Chapter 1

The Professor

Setting / Plot:

Darwin State University, first day of the spring semester. Rose attends Business Marketing & Strategy expecting another old professor. Instead, she meets Roman Whitlock for the first time.

Timestamp:

Monday — 8:47 A.M.

ROSE

Darwin State looked unreal in winter.

The old brick buildings stood beneath a pale gray sky while snow clung to the edges of sidewalks and iron fences. Students flooded the campus carrying coffees, backpacks, and exhaustion from winter break.

And somehow, despite being a senior...

I still felt nervous.

I tightened my fingers around the strap of my tan tote bag as I hurried across campus. Cold air burned my cheeks while my boots crushed lightly against the salted pavement.

My phone buzzed in my coat pocket.

Morgan:

Please tell me you grabbed me a coffee.

I snorted softly while walking toward the Business Hall.

Me:

Please tell me you woke up before 8:30 for once.

Three typing dots appeared immediately.

Morgan:

Rude.

Morgan:

Also yes I’m awake.

Morgan:

Barely.

I smiled despite myself.

The giant clock tower near the center of campus chimed softly.

9:02 A.M.

Shit.

I picked up my pace.

Business Marketing & Strategy was apparently one of the hardest courses in the department. Half the seniors complained about it online like it personally ruined their lives.

Exactly the kind of class I needed to survive.

Perfect.

I pushed through the heavy doors of Hawthorne Hall and warmth immediately wrapped around me. The scent of coffee, paper, and old wood filled the building.

Students crowded the hallways.

Some looked polished and rich enough to walk straight into a country club.

Others looked half-dead already.

I headed upstairs toward Room 214.

And froze.

Because the classroom door was closed.

Great.

Late on the first day.

Amazing first impression, Rose.

I exhaled sharply before knocking twice.

A few seconds passed.

Then the door opened.

And every coherent thought in my brain disappeared.

The man standing there was not sixty.

Not fifty.

Not even close.

Tall.

Dark charcoal sweater beneath a black wool coat.

Broad shoulders.

Sharp jawline.

Dark hair slightly messy like he’d run a hand through it too many times already this morning.

And eyes.

Jesus Christ.

Cold gray eyes fixed directly onto mine with calm authority.

He looked somewhere in his early thirties at most.

Maybe younger.

For one terrifying second, I genuinely thought I had the wrong classroom and accidentally interrupted some insanely attractive graduate student.

Then he spoke.

Deep voice.

Controlled.

“Can I help you?”

My stomach flipped violently.

Professor.

That was definitely the professor.

“Oh—sorry,” I said quickly. “Business Marketing & Strategy?”

His gaze flicked over me once.

Not obvious.

Not inappropriate.

Still somehow enough to make heat crawl up my neck.

“Yes.”

I swallowed.

“Sorry I’m late.”

He stepped aside from the doorway.

“First day. I’ll allow it.”

God.

Even his voice sounded dangerous.

I walked into the classroom trying not to embarrass myself.

Unfortunately, thirty students immediately looked at me.

Fantastic.

I hurried toward an empty seat near the middle while trying to ignore Morgan’s dramatic grin from two rows over.

Traitor.

Once seated, I finally looked toward the front again.

The professor had already removed his coat.

And honestly?

That somehow made things worse.

The charcoal sweater stretched across his shoulders and forearms in a way that should’ve been illegal for an academic environment.

No wonder the classroom felt unusually attentive.

Half the female population in here looked seconds away from academic collapse.

He picked up a marker and wrote his name across the board.

ROMAN WHITLOCK

The name looked just as good written down.

“Welcome back,” he said calmly, turning toward us. “For those of you unfortunate enough to still be here for senior year...my condolences.”

A few people laughed softly.

Even I smiled.

“I’m Professor Whitlock. Business Marketing & Strategy.” He leaned lightly against the desk at the front. “And before anyone asks, yes, this course is difficult.”

Someone near the back groaned dramatically.

Roman ignored it.

“If you’re here for an easy elective, leave now.”

Silence.

His gaze slowly traveled across the room.

Confident.

Sharp.

Observant.

When his eyes briefly landed on me again, my pulse kicked stupidly hard against my ribs.

“This class is built around pressure,” he continued. “Deadlines. Competition. Leadership. Adaptability. The business world doesn’t reward panic attacks and excuses.”

Ouch.

A blond guy near the front raised his hand lazily.

“What if we already have panic attacks?”

The room laughed.

Roman’s expression barely changed.

“Then I recommend therapy and time management.”

That made everyone laugh harder.

Even him.

Barely.

But it happened.

And somehow that tiny almost-smile completely ruined my ability to focus.

Great.

Fantastic.

I was doomed.

Roman continued reviewing the syllabus while students typed notes or pretended to.

Meanwhile, my brain betrayed me entirely.

Because I kept noticing ridiculous things.

The expensive watch on his wrist.

The faint shadow of stubble along his jaw.

The way his voice lowered slightly whenever the room got louder.

And worst of all—

The wedding ring he wasn’t wearing.

Why was I even checking for that?

I looked down at my laptop immediately.

Get it together.

You are here to graduate.

Not fantasize about your professor five minutes into the semester.

Beside me, a brunette girl leaned over slightly.

“Holy shit,” she whispered.

I blinked. “What?”

“That professor.”

I nearly choked on air.

“Oh.”

“Oh?” she repeated. “That’s all you’ve got?”

I tried focusing on my screen.

“He’s attractive.”

“Attractive?” she whispered aggressively. “That man looks like he walks around ruining lives for fun.”

I bit the inside of my cheek to stop myself from laughing.

Unfortunately, she wasn’t exactly wrong.

At the front of the room, Roman suddenly looked up.

Directly toward us.

The brunette immediately sat straight.

So did I.

God.

Had he heard that?

His expression remained unreadable as he continued speaking.

But for some reason...

I suddenly felt very warm beneath his attention.

The class ended an hour later.

Students immediately began packing up while conversations filled the room.

Morgan rushed toward my desk dramatically.

“Rose,” she whispered. “I am unwell.”

I rolled my eyes while shoving my notebook into my tote.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“No,” she corrected. “HE is ridiculous.”

She glanced toward the front where Roman was speaking to a student.

“I expected some old bald guy named Richard.”

I laughed softly.

“Same.”

Morgan grabbed my arm suddenly.

“Oh my God wait.”

“What?”

“What if he’s British?”

I stared at her.

“Why are you like this?”

“Because life is short and that man is hot.”

I snorted.

Then—

A low voice sounded nearby.

“Miss Winward.”

Every muscle in my body locked instantly.

I turned.

Roman Whitlock stood beside our desks.

Up close he looked even worse for my sanity.

Clean cologne.

Sharp features.

Calm gray eyes.

Morgan looked seconds away from ascending spiritually.

“Yes?” I managed.

He held out a paper.

“You forgot this.”

My fingers brushed his accidentally while taking it.

A tiny touch.

Nothing.

Still—

Electricity shot straight through me.

And judging by the brief pause in his expression...

He felt it too.

Only for a second.

Then his face returned to complete professionalism.

“You have strong academic records,” he said evenly. “I expect good things this semester.”

My brain fully short-circuited.

“Oh. Um...thank you.”

Morgan stared at me like I’d just been chosen by God himself.

Roman gave a small nod before walking away toward the front again.

And the second he was out of earshot—

Morgan grabbed my shoulders violently.

“ROSE.”

“Oh my God stop.”

“He KNOWS your name.”

“He literally has attendance sheets.”

“That is NOT the point.”

I shoved my notebook into my bag faster than necessary, trying to ignore the strange feeling spreading through my chest.

Because this was stupid.

Completely stupid.

He was my professor.

Older.

Untouchable.

And way out of my world.

But as I glanced back one last time before leaving the classroom...

Roman Whitlock was already watching me again.

Setting / Plot:

After Rose’s first encounter with Professor Roman Whitlock, she tries convincing herself that the attraction means nothing. Unfortunately, Darwin State already seems obsessed with him.

---

ROSE

The second Morgan and I stepped out into the hallway, chaos exploded.

Not literal chaos.

Just college-girl chaos.

Which somehow sounded worse.

“Oh my God, did you SEE him?”

“I’m switching majors.”

“That man has absolutely ruined my semester already.”

“Do you think he’s married?”

“I would let that professor academically destroy me.”

I nearly inhaled my own saliva.

The hallway outside Room 214 had become packed with students lingering around far longer than necessary. Mostly girls.

Obviously.

Morgan walked beside me with the biggest grin imaginable. “This is the most alive I’ve ever seen the business department.”

I tightened my grip on my tote bag. “Everyone’s being dramatic.”

She stopped walking.

Actually stopped.

Then stared at me like I’d personally offended her.

“Rose.”

“What?”

“That man looked like a morally questionable fantasy written by a woman with unresolved issues.”

I burst out laughing before immediately trying to quiet myself when nearby students looked over.

Morgan pointed accusingly at me. “Exactly. You get it.”

“I did not say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

We started walking downstairs through the crowded hallways while students pushed past us in heavy coats and winter boots.

Darwin State had always felt strange during spring semester.

Everyone returned from winter break slightly different.

Some people came back newly single.

Some came back engaged.

Some came back with entirely new personalities.

And apparently this semester came with a dangerously attractive professor.

Fantastic.

“I’m serious though,” Morgan continued. “Why is he so young?”

“I don’t know.”

“And did you hear his voice?”

“Yes, Morgan. The entire classroom heard his voice.”

“That voice should be illegal in an academic institution.”

I rolled my eyes, but my face still felt warm.

Because annoyingly enough...

I understood exactly what she meant.

There was something controlled about Roman Whitlock.

Not just attractive.

Controlled.

Like every movement and every word was carefully restrained beneath the surface.

Which honestly made him more intimidating.

And somehow worse for my mental stability.

Morgan bumped my shoulder while we exited the building into the freezing morning air again.

“You know what the crazy part is?”

“What?”

“He noticed you.”

I almost tripped.

“No he didn’t.”

“Yes he did.”

“He literally just gave me back a paper.”

“After complimenting your academic record.”

I groaned softly. “That was professional.”

Morgan gave me a look.

“Rose, professors don’t usually memorize students before classes even start.”

I opened my mouth.

Then closed it.

Because...

That part had confused me too.

How did he know my name immediately?

Maybe he studied the roster beforehand.

That had to be it.

Right?

“You’re overthinking,” I muttered mostly to myself.

Morgan smirked knowingly.

“Oh no,” she said. “You’re underthinking.”

Before I could respond, her phone buzzed.

Her entire face changed instantly.

I didn’t even need to ask.

“Blake?” I guessed.

She sighed dramatically while checking the message. “Unfortunately.”

I laughed.

“Things still weird?”

Morgan shoved her phone into her coat pocket. “He disappeared half of winter break because of training stuff and now suddenly he misses me.”

“That sounds normal for a boyfriend.”

“Not when his Instagram follows increase every five seconds.”

“Morgan.”

“What? I’m realistic.”

She crossed her arms while we waited near the crosswalk.

“I swear baseball boys are all the same.”

“You’ve said that for two years and still date him.”

“That’s because he’s hot and emotionally confusing.”

I snorted.

At least she was self-aware.

The crosswalk light changed.

Students flooded across campus around us while cold wind whipped through the air.

I pulled my scarf higher around my neck.

“You working tonight?” Morgan asked.

“Yeah. Double shift.”

“Ouch.”

“I need the money.”

Morgan frowned slightly.

And instantly guilt twisted in my chest.

I hated when conversations got weird about money between us.

Because Morgan never intentionally acted spoiled.

But sometimes the difference between our lives sat directly between us anyway.

She could casually buy new clothes every week.

Meanwhile I mentally calculated grocery costs while standing inside stores.

She noticed my expression immediately and nudged my arm gently.

“Hey,” she said quietly. “You know my parents still adore you, right?”

I smiled softly. “I know.”

“And if you ever actually needed help—”

“I know.”

And I did know.

That was the problem.

Her parents were kind enough to help me if things ever got truly bad.

But accepting that kind of money terrified me.

I’d spent too much of my life trying not to become someone people pitied.

We reached the student center a few minutes later.

Warmth hit us immediately along with the smell of coffee and breakfast sandwiches.

The building buzzed with noise.

Students studying.

Athletes crowding tables.

Someone laughing obnoxiously loud near the café.

Morgan grabbed my sleeve dramatically.

“Coffee first,” she declared. “Survival second.”

“Fair.”

We joined the line at the campus café.

And unfortunately...

The conversation returned exactly where I knew it would.

“So,” Morgan said casually.

I narrowed my eyes.

“No.”

“You don’t even know what I was gonna say.”

“Yes I do.”

She grinned.

“Professor Whitlock.”

I stared straight ahead.

“Nothing happened.”

“I didn’t say something happened.”

“You implied it.”

“Because something happened.”

I exhaled slowly.

Morgan lowered her voice slightly.

“The eye contact alone almost made me uncomfortable.”

“That’s because you’re insane.”

“No,” she corrected. “That man looked at you like he already knew something.”

A strange chill slid down my spine.

I immediately shook it off.

Ridiculous.

Completely ridiculous.

Roman Whitlock probably interacted with hundreds of students.

I was just another senior in another class.

Nothing more.

The girl in front of us suddenly turned around excitedly.

“Oh my God, were you guys in Whitlock’s class too?”

Morgan answered before I could.

“Unfortunately yes. We’re traumatized.”

The girl laughed.

“Apparently he transferred from Boston.”

That caught my attention.

“Transferred?”

“Yeah.” She tucked hair behind her ear. “My roommate’s cousin is a grad assistant in the business department or something.”

Morgan leaned closer instantly.

“Wait wait wait. Tell us everything.”

The girl looked delighted to possess gossip.

“I heard he used to teach at some private university but moved here this year.”

“Why?” Morgan asked.

The girl shrugged dramatically.

“No clue. But apparently students were obsessed with him there too.”

Of course they were.

I focused on the menu board above the café counter.

Not interested.

Definitely not interested.

“And,” the girl added with a grin, “someone said he’s insanely strict.”

Morgan looked thrilled instead of intimidated.

Naturally.

“Hot and emotionally unavailable,” she murmured. “My favorite genre.”

I buried my face in my hands briefly.

The girl laughed before grabbing her drink order and leaving.

Morgan turned toward me immediately.

“You’re thinking about him.”

“I’m thinking about coffee.”

“Liar.”

“I literally have entrepreneurship class later and work after that.”

“But before all that,” she whispered dramatically, “you have Professor Roman Whitlock living inside your brain rent free.”

I grabbed my coffee the second the barista handed it over just to avoid answering.

Because the worst part?

She wasn’t entirely wrong.

And that annoyed me more than anything.

---

By noon, I’d almost successfully distracted myself.

Almost.

My entrepreneurship class was easier to focus on because the professor was exactly what I expected: sixty-ish, kind-eyed, and obsessed with PowerPoint presentations.

Safe.

Normal.

Not built like temptation in a charcoal sweater.

After class, I grabbed a cheap turkey sandwich from the student market before heading toward the library.

I still had three hours before my shift at Rocky Bones Roadhouse.

Three hours meant:

reviewing syllabi

organizing notes

planning work schedules

trying not to think about Roman Whitlock again

Simple.

Easy.

Manageable.

Except the universe apparently hated me.

Because the second I entered the library café area—

I saw him.

Roman Whitlock sat alone near the windows with an open laptop in front of him.

Black coat off again.

White dress shirt sleeves rolled slightly upward.

Reading glasses resting low on his nose.

My heart immediately forgot how to function properly.

What was wrong with me?

It wasn’t like I’d never seen an attractive man before.

But Roman carried himself differently.

Quiet confidence.

Sharp edges.

Like someone who noticed everything while revealing absolutely nothing about himself.

And somehow...

That was incredibly dangerous.

I lowered my head instantly, praying he wouldn’t notice me.

Then immediately hated myself for reacting like a nervous teenager.

Get a grip.

I started walking toward the staircase leading upstairs.

Unfortunately, at that exact moment—

“Miss Winward.”

I stopped dead.

Setting / Plot:

Rose unexpectedly runs into Roman Whitlock again inside the university library. What should have been a brief interaction quickly becomes something far more unsettling.

---

ROSE

Every nerve in my body tightened.

Slowly, I turned around.

Roman Whitlock sat only a few feet away near the tall library windows, one hand resting beside his laptop while the other loosely held a pen between his fingers.

Up close in daylight, he somehow looked even more unfair.

The gray winter light pouring through the windows sharpened every angle of his face. Dark hair slightly disheveled. Shirt sleeves rolled to his forearms. Expensive silver watch catching faint light whenever he moved his hand.

And those eyes.

Calm.

Steady.

Locked directly onto mine.

I swallowed.

“Hi.”

Brilliant response, Rose.

Absolutely brilliant.

Roman removed his glasses slowly before setting them beside his laptop.

“You looked determined to escape.”

Heat instantly crawled up my neck.

“I wasn’t escaping.”

One dark brow lifted slightly.

“No?”

“No,” I repeated, sounding significantly less convincing the second time.

A corner of his mouth almost moved.

Not a full smile.

Worse.

Something quieter.

Like amusement he normally kept restrained.

“Relax,” he said evenly. “I’m not grading you yet.”

My stomach flipped embarrassingly hard.

God.

Why did every sentence out of this man’s mouth sound loaded?

I adjusted my tote strap awkwardly. “Sorry. I just didn’t expect to see you here.”

“It’s a library.”

I blinked.

Then to my horror, he looked faintly entertained again.

Sarcasm.

Professor Roman Whitlock had sarcasm.

Dangerous.

Very dangerous.

“I mean—” I started quickly, “I know professors use libraries, obviously.”

“Obviously.”

I wanted the floor to open beneath me.

This was humiliating.

And somehow he seemed completely aware of it.

Roman leaned back slightly in his chair, studying me with an unreadable expression.

Not flirtatious.

Not inappropriate.

Yet somehow intensely personal anyway.

“You work at the visitor center,” he said calmly.

I froze.

“How do you know that?”

“You checked me in during faculty orientation.”

My brain short-circuited.

Oh God.

Right.

The visitor center.

Three weeks ago during winter staffing, I’d worked extra shifts helping process administrative check-ins before spring semester started.

I remembered dozens of faculty members.

But him?

No.

That couldn’t be right.

There was absolutely no way I would’ve forgotten seeing Roman Whitlock.

Unless—

My stomach dropped.

Wait.

Was he wearing glasses then?

And a heavier coat?

Had I simply not paid attention?

That somehow felt impossible now.

“I don’t remember that,” I admitted quietly.

His gaze stayed on me for a second too long.

“I noticed.”

Something about the way he said it sent a strange feeling through my chest.

Not accusatory.

Not offended.

Just...observant.

Like he noticed far more than he let people realize.

I tightened my fingers around my coffee cup.

The library suddenly felt too warm.

Students moved around us in the background while keyboards clicked softly nearby, but somehow the space around our table felt isolated from everyone else.

Roman glanced briefly toward the empty chair across from him.

“Sit.”

It wasn’t exactly a command.

But it definitely wasn’t a suggestion either.

And for some reason...

I obeyed immediately.

The second I sat down, annoyance flashed through me internally.

Wonderful.

Apparently my survival instincts disappeared around attractive professors.

Roman closed the folder beside his laptop.

“What’s your major again?”

“Business administration.”

“With the entrepreneurship concentration.”

I stared.

“You already memorized that too?”

“I review my students.”

His tone remained smooth and professional.

Still—

Something about hearing him say my students made heat spread slowly through my stomach.

This was bad.

Dangerously bad.

“And you work two jobs,” he continued.

Okay.

That startled me.

“How do you know that?”

“You mentioned scheduling conflicts in your scholarship application addendum.”

I blinked hard.

“You can see those?”

“I can see academic profiles relevant to departmental students.”

Oh.

Right.

That made sense.

Probably.

Maybe.

Still felt invasive somehow.

Roman tapped his pen lightly once against the table.

“You maintain a 3.8 GPA while balancing work schedules,” he said. “Impressive.”

My throat tightened unexpectedly.

I wasn’t used to compliments landing like that.

Most professors just saw grades.

Numbers.

Performance.

But the way Roman said it felt different.

Like he understood exactly how hard I worked for every decimal point attached to my GPA.

I looked down at my coffee cup.

“Thanks.”

Silence settled briefly between us.

Not awkward.

Oddly calm.

And that somehow felt more intimate than it should have.

Roman’s eyes moved over my face thoughtfully.

“You get nervous around authority figures, Miss Winward?”

The question caught me completely off guard.

“I—what?”

“You fidget when you’re uncomfortable.”

Immediately, I stopped moving my fingers against the coffee lid.

Damn it.

His gaze lowered briefly toward my hands before lifting again.

“There,” he said quietly. “You just did it again.”

Why did that feel so intense?

It shouldn’t feel intense.

This was literally just observation.

Normal conversation.

So why did it suddenly feel like he was peeling layers off me without even trying?

“I’m not nervous,” I lied.

Roman leaned back slightly.

“No?”

“No.”

His expression remained calm.

But his eyes darkened almost imperceptibly.

“Interesting.”

That one word wrapped around my spine like slow heat.

I needed to leave.

Immediately.

Before my brain completely melted.

I cleared my throat softly. “I should probably head upstairs and study before work.”

“You work tonight?”

“Yes.”

“At the roadhouse.”

Again.

That strange feeling.

“How do you know where I work?”

“You smell faintly like smoke and barbecue sauce.”

My eyes widened.

Mortifying.

“Oh my God.”

A quiet low sound escaped him.

Not exactly a laugh.

But close.

“You’re observant too,” he murmured.

I stared at him.

And suddenly realized something terrifying.

Roman Whitlock liked studying people.

Not casually.

Precisely.

Like every interaction became data to him.

Every expression.

Every nervous movement.

Every reaction.

The realization should’ve made me uncomfortable.

Instead...

It made my pulse quicken.

Which honestly said terrible things about me psychologically.

Roman glanced toward the staircase leading upstairs.

“You always study in the library?”

“Usually.”

“Alone?”

Why did that question sound different?

I forced myself to answer normally.

“Most of the time.”

His eyes held mine steadily.

Then finally he nodded once.

“You seem like someone who prefers control.”

The statement hit harder than it should have.

Because it was true.

I liked schedules.

Organization.

Planning.

Control meant survival.

Control meant stability.

Without it, things fell apart.

Roman watched the realization cross my face.

“There it is again,” he said softly.

“What?”

“That look.”

I swallowed.

“What look?”

“Like you’re trying very hard not to reveal too much.”

My chest tightened.

This conversation suddenly felt dangerous in a way I couldn’t explain.

Not because he’d crossed any line.

He hadn’t.

Everything he said could still technically fall under normal conversation.

But beneath it...

Something sharper existed.

Awareness.

Attention.

And the terrifying part?

I didn’t think he gave attention carelessly.

A group of loud students entered the café area suddenly, breaking the strange tension between us.

I exhaled before realizing I’d almost stopped breathing entirely.

Roman glanced briefly toward them before looking back at me.

“You should go study, Miss Winward.”

The formal tone returned instantly.

Professor again.

Not whatever this had briefly become.

I stood too quickly, nearly bumping the table.

Smooth.

“So should you,” I blurted.

His brow lifted slightly.

I wanted to die immediately.

“You know what I mean,” I muttered quickly. “Work. Professor things.”

A slow pause.

Then finally—

That tiny almost-smile appeared again.

Small.

Controlled.

Lethal.

“I’ll try.”

My stomach performed a violent somersault.

I grabbed my coffee and practically escaped toward the staircase before embarrassing myself further.

Only once I reached the second floor did I stop walking.

Then immediately pressed a hand against my face.

What the hell was that?

Seriously.

What.

The hell.

Was.

That.

I’d spoken to the man twice and already felt psychologically compromised.

This was not normal behavior.

Not from me.

I was rational.

Focused.

Disciplined.

I didn’t spiral over attractive men.

Especially not professors.

But something about Roman Whitlock felt...

dangerous.

Not physically.

Worse.

Emotionally.

Like he could look directly at a person and figure out exactly where they were weakest.

And somehow...

I had the horrible feeling he’d already started figuring me out.

---

Downstairs, Roman Whitlock watched Rose disappear up the staircase.

Then he leaned back slowly in his chair.

The library noise blurred faintly around him.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

Most students reacted to him predictably.

Overconfidence.

Flirting.

Desperation for approval.

Rose Winward reacted differently.

She tried to hide.

Tried to regain control every second she lost it.

And those usually became the students hardest to forget.

Roman’s jaw tightened slightly at the direction of his own thoughts.

Dangerous territory.

He looked down at the untouched coffee beside his laptop before finally picking up his glasses again.

Because one thing was already becoming very clear.

Rose Winward was going to be a problem.

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