TESSLYN'S POV
"You're making a huge mistake."
Rowan's words from two weeks ago echo in my head as I sit across from Callum at our coffee shop. Our spot. Where we had our first date three years ago.
He's brought flowers. Red roses. My favorite, except I told him once I actually prefer daisies and he never remembered.
"Tess." His voice cracks. Actual tears shine in his eyes. "I'm so sorry. I know I don't deserve forgiveness, but I'm begging you. Please. Give me another chance."
I should feel something. Anger. Pain. Something.
Instead, I just feel tired.
"Why'd you do it?" I ask quietly. "Two months, Callum. Two months of lying to me every single day."
"I don't know." He reaches across the table, grabbing my hands. "I was stupid. Weak. Sienna was just... there. And I got caught up in something meaningless while risking everything that mattered."
"I mattered so much you risked losing me?"
"Yes! No! I mean—" He's panicking now. "I thought I could have both. I thought you'd never find out. I know how that sounds. I know I'm an idiot. But Tess, I love you. Only you. Sienna was a mistake I regret every second."
Part of me—the logical part—knows Rowan's right. I should walk away. Block his number. Start fresh at university without him.
But three years is a long time. And I'm scared. Scared of being alone. Scared of starting over. Scared that maybe I won't find anyone else who wants me.
At least Callum does. Even if he's a cheater.
Even if he hurt me worse than anything ever has.
"University starts in three days," I say slowly. "If—and this is a big if—I give you another chance, things have to change. No more lies. Complete honesty. And you cut off Sienna entirely."
Hope explodes across his face. "Yes! Anything! I already blocked her. Haven't talked to her since that day. Tess, I swear, I'll be better. University will be our fresh start."
Fresh start. The words sound nice. Clean. Like we can wash away two months of betrayal and begin again.
I think about Thayer for just a second. Storm-gray eyes. Gentle hands. The way he made me feel wanted and precious and whole.
But that was one night. A fantasy. This—Callum, the roses, the promises—this is real life.
"Okay," I hear myself say. "One chance. You mess up again, we're done forever."
Callum lunges across the table and kisses me. It tastes like coffee and desperation.
I try to feel something. Anything.
But all I feel is empty.
Three days pass in a blur. Move-in day. New dorm room—thankfully without Sienna, who transferred schools in shame. Orientation. Campus tours.
Callum is everywhere. Holding my hand. Introducing me to his new friends. Playing the perfect boyfriend.
"This is Tess," he tells everyone proudly. "My girlfriend. Isn't she beautiful?"
I smile. Nod. Play the part.
Rowan pulls me aside during lunch. "You look miserable."
"I'm fine."
"You're a terrible liar." She studies my face. "It's not too late. You can still dump him."
"I gave him another chance. I need to actually try."
She sighs. "Fine. But when—not if, when—he screws up again, I'm saying I told you so."
First day of classes arrives. I'm nervous but excited. This is what I worked for—university, literature classes, pursuing my dreams.
Callum insists we get coffee first. "To celebrate our first day together!"
We're late. Of course we're late. I'm practically running across campus, checking my schedule. Advanced Literature. Room 304. Starts in two minutes.
"Go ahead," Callum says, kissing my cheek. "I'll see you after. Love you!"
"Love you too," I say automatically.
I rush into the building. Find room 304. The door's already closed. Great. Late on the first day.
I slip inside as quietly as possible. The professor has his back to the class, writing on the whiteboard.
I slide into a seat in the back row. Pull out my notebook. Try to catch my breath.
The professor's voice carries across the room—deep, smooth, oddly familiar.
"Welcome to Advanced Literature. I'm Professor Murdoch. This semester, we'll explore forbidden love in classical texts—"
He turns around.
Time stops.
No.
No, no, no, no, NO.
Thayer.
The stranger from the bar. The man I slept with two weeks ago. The one-night stand I've been trying to forget.
He's my professor.
Our eyes meet across the classroom. For one terrible second, I watch shock flicker across his face. His knuckles go white on the marker. His jaw tightens.
Then his expression goes completely blank. Professional. Cold.
But I saw it. That moment of recognition. Of panic.
He knows. He knows exactly who I am.
"—forbidden love," he continues, voice steady now. "We'll examine how authors throughout history have portrayed relationships that defy social norms. Relationships that are..." His eyes flick to me for just a second. "Inappropriate. Dangerous. Forbidden."
I can't breathe. Can't think. Can't do anything but sit frozen while my entire world crashes down.
This can't be happening. This is a nightmare. Any second I'll wake up and—
"Miss—" Professor Murdoch—Thayer—checks his roster. His face gives nothing away. "Miss Verne. Welcome. Please see me after class regarding your late arrival."
Oh God. He's going to talk to me. Alone. After class.
Panic claws up my throat.
Around me, other students are taking notes. Paying attention to his lecture about syllabus requirements and grading policies.
I can't hear any of it. Just white noise.
All I can think is: I slept with my professor. I slept with my professor before I knew he was my professor, but that doesn't matter. This is bad. This is so, so bad.
What if someone finds out? What if he tells someone? What if I get expelled for—for what? Accidentally sleeping with a teacher before the semester started?
Class drags on forever. An hour that feels like ten years.
Finally, mercifully, he says, "That's all for today. Read chapters one through three of your textbook. We'll discuss next class. Dismissed."
Students pack up, filing out. Chatting about weekend plans and other classes.
I stay frozen in my seat.
The classroom empties. Until it's just us. Me and Professor Murdoch. Me and Thayer. Me and the man whose bed I woke up in two weeks ago.
He waits until the door closes. Until we're completely alone.
Then he turns to me, and his carefully controlled expression cracks just slightly.
"Tesslyn."
Just my name. But the way he says it—rough, pained, almost desperate—sends shivers down my spine.
"Professor Murdoch," I whisper back. Using his title feels wrong. Everything about this feels wrong.
"We need to talk," he says quietly. "But not here. Not now. There are—" He runs a hand through his hair, looking more stressed than I've ever seen him. "There are cameras. Other professors. We can't—"
"I didn't know," I blurt out. "That night, I didn't know you were a professor here. I didn't know I'd—"
"I know." His voice softens. "I didn't know either. I teach here, and when you said Ashcroft, I should have—" He stops himself. "It doesn't matter what I should have done. What matters is what we do now."
"What do we do now?" My voice is shaking.
He looks at me for a long moment. Those storm-gray eyes full of conflict and something else. Something that makes my heart race.
"We forget it happened," he says finally. "That night—it never happened. You're my student. I'm your professor. That's all."
"That's all," I echo numbly.
"Can you do that? Pretend we never—" He can't even finish the sentence.
I nod. "Yes. I can do that."
It's a lie. We both know it's a lie. But what else can we say?
"Good." He takes a step back. Creates distance. "Then we understand each other. This conversation never happened. That night never happened. Professionally, we're—"
His office door suddenly opens.
A woman walks in—older, elegant, with ice-blonde hair and sharp green eyes. She looks between us, and something calculating crosses her face.
"Thayer," she says smoothly. "I didn't realize you had a student meeting."
"Dr. Frost." Professor Murdoch's voice goes carefully neutral. "Miss Verne was just leaving. She had questions about the syllabus."
Dr. Frost's cold eyes assess me. Up and down. Like I'm an insect under a microscope.
"Of course. Well, don't let me interrupt." She smiles, but it doesn't reach her eyes. "Welcome to Ashcroft, Miss Verne. I'm sure you'll find Professor Murdoch's classes very... educational."
Something about the way she says it makes my skin crawl.
I grab my bag. "Thank you, Professor. I'll see you next class."
I practically run out of the room. Down the hallway. Out of the building.
My phone buzzes. Text from Callum: How was your first class?
I stare at it. How do I even begin to answer that?
Behind me, I hear heels clicking. That woman—Dr. Frost—emerges from the building. She's on her phone.
"...yes, I'm quite sure," she's saying. "Something's definitely going on between Thayer and that student. The way they looked at each other..." She pauses, listening. "No, I'll handle it. If Thayer Murdoch thinks he can break university policy under my watch, he has another thing coming."
She walks past me without a second glance.
My blood turns to ice.
She knows. Or suspects. Either way, we're in danger.
And the worst part? The semester just started.
We have four more months of this.
Four months of pretending.
Four months of lying.
Four months of being in the same room, remembering what we're not supposed to remember.
I look back at the literature building. Through the windows, I can see Professor Murdoch still in his office. Head in his hands.
We're so screwed.