Sterling University looked like a castle disguised as an academic institution.
Sharp stone buildings stretched across the hillside, polished walkways wound between manicured courtyards, and glass-paneled libraries towered over the students like cathedrals of thought. Everything smelled of privilege and precision. It was a far cry from Greenridge—warmer, smaller, freer.
Here, even the silence had weight.
The black sedan dropped me off just outside a modest-looking townhouse nestled a few blocks away from the main campus gates. Ivy climbed its facade, curling over iron balconies and brick chimneys like nature trying to soften the sharp edges.
I stood on the pavement, clutching my suitcase tighter than necessary.
**This was Ethan's house.**
I'd been told it was one of the first properties he had purchased in his early twenties . "A safe space near campus," Helena had said over tea, her voice gentle. "He's rarely home anyway. You'll have privacy."
Privacy. In the home of the man I was contractually bound to.
It didn't feel like privacy.
It felt like surveillance with soft linen.
I stepped inside and closed the door behind me.
---
The house was... cold.
Not in temperature—no, it was heated perfectly—but in presence. Everything was in its place: clean, silent, untouched. The furniture was modern but stiff. The art was expensive but impersonal. No clutter. No color. No signs of life.
A single envelope sat on the console table in the hallway.
> **Zoey —**
> Upstairs, third door on the left.
> Kitchen is yours.
> Study is locked.
>
> —E
No "welcome." No instructions. Just the basics. Just like him, I imagined—precise, composed, distant.
I found my room easily. It was spacious, the bed too neatly made. I set my suitcase down and sat on the edge, staring at the untouched sheets like they might judge me.
**You agreed to this.**
**You said yes.**
**For your parents. For your home. For survival.**
Still, my chest ached.
---
The first day on campus was like stepping into a storm made of whispers.
"Who's the new girl in IRBS?"
"She transferred from Bludgeon sprouts college . Smart, apparently."
". High GPA, full ride. Insane."
"She doesn't talk to anyone."
"She's in IRBS major—International Relations and Behavioral Science. Good luck with that."
In the afternoon, my advisor walked me through my updated schedule. I was now officially enrolled in the IRBS major—International Relations and Behavioral Science. Clean transfer. All papers signed. I hadn't even seen them.
Of course.
The only course that wasn't fully confirmed was IRBS 301 – Conflict Psychology and Global Power Structures.
"Dr. Marrow teaches it," the advisor said. "But he's abroad this term. Guest lecturers will rotate until his return. You're lucky—he doesn't usually allow late additions. But your name was... noted."
Of course it was.
After my class,l was walking through the common hallways.
As far as they knew, I was just another new face trying to blend in.
But I could feel the curiosity simmering.
People looked. People talked. Especially when I walked into the student café near the west hall. Heads turned. A group of second-year girls at a corner table paused mid-laugh to watch me order coffee.
And then there was **him**.
**Miles Braxton.**
The kind of guy who always sat like the room was his stage and everyone else was just backup.
He was tall, charming, and the undisputed golden boy of the Behavioral Sciences department. Debate team captain. Legacy student. Popular for the wrong reasons.
He spotted me immediately.
"New blood," he murmured to one of his friends, not bothering to lower his voice.
I didn't look at him. I just took my coffee and turned to leave. But he followed.
"Hey," he called, matching my pace. "You're Zoey, right? Transferred in?"
I didn't stop walking. "That's me."
"I'm Miles. You'll get tired of hearing that name, so I figured I'd introduce myself early."
"How thoughtful."
He grinned. "I like mysterious girls. And you're a mystery. Moving into the city out of nowhere, acing your placements, keeping quiet like you've got something to hide."
I stopped and turned, my gaze sharp. "Do you flirt with every new student, or am I just the latest challenge?"
He didn't flinch. "Both."
I raised an eyebrow. "You should try a new hobby because I'm not here for attention. And I'm definitely not interested in being the topic of your frat-boy gossip circle. So if you're done flirting for sport, I'd like to walk home in peace."."
"Oh, but this *is* my hobby."
I left him there, still grinning, while I disappeared into the crowd.
---
That afternoon, I sat through my first lecture in **IRBS 301 – Conflict Psychology and Global Power Structures**.
It wasn't being taught by Ethan yet—he was still abroad—but his syllabus remained. His name was printed across the top of every page: **Dr. Ethan Marrow.**
People whispered about him as if he were a legend. A myth.
> "He once dismantled a PhD candidate's thesis in front of the whole hall."
>"He's brilliant. And terrifying."
> "He's like... disturbingly smart."
> "Apparently, he tore apart a published journal article and rewrote it live during a conference."
> "Hot, but terrifying. Like, emotionally unavailable with a god complex."
> "God, those eyes. I'd let him ruin my academic career."
>"He has no social media. Like, none. Even his LinkedIn is private."
>"His last published paper was classified for government use."
> "And single. For now."
I said nothing. My pen moved across my notebook, but my mind lingered on every word.
I was starting to realize I hadn't just agreed to marry a stranger.
I'd agreed to marry a myth.
They didn't know.
None of them knew.
Not about the contract.
Not about the house.
Not about the future none of us could see yet.
---
Back at the townhouse that evening, I stood in the kitchen, pouring tea into a chipped mug I found in the back of a cabinet. It was the only thing that wasn't pristine. I liked it for that.
The silence stretched.
Then a soft knock came from the front door.
I flinched.
But it was only a delivery—a small parcel. No sender listed. Just a note attached in clean, angled handwriting.
> **For your first week.
> —E**
Inside was a set of handmade notebooks, bound in soft leather. Beautiful. Elegant. Personal, in a way nothing else had been.
I held one in my hands for a long time.
The air in the house shifted. Not warmer. Not colder. Just... heavier. As if the walls remembered something I didn't.
---
By midnight, I was sitting in bed, watching the moonlight crawl across the ceiling.
There was a strange kind of peace in not being seen. No one at school knew my truth. No one understood the cage beneath the calm. To them, I was just another transfer. To me, I was a pawn placed carefully in a game I hadn't asked to play.
But one day, they'd all know who I was.
And when that day came, I wouldn't just be **the girl in the professor's house**.
I'd be something much more dangerous.
---
To be continued.