There's something about an
idle mind—it comes up with the worst ideas.
I'm supposed to be a genius,
but there was nothing smart about what I was doing.
Sure, maybe hacking into
street security footage, watching daily life unfold on my screen, was
impressive. But watching her —Professor
Alina—was something else entirely.
Her home address had been too
easy to find. Way too easy.
She should be more careful about what she tosses in the trash.
And why had I gone through her
trash in the first place? Because I'm losing it. That's why.
At first, I thought it was
just a crush—something I could ignore, push aside, let fade over time. I figured if I stayed close enough, the
fascination would wear off, and I'd go back to normal.
But that wasn't
happening.
I had to
see her. Every day.
The need kept growing, gnawing
at me no matter how much I fed it.
Seeing her wasn't enough anymore—I had to know everything about her.
Apparently, knowing everything about Professor Alina meant snooping through
her trash, tracking her online info, and hacking into the security cameras
around her home.
And around her husband's
office.
There he was—the lucky bastard
who got to be her husband. Right there on my screen. At least ten years older
than Alina. Thinning blond hair. Fit build. Average height. Looked pretty damn
clueless—except he was rich. Drives-a-Lamborghini rich. Their house sat on one
of the most expensive streets in Brooklyn—fancy gates, upscale neighbors, a
pristine swimming pool.
Is that what Alina likes? Rich
men? I couldn't see what made him special. Why he got
to have her. Why he got to leave his mark on her.
I bit my fingernail, watching
as he drove past the last of the security cameras on his street.
I switched feeds. Tapped into
the cameras near his office. Sinclair Enterprises. A banking giant controlling
massive national and international investments. His whole family was drowning
in wealth. Lucky bastard.
I tested my luck—trying to
worm my way into their system. They were locked down tight. Somebody on their
end knew what they were doing. I glanced at the other screen—firewalls
dissolving, defenses breaking down—but still, dead ends.
I bit my finger again. Not
like hacking their servers would do me any good. My interest wasn't in the company.
It was in the man .
Studying him. Figuring out
what kind of person he was. All of it—just an excuse to satisfy my curiosity.
And with my skills, that was far too easy.
He walked up the steps with
purpose—head high, shoulders back, like a man who knew exactly what he was
worth.
Probably worth millions,
honestly.
More than what I've got in my
bank account right now. But give me time—enough time—and I could catch up.
Only thing is, time's the one
thing I don't have.
Waiting years to build a
fortune just to maybe impress Alina? That's not fast enough. Not when she's
still married to him in the meantime.
I paused, leaned back in my
chair, my bloodshot eyes drifting toward the ceiling.
What the hell am I even
thinking?
It's like something's taken
over my brain—a bug, a virus. Like she'd ever leave her husband for me.
No. No, Alina's not that kind
of woman. She's not shallow. She's graceful. Intelligent. She carries herself
with this calm confidence, and you can tell she's got her own dreams.
I know because she told me.
"You call me professor, but
I'm not that yet," she said once, her smile gentle but not quite reaching her
eyes. "I'm a research associate right now. A teaching assistant, technically."
She gave a little laugh. "I'll be a real professor once my publications go
through. Fingers crossed."
That smile—It wrecks me every
time.
And when she's close? Close
enough that I can smell her hair? That soft scent of flowers—roses, maybe.
Roses are the only flowers I know. My heart races. Every glance she throws my
way, every word she speaks, it sends my pulse into overdrive.
I feel drunk around her. So
yeah… it makes sense. It has to make sense, that I'm trying to find a way to
have her.
Except—
I'm really sitting here,
thinking about taking another man's wife.
God. Morty was right.
I'm losing it.
The
door swung open without warning, and I scrambled to click away the screen
showing the front steps of Professor Alina's house.
Rebecca
strolled in like she owned the place—gum snapping in her mouth. She gave me a
look, blew a bubble, and popped it without blinking.
"Watching porn?" she said casually.
I
shot her a death glare and turned back to the monitor. "Get lost."
"Ouch,"
she laughed, then dropped into the seat next to me like it was hers. She kicked
her legs up, skirt riding so high I couldn't not
notice the lemon green and white striped underwear she didn't seem to care
about showing off.
I
let out a long, slow sigh. Already tired.
Pop—another gum bubble. My patience was wearing thin."What do
you want?"
"Nothing,"
she said with a shrug. "Just wondering what you were up to. Thought maybe you
wanted some company."
She
reached for my keyboard.
I grabbed her wrist before her fingers touched a key.
"You
bored? Go find Benson. I'm sure he'd love the attention."
I
flung her hand away and scowled at the screen in front of me, trying to
refocus.
Rebecca
didn't budge. She spun slowly in the chair beside me, chewing lazily.
"You're not still
hung up on that professor, are you?" she said, watching me sideways. "No one
sees you around here anymore."
She
twirled again, upside down now, those green eyes still on me.
"Mariam said she saw you lurking around her building. So what is it—are you
that desperate? Or do you just have a thing for older women?"
That
was it.
I
shot up from my seat, pointing straight at the door.
"Rebecca, I swear to God—get. Out."
She
snapped her gum extra loud before standing up. "The guys and I are hitting the
pub. When you're done jerking off to Professor
Ailina,"—she dragged the name like it tasted bad—"you can come find
us."
I
stared her down as she sauntered out. She didn't slam the door, but it came
close.
My
friends are great—when I only see them once in a while. But ever since we
started sharing this place, it's been a whole different story. Rebecca lived in
the attic. Benson, Morty, and I took the rooms below. Privacy? Gone. Secrets?
Harder to keep. And I had plenty.
One
of them was already back on my screen.
Professor
Ailina was stepping out of her house, heading to her car. She was on her way to
work.
I'd give it twenty minutes. Then I'd go see
her.
She
had a lecture today—thirty minutes. I waited by the hallway, just out of sight
but close enough to watch her through the open door. I could see her talk, hear
her laugh with the students. Like all her classes, this one was packed. First
years.
She
really could teach. I'd never noticed that before, not until I actually started
listening. And it wasn't just the way she explained things—it was the way she
cared. You could see it.
With
the kind of money her husband made, any other woman would be off vacationing in
France or shopping for designer handbags, not wasting time in a classroom full
of wide-eyed college kids. But not Ailina.
Ailina
was quiet. Reserved. Friendly enough to talk to, but sharp about her
boundaries. I learned that the hard way a few days ago—when I saw the hickey on
her neck.
I
don't know what I'd been thinking before—back when I first found out she had a
husband. Maybe I'd let myself believe their marriage was cold, something
convenient or strained. But seeing that mark on her neck… the way her husband
looked at her… Nah. There was passion there. Real passion. They were probably
still in love.
Ailina
stepped out of the lecture hall and spotted me. She smiled—that smile. The warm one
that actually touched her eyes. But before I could say anything, a wave of
students swarmed around her. Questions, papers, all of them wanting something.
I
noticed a few guys hanging back, staring at her with the kind of look I knew
too well. I recognized their intentions. As soon as the crowd thinned out, they
started to move in.
I
got there first, slamming shoulder-first into one of them.
"Sorry,
watch where you're going," I said flatly, locking eyes with him. I wasn't much
bigger than him, but I had the seniority—and the look.
He
blinked, muttered, "Sorry," but his eyes kept flicking toward Ailina.
They
stepped forward again, and I shoved a hand against one guy's chest.
"Keep
it moving," I said, tilting my head toward the hallway.
They
looked at me like I'd lost it.
"What's
your deal, man?"
"My
deal?" I said, voice low. "I don't like when people who can't watch where
they're going try to talk back."
If
Morty saw me now, his jaw would be on the floor. I'm not the type to get into
it with people—never have been. But here I was, acting like a nightclub bouncer
on a power trip.
They
exchanged glances, shook their heads, and walked the other way. Relief washed
over me, and I let out a shaky breath, my heart pounding in my chest. "Can't believe that worked."
"What was that about?"
Her
voice came from behind me, light and amused. I turned, startled, and realized
Alina had excused herself from her adoring fans to come stand right there.
I
froze.
"Uh... Just some guys," I mumbled, sniffing as if that explained
anything. I was a mess.
"Ash," she laughed, her voice warm and teasing, "did you just stop them from coming to
talk to me?"
Her
eyes sparkled with mirth, and my stomach tightened with that familiar ache—a
mix of longing and a burst of happiness. She loved it.
"They didn't look like they wanted to ask
about ethics and technology, so... yeah. I thought it might bother you."
She
covered her mouth, nodding as she stifled a laugh. "I enjoy answering questions about the
course, but not that kind of attention. Thanks, Ash."
I
was blushing furiously, my chest swelling with pride. I wanted to hug
something, high-five someone—anything to release the overwhelming joy bubbling
inside me. Instead, I clenched my fist and pressed it to my mouth, trying to
keep my smile contained as I looked away.
What
is this feeling?
It's
new—different from the raw desire that always clawed at me like a vice whenever
I saw her, whenever I was near her.
This
was something else entirely. This made me eager to do anything for her. I would act as her bouncer forever if she'd
let me.
"Are
you done with classes?" I asked, quickly shifting the subject so she wouldn't
notice how stoked I was.
"Yes,
that was the last one. I saw you waiting for me. Need something?"
I
shrugged, trying to act casual. "Thought we could continue our discussion from
the other day." We had been talking about hacking and whether or not ethical
hackers really existed.
She
hesitated for a second, then said, "Yes, but I'm starving. I didn't eat much
today."
I
knew that, but I didn't point it out.
"Okay,
I'll let you eat."
"Would
you like to join me?"
The
offer took me completely by surprise. I stood there, mouth slightly open.
"I
know you've been standing around waiting for me," she added with a grin. "You
did help me with… whatever that was."
The
way she looked at me, her eyes sparkling with that playful mirth, gave me the
courage to say what came next.
"Only
if it isn't cafeteria food. That's all I get to eat these days."
It
wasn't uncommon for students and professors to eat together on campus, but
off-campus? That might raise a few eyebrows.
"I'm
actually a very picky eater," she replied casually, "so I never eat anything
from the school."
I
tucked that away for later, then nodded. "Then where should we go?"
"Somewhere
fancy," she said, her smile playful as she pulled off her scarf while
walking ahead.
I
froze for a moment, caught by the way she moved. Her waist swayed, her
hips—perfect hips—moved with an unintentional sensuality. I knew enough about
her after a month of knowing her to understand she didn't welcome male
attention. She dressed for comfort, not to turn heads—skirts that didn't hug,
shirts that didn't reveal—but damn, she was blessed in so many ways.
No
matter how much she tried to hide it, her body was the kind that models would
kill for: a small waist, slim arms, and a full chest.
"Are
you coming?"
I
blinked, realizing I'd spaced out, then hurried after her.
We
rode in her car, the air heavy with the musky scent of cologne. I couldn't help
but think it was her husband's—like he sprayed it in the car to mark his
territory.
What
a knobhead. A controlling piece of work. I get it, though. If I were married to
Ailina, I'd probably be paranoid too, but I wouldn't make her uncomfortable
like that. It was pathetic.
"Do
you like Japanese? I'm craving some for lunch today." Her voice was soft, the
scent of her husband's cologne overwhelming any trace of her own fragrance. But
from memory, I knew her breath was clean and sweet.
"I
love Japanese," I told her, though, to be honest, I'd never tried it before.
We reached the restaurant, and
I was all too happy to be freed from the car.
Inside, the place was
cozy—traditional Japanese decor, soft lighting, a warm, inviting scent drifting
through the air. We were shown to a private room with a tatami floor, and at
the entrance, we had to take off our shoes.
"When you said Japanese,
I didn't know you meant this Japanese," I said, eyeing the setup with
mild surprise.
She laughed, unwinding her
scarf as she stretched to hang it on the rack nearby.
That's when I saw it.
Her dress lifted slightly, and
flawless white skin caught my eye—but so did something else. The deep, red
imprint of what looked like fingerprints.
My smile faded instantly.
That looked painful. Whoever
had grabbed her had done so with force.
"What's wrong? You've
gone quiet," she asked, turning to look at me, completely unaware that I
had seen it.
I shoved the thought down.
Pushed it aside.
"Nothing, I'm just
wondering how I'm going to eat with chopsticks," I said, shifting
gears.
She choked out a laugh.
"They'll give us proper spoons and forks if you ask them."
"Will you use proper
spoons and forks?" I teased, flirting—burying what I had just seen deep in
the back of my mind.
"No, I've been eating
with chopsticks for years."
"Thought as
much."
"What?" she grinned.
"I just like the ambiance it adds to the food. That's why I had to
learn."
"Ambiance? I didn't know
that could affect taste."
"It's kind of like
computers and screens—some things are just better on smaller
displays."
"Got it. Well, you can
teach me then. I want ambiance in my food from now on."
She laughed, shaking her head.
"Stop teasing me."
"I'm not.
Really."
We laughed, talked about
everything and nothing, the conversation flowing effortlessly. The food
arrived, and I was surprised by how much I enjoyed it, more than I expected.
Each bite was a new experience, but my mind kept drifting back to that
bruise—the red marks, the fingerprints.
I couldn't stop glancing at
her, trying to catch another glimpse of the injury. My curiosity turned into
something deeper, a tightening sensation in my chest. How could I ask her about
it? What could I say without sounding intrusive, or worse, like a creep?
The thought of someone hurting
her gnawed at me, an anger that burned in my gut, barely kept at bay. The idea
that someone had laid hands on Ailina…
Who did this to you?
I watched her, her face calm,
her smile as warm and genuine as always, and wondered how it was possible for
her to hide so much. How could something so painful leave no trace on her
expression?