Emilia's POV

The next day came quickly as expected, the morning sun spilled through the tall glass windows of Kingston University's lecture hall and painted the room in soft gold.

Students shuffled in with tired faces, clutching coffee cups, chattering, dropping their bags, and claiming their usual seats.

I kept my head down, clutching my notebook tight against my chest as if it could shield my heart from the storm inside. I hadn't slept much, not after the event of yesterday night. My thoughts kept drifting and relaying the event from the night before—the stranger in the corner, and alone in the shadows of the bar, his commanding presence, the way his eyes had lingered on mine like he already owned a part of me. Or perhaps, he knew me before.

I shook my head quickly, I couldn't be daydreaming again, not about some stranger who felt like he knew me.

Don't think about him.

It was nothing. It was just another night with another stranger.

I got into the lecture hall, slid into the second row, and sat in the corner by the aisle. That was my favorite spot to sit because it was safe, hidden, or at least I hoped so. I flipped my notebook open before me on the desk, and pretended to write what came to my mind.

Though, my hands trembled slightly as I held the pen.

My best friend, Clara Morin, leaned in from the seat behind me. “You look like death warmed over. Did you even sleep?” Clara whispered, staring at me.

I forced a laugh. “Rough night again. Couldn't shut my brain off.”

“Brain or heart?” Clara teased. “You've been distracted for days, Emilia. You've been acting somehow awkward, is everything okay?”

Before I could answer her, the chatter in the lecture hall stilled. A silence rippled through the hall as footsteps echoed from the doorway. It was the new professor and he looked familiar.

I looked up—and froze instantly.

Adrian Blackwell.

The air left my lungs for a seconds. And for a moment, I thought I was hallucinating. But no—the man was real, the stranger from the last night who had told me he was worse than a wolf, the one who had sat close, who had looked at me as if I was temptation myself, who had tucked a paper in the glass cup. The one who had avoided the glass cup from falling down, was now standing at the front of the room in a crisp black suit.

My professor.

My lips parted in shock, and my eyes widened in disbelief. The world tilted for a moment, and my I gripped my pen tighter to steady myself.

“Good morning.” His voice was smooth, and steady, the same voice that had whispered against my ear only hours ago. “I'm Professor Blackwell. I'll be teaching European Literature this semester.”

Students murmured in excitement. A few girls giggled, nudging each other at how attractive he was. But I couldn't hear them. All I heard was the pounding of my own heartbeat.

Clara leaned toward me again, wide-eyed. “Oh my God, he's hot.”

My throat was dry, so dry I was beginning to thirst for water. “Yeah,” I croaked. Hot. Dangerous. Forbidden.

Adrian’s gaze swept across the lecture hall, they were calm, unreadable, until they landed on me.

I felt it instantly—the pull, sharp and undebatable. His grey eyes locked onto mine as if no one else ever existed. Recognition flared immediately and we both locked eyes. A flicker of something dangerous flashed across his expression. Then, in a blink, it was gone, masked under a professional calm..

But I have seen it, yes. My stomach dropped because I knew he remembered the girl who didn't belong from last night.

“Let's begin.” His tone was cool, distant, as though nothing had happened between us. As though he hadn't leaned close last night, his lips were just inches from mine.

He turned to the white board, writing his name in bold strokes: Professor Adrian Blackwell.

I tried to look away, not to get distracted but my eyes betrayed me. I studied the curve of his shoulders, the way his suit hugged his frame, and the quiet authority in his movements. I hated myself for noticing that, all about him.

My pen scratched uselessly against the paper before me. My notes were just a mess of meaningless lines.

He lectured about Romanticism, quoting poets with precision, but I barely heard him, because every word he spoke carried an undertone I could still feel from the night before, as if the air between us was charged with a secret no one else could see.

At one point, Clara nudged me. “Are you even listening? You look carried away!”

I whispered back, “I'm trying to.”

“You're staring.”

My cheeks flushed. “No, I'm not.”

“Yes, you are,” Clara giggled. “You never stare at professors. What's with you today?”

I quickly bent my head, pretending to write again. “Nothing. I'm just tired.”

But my body betrayed me. Every time Adrian's voice dipped lower, I shivered. And every time he glanced in my direction, my stomach tightened.

Halfway through the lecture, Adrian asked the class a question. “Who can tell me what Lord Byron meant when he said, She walks in beauty, like the night…?

Suddenly, a few hands shot up. And just then, I heard my name.

“Emilia.”

My head snapped up. He had called on me. Of all people, he had chosen me. His gaze was still steady, unreadable, but the way he said my name—low, deliberate—made my pulse race.

I swallowed hard instantly. “Um… I think he was comparing her to the night sky. Dark, mysterious, beautiful in a way that feels untouchable.”

Adrian's lips curved slightly, almost like a secret smile. “Good.”

My chest tightened because the approval in his tone shouldn't mean so much, but it did.

Clara grinned at me. “Show-off,” she whispered playfully.

I forced a weak smile. But inside, panic brewed. Why did he call on me? Why is he looking at me like that in the first place? Does he want me to remember? Or is he trying to warn me to forget? All that happened yesterday night at the bar.

The lecture dragged on. I counted every minute, willing it to end. Willing the lecture could be over. My notebook was filled with scribbles I couldn't even read.

Finally, Adrian closed his book. “That's enough for today. I'll see you all in the next class. Be punctual!”

Chairs scraped. Students packed up their belongings. Laughter and chatter filled the room again. Clara slung her bag over her shoulder. “Come on, let's grab coffee.”

“You go ahead,” I said quickly. “I'll catch up.”

Clara frowned. “You sure?”

“Yeah. Go.”

Once Clara left, I took my time, pretending to gather my things slowly. My heart raced as I felt Adrian's presence still at the front of the lecture hall.

I then looked up once more—and froze.

As if I knew it, my instincts didn't lie. He was watching me.

The lecture hall was nearly empty, but his grey icy eyes were still locked on mine. There was no smile, no expression but just intensity.

My throat went dry. I stood quickly, clutching my books to my chest. My steps echoed as I walked down the aisle, trying not to stumble under his gaze again.

As I passed him, his voice stopped me.

“Emilia.”

My breath caught. I turned slowly to face him. “Yes, Professor.?”

His jaw tightened slightly at the word Professor. His grey eyes flickered immediately, dark and unreadable. For a second, I thought he might say something dangerous.

But to my surprise, he didn't. Instead, he leaned back against the desk, folding his arms. “Be careful walking home, okay. The city can be… unpredictable.”

My heart thudded. “O-okay. I will, professor.”

I turned to leave, my hands trembling. But just as I reached the door, I felt it again—his grey eyes on my back, it was heavy, burning, as though invisible threads tied us together.

And in that moment, I knew this was only the beginning of something I couldn't stop processing and imagining.

Because no matter how much I wanted to run, I couldn't escape him. Not when he's now my professor, not when my wide green eyes and his grey ice eyes spoke the truth our mouth couldn't say. Not when every glance felt like a vow.

As I decided to push the door open, Adrian's voice followed me again, this time, it was low and quiet but meant only for ears—

“We shouldn't have met last night.”

My breath caught, and I froze in the doorway. And just then, the door shut behind me, leaving the words echoing in my mind.

__________________________________

Emilia's POV

The word replayed in my head as I left the lecture hall.

We shouldn't have met last night.

His voice was low, final, almost like a warning. But why? Why would he say that all of a sudden? Why did it feel like he meant something bigger than what happened last night at the bar, in the corner of the shadows.

I barely slept that night because my brain was a mess of questions with no answers. I needed the truth about what happened and why would he say such.

The following morning, I got up as usual, dressed to school. The campus was buzzing as expected. Students laughed, gossipped, walked around with phones in their hands. But when I walked into the hallway toward my next lecture, the air shifted.

People turned their gaze towards me. Some begin to whisper, and some smirked in mockery. I begin to feel confused, did I do something wrong, have I committed an offense... I was feeling embarrassed.

But at first, I thought I was imagining things until I heard it.

"She looks just like him"

"My instincts were right, they both had this facial resemblance..."

"Don't say that out loud."

"Come on, everyone can see it, or can't you see."

"Yes, I also figured it out."

My stomach dropped, and I slowed my steps, still clutching my books tighter to my chest as if it could shield me.

Two girls by the lockers leaned close together, and their voices weren't exactly quiet.

"I'm telling you, it's true and it has been confirmed." One said.

"Shut up, shut that nonsense... You don't even know a thing," the other giggled.

"Yes, of course. Everyone knows now that she's his daughter. That's why he looked at her like that yesterday."

My chest went cold. I needed an explanation of everything that's going on. I can't even think, can't process anything. My brain was just a mess relaying what happened at the bar the other night, the shock yesterday and another rumor today.

I finally stopped walking, my feet felt glued to the floor after hearing that word.

Daughter?

My hands shook as I gripped my books tighter.

The girl noticed me standing there, and her eyes widened, as she pressed a hand over her mouth. "Oh my God, she heard us all."

The other girl whispered, "Run."

They both darted off, laughing nervously as they disappeared around the corner.

I stood frozen, my whole body was hot and cold at the same time.

His daughter?

Why would they even say that? Why would anyone—

A voice cut through my thoughts. It was Clara, my best friend. "Emilia, you okay?"

She came jogging up, her hair bouncing in its ponytail. She frowned at me. "What's wrong? You look like you just saw a ghost."

I swallowed hard. " Nothing much, I'm fine."

She tilted her head. "You don't look fine."

"I said I'm fine." I brushed past her quickly. "Come on, we'll be late for class."

But I knew I wasn't fine.

Not even close, not after everything.

By the time we reached the lecture hall, the whispers had already spread like wildfire.

I slide into my usual seat, trying to ignore the eyes on me. But that didn't help, I could still feel it—their stares, their smirks.

Clara leaned in, whispering. "Okay, spill the beans. What's going on, why are people starring?"

I shook my head quickly. "I don't know either, but don't ask."

Before she could even proceed to say more, the chatter in the room slowly died down and then, footsteps.

It was him, Adrian Blackwell. My professor, the stranger I had served the night at the bar before.

He walked into the room, tall, calm as usual. He was putting on a sharp suit, and his grey eyes were unreadable.

The moment he stepped in, silence swept through the class like a wave. He set his notes on the desk and scanned the room with those piercing grey eyes.

And then... As I'd processed it. They landed on me. It was only a second, but it felt like forever.

My breath hitched and his gaze was steady, and unreadable. Then, he looked away, like nothing happened at all.

"Open your books," he said, his voice calm. "Today, we continue our discussion on Byron."

Chairs shifted, pages flipped and everyone obeyed. But my hands were stiff, my notebook sat blank in front of me and all I could hear was the whisper from earlier.

She's his daughter.

The lecture went on. He spoke about poetry, about beauty, about darkness and light. His voice was calm, steady and deep.

But every time I heard him say a word, my chest tightened. I could still feel people staring and watching me. I was starting to feel embarrassed once more.

Clara nudged me. "What's wrong with you today?" She whispered.

"Nothing," I muttered.

"You're lying."

"Clara, please." My voice cracked.

She stared at me for a long moment, then nodded. "Okay. I won't push."

But the look in her eyes told me she wouldn't let go, not yet. Not after I owe her an explanation.

Halfway through the class, something happens that makes it worse.

Adrian asked a question, his eyes swept the room again. And then, just like yesterday. He called my name again.

"Emilia."

The sound of my name on his lips made my heart stop. The whole class then turned to look at me. I could feel their curiosity, their smirks.

But I swallowed hard, forcing my voice out. "I'm... yes. I think... Byron meant that beauty is not just about looks. It's about the soul. About innocence and mystery."

The class was silent. Then, Adrian gave a slow nod. "Correct."

His voice was calm, and professional. But the way he looked at me—steady, lingering—made the whispers rise again.

"She really is his favorite."

"Or something more."

My cheeks burned. I wanted to scream at them to shut up, but I couldn't.

When the lecture ended, I tried to escape quickly. But Clara followed me out, tucking my arm. "Okay, I've had enough. Now, can you explain to me what's going on between you and professor Blackwell?"

I froze, hoping she could only believe. "Nothing."

"Emilia, people are talking. I keep hearing things. Crazy things."

"Like what?" I asked, my voice shaking.

She hesitated, biting her lips. "Like... that he might be your father."

The word slammed into me like a blow.

I stopped walking. "What?"

"That's what people are saying," Clara said quickly. "I don't believe it, okay? But... I mean... Do you know who your father is?"

Her words are deep. My throat tightened, as I looked away, blinking fast. "I don't want to talk about this."

"Emilia—"

"I said I don't want to talk about it!" My voice was sharper than I meant.

Clara stepped back, hurt flashing in her eyes. "Okay, fine."

I stormed ahead, leaving her behind. But inside, I was breaking. I was really breaking, I wish she could understand. I wish I could wake up from this mess.

That evening, I couldn't take it anymore. I sat on my dorm bed, staring at my phone. My mother's number was on the screen.

I called, and she answered after a few rings. "Emi. How are you, sweetheart?"

Her voice was warm and familiar. I closed my eyes, my throat tight. "Mum... I need to ask you something."

"What is it?"

"Who is my father?"

Silence.

"Emi..." She said softly.

"Don't 'Emi' me, mum" I whispered, my hands trembling. "I need to know please. Just tell me."

Her breathing was shaky. "He doesn't matter who he is. What matters is you're here, you're safe, you're mine."

"That's not an answer, mum!" My voice cracked. " Why won't you tell me? I'm your daughter and I need to know, I have all the right to."

"Because some truths are better left buried, dear," she said quickly.

Tears stung my eyes. "Do I... do I look exactly like him?"

Her smile was louder than words. But I ended the call before she could say anything. And then, I broke.

The next day came faster, and it was worse than ever.

When I walked into the lecture hall, the board had words scrawled across it in big letters:

Daddy's Girl.

Then laughter filled the room the moment I entered. My heart sank, and I grabbed the eraser, scrubbing furiously, with my hands shaking.

Someone snickered behind me. "Careful, you will make Daddy mad."

The room erupted in quiet laughter again. And then, I spun around angrily. "Shut up!"

The laughter grew, and then there was silence. Followed by footsteps.

Adrian entered the lecture hall and his grey eyes went straight to me, then to the board, where smudges still lingered. But his expression didn't change.

But I could admit that I saw the flicker. And the tension in his jaw.

"Sit down," he said, his voice low.

The class went totally silent as I sat down at my usual place, my chest heavy and my heart still racing.

The lecture began but the whispers didn't stop. But they were quieter this time. Crueler, I guess.

"Incest."

The word reached my ears again, sharp, cutting, and unbearable. My whole body went cold. And I clenched my fist under the desk, fighting the urge to scream.

And then, I looked up slowly to find Adrian's grey eyes on me. This time, they were steady and heavy. As if he knew, as if the truth was about to break

Emilia's POV

The words still echoed in my head long after class ended.

Incest.

I hated it. I hated how it stuck to my skin like dirt I couldn't wash off. I hated how my course mates smirked, whispered, and stared at me like I was a show they couldn't stop watching.

I was feeling too embarrassed... I needed to come out of this mess I didn't even know how I got into.

I stuffed my books Into my bag quickly, desperate to escape the room. But Clara tried to catch my arm, then I shook her off and bolted out the door. Because I couldn't breath in there anymore, I was suffocating and needed to clear my head.

But I haven't made it far when I need my surname from a familiar voice.

"Miss Grant."

I froze in the hallway. My stomach twisted before I even turned to face the caller. Adrian Blackwell stood at the doorway of the lecture hall, tall and sharp in his suit as usual, his grey eyes fixed only on me.

"Yes sir?" My voice came out small.

"Come with me." His tone wasn't loud, but it carried something I couldn't really understand. Students still loitering nearby looked at both of us with wide eyes, then bent their heads to hide their grins.

Heat rushed to my face instantly. The whisper would grow more now. But still, I followed him because I didn't have a choice and I needed to find the root of all this.

His office was tucked at the far end of the faculty wing. He unlocked the door, held it open and I stepped inside after him.

It smelled faintly of books and cologne, dark wood shelves lined with old volumes, a large desk scattered with neat papers. Everything screamed order and control. Everything screamed at him, and at me.

He closed the door behind us. The sound was soft, but it felt final.

"Sit." His voice was clipped.

I obeyed and sat before him on a chair, clutching my bag in my lap like a shield. My heart was beating too fast.

He stayed standing, leaning back against his desk, with his arms folded. His eyes, I mean his grey eyes were locked on me with the same piercing stare.

"Do you know what they are saying about you?"

I flinched. "Yes, I heard some things."

His jaw clenched. "Some things?"

"They... they think..." I swallowed. "They think I'm your—" I couldn't even finish the sentence. The words burned my throat.

His face darkened suddenly. "Yes. They think I'm your father, and that you're my daughter."

The air between us grew heavier and I couldn't even look at him.

"Why?" I whispered. "Why would they even think so, why would they say such a thing ?”

He exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "Because gossip doesn't need truth, it only needs fire. It's because they see resemblance and that's why they invent scandal. And you know, once a scandal starts, it spreads like poison."

"But it's not true."

"No," he said firmly. "It's not true. But that doesn't matter, Emilia."

My chest tightened. "Then what matters?"

"What matters is that every glance, every word, every time I call your name—it feeds them. It gives them more reason to believe in their lies."

"So, what are you saying?"

His eyes locked on mine. "I'm saying that you need to stay away from me."

My heart cracked. "Stay away?"

"Yes."

"You can't mean that."

"I do." His voice was sharp, and final. "If you don't, you will destroy yourself. And I..." He stopped, pressing his lips tight. "And I can't protect you from that."

I shook my head, heat rushing to my eyes. "But I didn't do anything wrong.”

"That doesn't matter," he said harshly. "This isn't about right or wrong. This is about perception. And perceptions will ruin you."

Tears pricked at my lashes. "So what am I supposed to do? Pretend you don't exist."

"Yes."

I laughed bitterly. "That's impossible. You're my professor."

His jaw tightened. He looked away, running a hand through his dark hair. For a moment, I thought I saw something crack in him, something raw. But then it was gone.

"Then sit in the back. Don't speak unless spoken to. Don't look at me."

His words sliced through me. "You're serious?"

"Dead serious."

I stared at him, my chest heavy, and my throat was tight. "And what about you?" I asked softly. "Will you stop looking at me too?"

That made him still. His grey eyes flickered, just for a second. Then he looked away again.

"Emilia," he said, his voice lower now, rougher. "You don't understand how dangerous this is."

"Then help me understand," I whispered.

His breathing grew uneven. He pushed off the desk and stepped closer to me. Too close that my heart skipped a beat. My back pressed into the chair instinctively.

"You don't know the things I've done," he said quietly. "The things that follow me. If you stay away from me, you won't be dragged into them. If you don't stay away, you will be dragged into it.”

His nearness made my heart keep pounding so hard and I thought it might break free from my chest. "Then tell me." I whispered again.

"No." His eyes burned into mine. "You don't want to know."

I did. God, I did. But I couldn't force the words out.

For a long moment, the office was silent, the only sound was our breathing. His face was so close now that I could see the faint scar near his temple, the subtle along his jaw, the storm in his grey eyes.

And then, it happened. He lifted his hand slowly, hesitantly, as if it's fighting against some invisible chain. His fingertips hovered inches from my cheek. I held my breath, frozen.

The air between us burned and my skin tingled, aching for his touch.

But just as his hand trembled closer, almost brushing me, he stopped. His jaw clenched, and with visible effort, he snatched his hand back.

His voice was hoarse when he spoke. "Go."

I blinked. "What."

"Go," he said again, his voice sharper now. "Before I do something I shouldn't."

I rose shakily, clutching my bag. My knees wobbled. I turned for the door, my pulse racing, my chest aching.

But before I opened it, I heard him behind me.

"This can't happen, Emilia." His voice was low, almost a whisper, but it carried something I didn't understand. "Not again."

I froze as the words lodged in my chest. I turned to look back at him, but his eyes were closed, his hands gripping the edge of the desk like he was holding himself together.

I left the office immediately without another word, my heart was a storm of confusion. And as the door clicked shut behind me, one thought kept replaying in my mind. What did he mean... not again?