had tightened.
Good.
Let him hold on.
This was just the beginning.