The Professor's Dark Secret

[ You're just a boring, washed-up old prude who clearly can't perform in bed anyway! Bye, never seeing you again! ]

I jabbed the send button, brutally cutting the cord on a pathetic, one-sided chase that had dragged on for over a month.

For the past thirty days, I had been completely fixated on Vancemy best friend Flora's older brother-in-law. I spent my nights firing off relentless, shamelessly flirtatious texts, trying to crack his armor. His response was always the exact same, maddeningly sterile reply:

[ Have some self-respect. ]

Then came today's bombshell: Flora was filing for divorce. Girl code is absolute. Without a second thought, I ruthlessly discarded the human iceberg.

But that very night, the heavy silence of my bedroom was entirely swallowed by the towering, inescapable shadow of Vance's frame as he forcefully caged me against the closed door.

My breathing shattered into erratic gasps, my eyes burning with desperate tears as the sheer, suffocating weight of his presence crushed any thought of escape.

"I was wrong," I choked out, my fingers gripping the hem of my shirt.

A dark, rumbling scoff vibrated deep in his chest. "Too late."

Chapter 1

Flora was the goddess I worshipped. Gorgeous, wealthy, brilliant, and generous to a fault. There were days I seriously cursed the universe for not making me a man so I could marry her myself.

A month ago, she tied the knot with Cole, the golden boy of the city's elite circle. Standing there as her maid of honor, I cried so hard my eyes were bloodshot. My chest ached so badly I could barely breathe, making me the most pathetic sight in the entire venue.

What gutted me even more was the crushing realization that her new marital status meant our girls' nights were going to take a massive hit.

Cole caught my eye from the altar, flashing me this insufferably smug, triumphant smirk. The guy was a notorious playboy, a reckless trust-fund brat. Back when they first started dating, he and I were basically at each other's throats. I constantly drove him to the absolute edge of sanity, but he had to swallow his temper just to keep Flora happy.

On the wedding day, he was practically glowing. He leaned in and bumped my shoulder.

"Fallon, stop clinging to my wife. She's mine now. Be a good third wheel and roll away."

I ground my teeth together, my fingernails digging into my palms. I spun around, fully ready to snap back, only to freeze.

A man who shared a striking resemblance to Cole was walking toward us. He was incredibly tall, all long legs and sharp tailoring, radiating this freezing, untouchable elegance.

Cole, who normally walked around like he owned the damn planet, instantly straightened his spine. He cleared his throat, looking like a disciplined soldier. "Vance."

The man gave a curt nod before his dark, heavy gaze drifted over to me.

Cole quickly jumped in. "This is Fallon, Flora's best friend. Fallon, this is my older brother, Vance."

Vance was clearly a man of few words. He offered me the briefest, most clinical nod.

I stared back at him, a sudden spark of adrenaline hitting my bloodstream.

A crazy, brilliant idea crashed into my mind.

At the reception, I deliberately planted myself in the empty seat right next to Vance. I didn't hold back. I raked my gaze up and down his immaculate suit, my eyes burning with blatant aggression.

"Vance, are you single?"

My blatant lack of filter made his jaw tighten slightly. Every single person at this table was part of the groom's ultra-wealthy family. The entire table went dead silent, turning to stare at me with a mix of shock and poorly concealed judgment.

Vance's deep, fathomless eyes locked onto mine. His knuckles shifted slightly as he casually swirled the liquor in his glass. "Single," he replied, his voice a low, gravelly hum.

"Perfect. Let's exchange numbers." I shoved my phone screen right into his line of sight, displaying my contact QR code.

He glanced at the glowing screen, then back at me.

Given the massive audience of relatives and the fact that I was the bride's VIP, he couldn't exactly shoot me down without causing a scene. He pulled out his phone and scanned it.

I locked in his contact with a triumphant smirk. For the rest of the dinner, I kept tossing conversation his way.

He was bred for high society, perfectly polite but coated in a thick layer of icy detachment, answering every question with frustrating precision. I knew damn well he wanted nothing to do with me.

But I didn't care. I had locked onto my target, and I was going to break down his walls, brick by freezing brick.

Vance was five years older than me. When I found out he was a university professor, it actually threw me off. In a ruthless, power-hungry family like his, the eldest son was groomed for corporate dominance or massive political influence. Yet here he was, surviving in academia.

No wonder he carried that untouchable, perfectly tailored aura.

I leaned in closer, dropping my voice. "Professor, you are seriously gorgeous. I've never seen a better-looking man in my entire life."

The guests around us literally froze, forks hovering mid-air like someone had hit pause on reality.

I noticed their weird reactions, but I was way too hyper-focused on Vance to care. I just figured my aggressive flirting was too much for their conservative blood.

Vance paused, resting his spoon against the rim of his bowl. He lifted his head, his dark eyes cutting straight through me. His face remained an unreadable mask. "Flattering," he murmured flatly.

Taking down a high-status alpha wasn't going to be a walk in the park. But if conquering Vance meant marrying into the family so I could permanently stay in Flora's orbit, I was all in.

I even consulted a friend who played the dating scene like a blood sport. She gave me two rules: Be blunt. Be bold.

"If you play coy with a guy who has ice in his veins, you're dead in the water," she had told me. "You have to be ruthless. The repressed ones always fall for the shameless ones."

Chapter 2

I put my new knowledge to use, diving deep into the internet. Stumbling upon a thread about how to shatter the defenses of a repressed, high-status alpha, I had a sudden epiphany.

I cracked my knuckles. Give me a gorgeous man, and right now, I was practically a lethal weapon.

I opened my chat with Vance and fired off a text.

[ Professor Vance, goodnight. By the way, you looked absolutely sexy in that suit today. ]

[ You have the wrong person. ]

I let out a breathless laugh and typed back.

[ No I didn't. You're the only man I'm looking at. ]

[ Miss Fallon, we are not dating, nor are we involved. Watch your boundaries. ]

I laughed out loud, thoroughly entertained by how devastatingly proper he was.

[ Then let's cross those boundaries. Date me. ]

A long, heavy digital silence followed.

[ Miss Fallon, have some self-respect. ]

Staring at the screen, I burst out laughing. So this was the thrill of chasing an older, dominant man. Forcing his hand was turning out to be incredibly fun.

[ I'll be auditing your class tomorrow, Professor. ]

He didn't reply.

From that day on, I became a permanent fixture in his lecture hall. Standing at the podium, sharp in his tailored suit and gold-rimmed glasses, Vance was the absolute picture of repressed, untouchable temptation.

Every sharp movement, every clipped word he delivered was a feast for the eyes.

Mid-lecture, Vance threw a complex question to the floor. While the room scrambled in panicked silence to think of an answer, I hid my phone under the desk and fired off a rapid string of texts.

[ You look so damn good up there. ]

[ Your voice is making me distracted. ]

[ Let's grab dinner after this? ]

The screen of his phone, resting on the edge of the podium, lit up. Vance's eyes flicked down to the screen.

A second later, his dark gaze cut straight through the packed lecture hall, pinning me to my seat.

I held his stare and deliberately mouthed a single, defiant word: Vance.

A dangerous flicker sparked behind his lenses. I watched his knuckles flex slightly as his long, elegant fingers gripped the edge of the black microphone.

His thin lips parted, the low timber of his voice echoing through the speakers as he called my name. "Fallon. You answer the question."

It was the very first time I had heard my name roll off his tongue. My pulse skipped a heavy beat, a sudden rush of heat flushing through my veins.

As someone who was purely there to eye-bang the professor, I didn't have a single clue what he was even asking. He was absolutely doing this to humiliate me, trying to force me to back down. Not a chance in hell.

The massive lecture hall erupted into a flurry of whispers as hundreds of heads whipped around, searching for the victim the ruthless Professor Vance had just singled out.

I stood up slowly. I locked eyes with him, meeting that dangerous, piercing stare behind his glasses with a wicked smirk of my own.

I pitched my voice loud and crystal clear. "Professor Vance, this question is way too hard. Perhaps you need to give me some private, one-on-one tutoring after class?"

The entire room collectively gasped before bursting into a chaotic chorus of hoots and scandalous murmurs.

Vance's stoic expression didn't so much as crack, but my eyes caught the heavy, involuntary bob of his Adam's apple above his collar.

"Sit down," he ordered, his tone deadly flat.

He didn't address the blatant proposition. He simply skipped over me and coldly called out the next name on his roster.

From that moment on, I was a campus legend. The rumor mill exploded with the theory that the untouchable Professor Vance had a wildly inappropriate, unhinged secret lover auditing his classes.

I stopped hiding entirely. I upgraded from the back row directly to the front and center, spending the entire hour blatantly undressing him with my eyes.

He never called on me again. He maintained that same impenetrable, freezing wall of detachment.

Vance was a fortress, completely immune to my attacks. After a solid month of relentlessly chasing him, the exhaustion was starting to set in.

During a massive downpour a few days ago, I had waded through the storm just to show up at his lecture. The result? A brutal, bone-deep cold.

Sitting in his class today, I was entirely drained. My body ached, and I ended up slumping onto the cool surface of the desk, accidentally slipping into a feverish sleep.

I didn't wake up until I heard the low vibration of Vance calling my name. I lifted my heavy head from my arms, my vision completely blurred and my brain swimming in fog. The lecture hall was empty.

A large, cool hand suddenly pressed against my flushed forehead. I looked up to see Vance leaning over me, a sharp crease between his brows. "You're burning up."

He tried to pull his hand away, but I immediately shot my hands out and grabbed his wrist.

Following pure, fever-addled instinct, I pressed my flushed cheek deeply into his broad, calloused palm, nuzzling into it like a desperate cat craving contact.

"Don't move it," I murmured, my voice a weak, hoarse whisper. "It's so cold feels so good."

Vance went entirely rigid, the muscles in his forearm turning to stone under my grip.

His jaw locked, those perfectly sculpted lips pressing into a tight, hard line.

Chapter 3

The fever was frying my brain, completely blurring the line between reality and the fantasy I had been spinning. My eyes burned with tears as I looked up at him, my lower lip trembling uncontrollably.

"Husband," I whimpered, my voice cracking. "I feel terrible."

A heavy exhale punched through his nose. With an aggressive, fluid motion, Vance scooped me up into his arms, carrying me out of the empty lecture hall.

My consciousness kept violently slipping in and out. The only thing grounding me was the solid, unyielding heat of his chest as he shoved me into the back of his car.

Because I flat-out refused to let go of him, digging my fingers into his expensive lapels like a lifeline, he had been forced to call his driver.

In the pitch-black backseat, I was wrapped around him like a koala, my limbs hopelessly tangled with his. The city traffic was brutal.

The car jerked and stopped at every red light, the erratic motion making my stomach churn. Seeking comfort, I helplessly writhed against his body, trying to find a better angle.

Vance's pupils blew wide, the black swallowing his irises.

His large hands gripped my waist, his muscles locking tight as he tried to forcefully pry me off him.

During the struggle, my hand brushed against something dangerously hard and scorching hot through the fabric of his trousers.

Frowning in feverish annoyance, I grabbed it without a second thought. "What is that Move it."

Vance's entire body went rigid as stone. A sharp, shattered hiss of breath tore through his gritted teeth.

He clamped his massive hand over mine, his heavy pulse hammering against my skin.

"Be a good girl," he commanded, his voice dropping into a guttural, terrifyingly restrained gravel. "Let go."

"No." I buried my face into the crook of his neck, breathing in his sharp cedar scent in defiance.

His jaw ticked dangerously. "Fallon." The name ripped from his throat, dark with warning.

Fueled by the delirium, I pushed my luck. "Just promise to be my husband, okay?"

That was the breaking point. The leashes of his legendary restraint utterly snapped.

He ruthlessly tore me off his body, shoving me back against the leather seat.

Up until this exact second, he had been tolerating my chaotic games. Now, the absolute predator was awake.

The sharp, metallic clink of a buckle echoed in the dark cabin. Cold leather viciously wrapped around my fragile wrists, pinning my hands together and completely locking me under his absolute, terrifying dominance.

Those elegant, god-tier hands that I had been obsessing over suddenly shot out, his long fingers fiercely gripping my jaw.

"Keep pushing," he whispered, a lethal, ice-cold promise hovering inches from my lips, "and I will throw you out of this moving car."

I stared up at him, a cold sweat breaking out across my spine and cutting right through the brain fog.

Underneath his brutal, impatient scowl, something incredibly dark and familiar was violently swirling in his pitch-black eyes. It instantly triggered a memory.

It reminded me of Griffinmy cousin, a man deeply buried in the underworld, who practically reeked of blood and cartel violence.

Even when Griffin tried his absolute hardest to dial it back around the family, the raw, butchering stench of his true nature always bled through. Every single time I was in a room with him, my fight-or-flight instincts screamed.

Vance's grip on my jaw tightened until a sharp jolt of pain shot through my bone.

"Fallon. Stop playing games with me," he ordered coldly. "Do not ever step foot on my campus again. Nod if you understand me."

I shrank back against the leather, the crushing intimidation finally sobering my fever-baked brain. Trembling slightly under his suffocating gaze, I gave a jerky nod.

He studied my pale, terrified expression for a long, agonizing second before abruptly releasing his grip. His eyes dropped to the skin near my lips, his dark brows pulling into a tight frown.

"Fragile," he muttered, turning his face away to stare out the rain-slicked window.

I didn't even need a mirror to know that the skin he had just possessed was undoubtedly bruised a glaring red.

For the rest of the torturous ride, I stayed completely paralyzed in my corner of the seat, eventually blacking out entirely.

When my eyelids finally peeled open, I was staring at a sterile hospital ceiling. Flora was sitting right next to my bed.

I immediately threw my arms around her, burying my face in her shoulder. "You're finally back from your honeymoon! I thought you ditched me the second you got a ring on your finger."

She let out a soft laugh, pushing me back against the pillows. "Shut up, drama queen. Your fever spiked to 104 degrees.

You almost cooked your own brain. You're hooked up to an IV, so lie the hell down."

I sank into the mattress, my eyes scanning the private VIP suite. It took a second for my brain to catch up. "Wait. How did you know I was here?"

"The guy who dumped you in the ER is the one who called me," Flora said, crossing her arms. She shot me a highly suspicious, penetrating glare. "How exactly did you get tangled up with Cole's terrifying older brother?"

Just hearing Vance's name triggered a violent flashback to the backseat of the carthe sweltering heat, the hard grip of his hands, the leather belt.

My entire face exploded into a violent, burning crimson.

Flora's jaw practically hit the floor at my reaction. "Fallon do not tell me you have a thing for him."

I frantically yanked the blanket up to my nose, shielding my flushed face from her interrogation. "I just want us to be sisters-in-law," I mumbled defensively from under the covers.

"Vance is built like a god, filthy rich, and tragically single. He's the perfect target."

Chapter 4

I recounted my entire unhinged campaign to hunt down Vance, leaving out zero details.

Flora let out a breathless laugh, shaking her head. "Fallon, I'm honestly touched that you'd go to war for me like this. But this isn't some game. You marry someone you actually love, not a pawn.

I should have known. Guys have been throwing themselves at your feet since we were kids, and you've always treated them like dirt on your shoe.

You literally preach that all men are trash on a weekly basis. I couldn't figure out why you were suddenly hunting down an older guy, but it was all for me.

You're absolutely insane. That's not how relationships work."

"Vance is literally gorgeous," I shot back defensively. "Pure, unadulterated lust is a perfectly valid foundation for love!"

I threw my hands up. "I sit there every day staring at that untouchable, brutally repressed aura he parades around in his tailored suits.

I literally want to rip that ridiculously expensive shirt off him with my bare hands just to see what he looks like when he completely loses control.

And his hands? Absolutely god-tier. They trigger every single one of my kinks. I just want to bite them."

Two slow, deliberate knocks against the open hospital door severed my sentence in half.

Standing in the doorway was Cole, wearing a massive, arrogant smirk and giving me a slow thumbs-up. Right beside him stood Vance.

His face was an absolute mask of terrifying calm. Those freezing, pitch-black eyes slid right over my panicked, deer-in-the-headlights stare.

I slowly, silently pulled the sterile hospital blanket entirely over my face.

Vance was only there because I had left my laptop in the back of his car. He placed the sleek silver device on the bedside table and turned on his heel, walking out without uttering a single syllable.

I stayed buried under the suffocating safety of the blankets until the heavy click of the door confirmed he was gone.

Cole had come to pick up Flora, and since my IV bag was finally empty and I was officially discharged, I hitched a ride with them.

In the car, Cole immediately started tearing into me through the rearview mirror. "I have to admit, you've got guts, Fallon. Hitting on Vance? Insane.

But let's be real. You are so not his type. Do yourself a favor and drop the delusion."

I've always despised Cole. Hearing his arrogant drawl instantly spiked my blood pressure. I shot him a deadly glare.

"Whether I'm his type or not is up to him, not you. Just wait. By Thanksgiving, you're going to be bowing down and calling me your sister-in-law."

Cole let out a harsh, mocking laugh. "Keep dreaming, psycho."

I immediately threw my arms around Flora, who was sitting next to me in the backseat. "Flora, I still feel terrible. I want to sleep in your bed tonight. Don't go home with him."

I buried my face in her shoulder. She smelled like expensive vanilla and pure comfort. It absolutely pissed me off that a trash bag like Cole got to wake up to her.

"Fallon! Get your hands off my wife!" Cole snapped, his knuckles whitening on the steering wheel. "Not a chance in hell!"

Flora let out a long sigh. "Alright, both of you, stop it. Fallon is still recovering.

I don't feel comfortable leaving her alone in her apartment. I'm staying with her tonight."

Cole's face darkened into a furious scowl, but he gritted his teeth and swallowed his rage, entirely whipped by his wife's demands.

Flora stayed over for the night, but Cole showed up glaring daggers the very next morning to drag her back to their penthouse.

Even though I had talked a massive game about making Cole bow down to me, the absolute truth was that I hadn't sent Vance a single text since the hospital incident.

Every time I thought about the sheer, suffocating danger radiating from him in the back of that car, my stomach flipped. I had completely chickened out.

Plus, the crushing humiliation was eating me alive. I talked a good game about being bold and shameless, but I was practically a nun. I had never been in a real relationship.

Just the memory of exactly what my hand had accidentally grabbed through his trousers sent a scorching heat straight up my neck. I literally could not look the man in the eye.

After a week of laying low and recovering, I was about to text Flora to drag her out for some retail therapy. Then, I opened my phone and a massive, nuclear bomb of an entertainment headline hit my screen.

[ Cole, Heir to the Meng Empire, Caught on Camera Spending the Night with His First Love at Luxury Hotel. ]

Right there, in high-definition, was a paparazzi shot of Cole wrapping his arms around a woman in a dimly lit hotel lobby.

My blood instantly turned to liquid fire. I smashed Cole's contact, fully prepared to verbally rip his throat out over the phone. It went straight to voicemail.

A second later, my screen lit up with an incoming call from Flora. I accepted it, but before I could even breathe her name, the hollow, shattered sound of her sobbing hit my ear.

"I'm filing for divorce," she choked out.

Chapter 5

I rubbed comforting circles into her back, my voice dripping with absolute resolve. "Okay. Okay, when you file the papers, I'll be right there with you."

I drove straight over and picked her up. Her eyes were completely swollen and bloodshot from crying.

I friggin' knew it. Cole was a reckless, arrogant trust-fund trash bag, and it hadn't even taken him a full season to let his true colors bleed out.

I swallowed the venomous rant hovering on my tongue, refusing to bash him while Flora was completely falling apart in my arms. My chest physically ached for her, tight with suppressed rage.

Cole's caller ID flashed on my screen. I hit block without a second thought. I purged his contact from every social app on my phone.

While I was on a deleting spree, my thumb hovered over Vance's profile picture, the toxic fallout of my rage violently spilling over onto him.

I hammered out a rapid-fire string of texts.

[ I'm officially done chasing you. ]

[ You're just a boring, washed-up old prude who clearly can't perform in bed anyway! Bye, never seeing you again! ]

I blocked his number. I deleted his contact.

Later that night, at the city's most exclusive underground VIP club.

Trying to force Flora to forget about the bastard she married, I rallied a few mutual friends and booked a private booth. Fueled by pure, vindictive spite, I even ordered a lineup of ridiculously attractive male hosts to pour our drinks and entertain us.

Halfway through the chaos, I stepped out into the deafening hallway to take a call.

When I pushed the heavy velvet door open to return, my best friend was completely gone. I cornered the others, panic spiking in my throat. They casually mentioned Cole had shown up and dragged her out.

"And you just sat there and watched him take her?!" I snapped, my fingernails biting into my palms.

"Fallon, calm down," one of them sighed, rolling her eyes. "She left with him willingly."

I gripped my phone, jabbing Flora's number. It went straight to voicemail. A minute later, a text popped up on my screen.

[ I'm okay. Don't worry. I just need to talk to him. ]

The crushing panic in my chest loosened slightly, leaving behind a thick, suffocating layer of irritation. The vibe in the private room was completely dead to me now.

Catching my sour mood, the rest of the group dragged me down to the main floor. Downstairs was a sensory overload of heavy bass, blinding strobe lights, and a massive, writhing dance floor. I gave a stiff nod and followed them in.

One of the male hosts from upstairs grabbed my hand, pulling me into the crush of bodies. As the bass vibrated through the floorboards, he started closing the gap between us, his movements dripping with poorly disguised intention.

A cold prickle of discomfort washed over my skin. I planted my hands on his chest to shove him back, but his hand suddenly slid down, gripping my waist entirely too tight.

The curse was already loaded on my tongue, but before I could spit it out, my wrist was brutally seized.

A strong, muscular arm suddenly clamped around my waist, the massive force ripping me away from the host and slamming me hard against a solid chest radiating the sharp, cold scent of cedar.

My head snapped up. I crashed straight into Vance's lethal, pitch-black stare.

"You