Three Days Earlier
I wasn't expecting him to be this hot.
Not shirtless. Not sweaty. Not holding a riding crop.
But that's where my mind went the second I saw Professor Maxwell standing at the front of the lecture hall, his sleeves rolled up, his dark eyes scanning the room like he could see straight through every lie we'd ever told.
"You're late, Mia."
The words yanked me out of my daydream. I blinked, heat flooding my cheeks as I realized the entire class was staring at me.
"I—sorry, Professor. I didn't realize—"
"Sit down." His voice was sharp, final.
I slid into my seat, avoiding the whispers and smirks from the girls behind me.
"Oh my God, the professor is so hot," Stephanie whispered, loud enough for half the row to hear.
"Shut up," Fay hissed back. "He's mine."
Stephanie just smiled. "Sure. You got this, girl."
I rolled my eyes, pretending not to care while heat crept up my neck. But the truth? I'd been thinking the same thing since the semester started. Professor Maxwell was dangerous in ways that had nothing to do with his PhD.
"So, Mia."
My stomach dropped. His gaze locked on me, cutting straight through like a knife.
"I gave you all an assignment last week. I expect it to be finished."
He paused, scanning the room.
"But before that… can anyone tell me the topic we stopped at?"
Silence. Not a single voice.
"Nothing? Nobody?" His tone sharpened, dark amusement curling at the edges. His eyes returned to me. "Alright then, Mia. Let's see your poem."
Panic surged. I fumbled through my bag, fingers shaking as I pulled out the folded paper.
Wait.
My eyes widened as I glanced at the title.
No. No, no, no—
This wasn't the right poem. This was the one I'd written late at night, half-drunk on cheap wine and loneliness. The one I'd never meant for anyone to see.
"Professor, please—" I pushed forward, trying to snatch it back.
But he lifted his hand, holding it just out of reach. His voice was firm, commanding.
"I'll read."
"Please don't—"
He cleared his throat.
I don't want flowers,
I don't want love songs.
I want hands pulling me apart,
a body pressed too strong.
Take me, break me,
don't make me wait.
I'm begging for fire,
not something safe.
I crave the taste of sweat,
the weight of sin.
Let me give myself away,
just to feel you again and again.
Gasps rippled through the room. Whispers erupted like wildfire.
My face burned. I couldn't breathe.
Maxwell's eyes flicked over the class, then back to me. His voice dropped, low and taunting, meant only for my ears:
"Tell me, Mia… are you really this desperate? Writing about wanting to be touched… taken?"
Laughter broke out. The humiliation clawed at my chest, suffocating.
I couldn't stay. Couldn't breathe.
Blinking back tears, I bolted from my seat and rushed out of the classroom.
The bathroom was cold and empty. I stumbled into a stall and sank onto the toilet seat, pressing my face into my hands as sobs wracked my body.
It wasn't even the right poem.
The door creaked open.
"Mia?"
Bianca. My best friend crouched in front of me, her voice soft.
"Hey… don't let them get to you, okay?"
Tears blurred my vision. "It wasn't even supposed to happen. That wasn't the right poem, Bianca… it was the wrong one."
Bianca sighed, wiping my cheeks with a tissue. "Then let them laugh. It doesn't define you. You're stronger than this."
I wanted to believe her. But the weight in my chest said otherwise.
"Come on," Bianca said gently, pulling me up. "Let's get out of here. Coffee's on me."
I sniffled, forcing a shaky smile. "Thanks, B."
We slipped back into the hallway just as a boy appeared at the classroom door.
"Mia, Professor Maxwell wants to see you. In his office. Now."
My stomach dropped.
The walk to his office felt like a death march. My footsteps echoed in the empty corridor, each one louder than my racing heartbeat.
When I reached the dark wooden door, I hesitated.
Then knocked.
"Professor? You asked for me?"
Silence.
"Professor Maxwell?"
Finally, his voice came through the door. "Come in."
I stepped inside. He was sitting behind his desk, his gaze sharp and unreadable.
"Sit down, Mia."
I obeyed, perching nervously on the edge of the chair.
He slid a paper across the desk.
My eyes widened.
A suspension form.
"You're suspended," Maxwell said, his tone flat, merciless.
"What?" I shot to my feet. "No—Professor, you can't suspend me for this!"
"Yes, Mia. I can." His voice was calm. Too calm. "When you learn respect and apologize, you may come back."
My fists clenched. "I did nothing wrong! You don't have the right!"
"You may leave my office now." His voice was final, sharp as a blade.
"Maxwell… Maxwell!" My voice cracked with frustration.
But he didn't move. Didn't answer.
The silence was worse than any punishment.
I turned on my heel and stormed out, my chest heaving, my world tilting.
That Evening
The echo of my footsteps down the hallway was louder than my heartbeat—though not by much.
Suspended.
Just like that.
I bit down hard on the inside of my cheek to stop the tears threatening to fall. No way in hell was I going to let anyone see me break again.
"Psst—Mia!"
I turned sharply. Two girls were leaning against their lockers, their smirks sharper than knives.
"Better hide your boyfriends," one of them stage-whispered. "She's out here writing poems about begging to get fucked."
Their laughter chased me all the way to the courtyard.
By the time I reached the fountain, Bianca was waiting.
"Mia…"
"Don't," I snapped, my voice shaking. "Don't say it's going to be fine. You saw what he did. And now he's suspended me like it's my fault!"
Bianca pulled me into her arms before I could resist.
"You're not quitting. That's what they want—for you to crawl away humiliated. Don't give them the satisfaction."
I buried my face against her shoulder, doubt gnawing inside me.
What if Maxwell was right? What if I am desperate?
Later that evening, sitting in a cheap café with coffee that tasted like ash, my phone buzzed.
Unknown Number:
Your rent is due already and the landlord said you should move out of the apartment right now. He doesn't want you there anymore.
The words blurred as my vision filled with tears.
First school. Now this.
I packed what little I owned into a battered duffel bag, my hands trembling as I zipped it shut. By the time I stepped onto the street, the night air was damp and cold, slicing through me like punishment.
"Mom…" I whispered into the dark. "If you were still here, things would be different."
My voice cracked.
"I miss you so much. Am I cursed? Suspended from school… thrown out of my house… maybe I'm just bad luck."
I hugged the duffel to my chest, sobbing quietly as cars rushed past.
Finally, with shaking fingers, I pulled out my phone.
"Bianca… can I stay at your place? Just tonight. I'll figure things out tomorrow, I swear."
She didn't even hesitate. "Of course. Come."
The Next Morning
I woke with swollen eyes but something sharper lodged in my chest—determination.
At Bianca's kitchen table, I opened my laptop and scrolled through endless apartment listings. Most were way out of reach. Others were in neighborhoods I wouldn't dare step into.
Then I found it.
Small. Affordable. Within reach.
Hope flickered in my chest for the first time in days.
I grabbed my bag, whispered a thank-you to Bianca, and set out.
The building was older but clean, ivy climbing across its brick walls. Sunlight slanted down the front steps.
A fresh start.
I knocked on the office door.
It swung open—
But no one was there.
"Hello?"
I stepped inside. My footsteps echoed against high ceilings. The place was massive—more mansion than apartment building. Wide windows opened to a breathtaking view of the city below.
It was the most beautiful thing I'd seen in a long time.
I drifted toward the balcony, still clutching my bag.
Then I heard footsteps behind me. Heavy. Steady. Closing in.
I turned slowly.
Professor Maxwell.
Shirtless. Damp hair. Water dripping down his chest.
"Are you stalking me?" His voice was low, cold. "Because I suspended you?"
"Stalking you?" I snapped. "Why the hell would I—"
Then the arrow hit.