Zara told herself she wouldn't think about him.
It was impossible.
It had been twelve hours since the collision in the West Wing corridor, and yet every time she closed her eyes, she felt it his hand at her waist
Steady,possessive,
Ridiculous.
She adjusted her blazer and walked into her 9 a.m. Political Theory lecture, determined to reset her focus.
Scholarship students didn't get distracted by wealthy heirs with dangerous eyes.
She chose a seat near the front.
Safe and alonea
Or so she thought.
The seat beside her shifted.
Fabric brushed against fabric.
A familiar scent — dark cedar and something expensive — settled in the air.
Her spine stiffened.
"You're predictable," came the low voice beside her.
She didn't turn immediately.
Didn't give him the satisfaction.
"I don't remember inviting you," she replied calmly, keeping her eyes on her notebook.
Lucien Ashford leaned back in his chair like he owned it. Like he owned the entire lecture hall.
"Invitation implies I need permission."
Her jaw tightened.
The professor hadn't arrived yet. The room buzzed softly with conversation, but Zara felt like the noise had dimmed around them.
"You're sitting in my space," she said.
He glanced at the empty seats around them.
"There are thirty-seven other seats available."
"Then choose one."
"I prefer this one."
Her pulse betrayed her again.
She finally looked at him.
Big mistake.
He was already watching her intently.
As if he were solving something.
"You left rather quickly last night," he said quietly.
"I had somewhere to be."
"You were flustered."
"I wasn't."
A faint smirk touched his mouth.
"You're doing it again."
Heat rose up her neck.
Infuriating man.
Before she could reply, the professor walked in, and the lecture began.
Zara forced herself to focus.
But every time Lucien shifted beside her — every time his arm brushed hers lightly — her concentration fractured.
Halfway through the lecture, he leaned closer.
Not enough to draw attention.
Enough to unsettle her.
"You hate losing control," he murmured.
Her pen paused mid-sentence.
"You don't know me."
"I'm starting to."
She turned to face him fully now.
"You mistake proximity for understanding."
His gaze darkened.
"And you mistake distance for safety."
The words landed heavier than she expected.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
The air between them thickened.
Then
A girl from two rows back laughed too loudly at something on her phone and glanced at Lucien.
Zara noticed.
She didn't mean to care.
But she did.
Lucien noticed that too.
His eyes flicked to the girl briefly… then returned to Zara.
The smallest flicker of satisfaction warmed her chest.
When the lecture ended, students began filing out.
Zara gathered her books quickly.
But Lucien didn't move.
"You're avoiding something," he said calmly.
"I'm avoiding you."
"Why?"
"Because I don't mix ambition with attraction."
His eyes sharpened.
"Attraction?"
She had said too much.
His voice lowered.
"So you do feel it."
Her breath hitched — just slightly.
Lucien stood slowly, closing the small space between them.
"I don't pursue things I'm unsure of, Zara," he said softly. "And I'm very sure about you."
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
He stepped back.
"Run if you need to," he added quietly. "But you'll get tired eventually."
Then he walked away.
Leaving her standing there.
Shaken.
And very aware of one terrifying truth:
She wasn't sure she wanted to run.