Mason's POV
The day dragged on like wet paint refusing to dry. The heat outside made the classrooms hum with quiet complaints, pencils tapping on desks, and the muffled rhythm of ceiling fans turning above us.
By the time the final bell rang, I was in the art room with Luke, staring blankly at my half-finished painting. I wasn't even trying to hide my thoughts anymore.
Luke glanced at me from his stool, chewing the cap of a marker. "You're doing that thing again," he said.
"What thing?" I muttered, not looking up.
"That thing where you look like you're about to throw someone off a building."
I set my brush down a little too hard. "I'm fine."
"Dude." He lowered his voice. "You're not. You were burning holes into Ms. Morgan's fiancé the whole time in class. It was actually kind of scary."
A dry laugh escaped me. "So you noticed."
"Anyone would!" he said flatly. "What's going on with you? You're acting jealous."
"I'm not jealous," I snapped immediately. Then softer, "I'm just… angry."
"Angry about what? You knew what this was, Mason. You said so yourself."
His words hit like a familiar echo.
For a moment, I saw her face again in her office — the calm way she looked at me when she said: You have no right to be angry. I have no obligation to tell you anything.
It played back in my head like a recording I couldn't turn off.
Then I laughed. A little too loud, a little too sharp. Luke flinched.
"She said it wasn't serious," I said, still laughing softly. "Can you believe that? That it wasn't serious."
"Mason," he said carefully, "don't do this to yourself."
I grinned, shaking my head. "I'm not. I'm done being upset."
Luke didn't look convinced. "That smile of yours says otherwise."
I leaned back on my stool, watching the painting drying on the easel. It was her face, the same soft expression she'd worn when she first spoke to the class. But I had added new strokes today—shadows under her eyes, a different light in her smile. It wasn't the same as before.
"You know what?" I said slowly. "Maybe this isn't such a bad thing. Her fiancé being here… it might actually make things easier."
Luke frowned. "Easier? Mason, I think you're going off the rails."
I ignored him. "He's here, he's proud, he's confident. Let's see how confident he still is when he realizes she doesn't look at him the way she looks at me."
Luke stood, running a hand through his hair. "Man, I know that look. Don't. You'll regret it."
But I was already smiling, too wide, too sure.
"I've never been more certain of anything," I said quietly, brushing the last streak of paint over her portrait.
"She might have a fiancé—but that doesn't mean he wins."
Luke watched silently as I rinsed my brush, worry written all over his face. But he didn't try to stop me when I grabbed my bag and left.
He knew better. When I set my mind on something, there was no stopping it.
Elise's POV
The afternoon sunlight poured through the blinds, streaking across the walls of my office. The air smelled faintly of coffee and freshly printed paper—a strangely comforting mix. I was midway through signing reports for Mr. Jones when the door clicked open.
I looked up, startled.
"Mason?"
He stood there in the doorway, leaning casually against the frame with that familiar half-smile. There was no trace of anger on his face now—just something confident, even playful. It was disarming.
"Hey," he greeted cheerfully. "Hope I'm not interrupting."
I blinked. "What are you doing here?"
"Just wanted to check in. See how you're doing." He stepped inside before I could answer, closing the door quietly behind him.
"I'm fine," I said, a little too quickly.
"You shouldn't be here, Mason."
He ignored the warning completely and walked right up to the desk, leaning against the edge until he was sitting on it. The boldness in his movements caught me off guard.
"What's gotten into you?" I asked, my tone halfway between nervous and stern.
He didn't answer immediately. His eyes stayed locked on mine, deep and unreadable.
Then, slowly, he reached for the ribbon tied at the neckline of my dress. His fingers brushed lightly against my skin as he tugged the end of the ribbon loose, the fabric sliding through his fingers.
"Mason—"
He stayed silent, still holding the ribbon, still watching me.
My pulse spiked. "What are you doing?"
Instead of answering, he leaned down slightly, and before I could think or speak again, his lips met mine.
It was sudden, fierce—not the soft, hesitant kisses from before, but one filled with something closer to desperation, to defiance.
For the first few seconds, I froze in shock. But then… I didn't pull away. I returned the kiss, my hands almost instinctively finding his chest before I remembered where we were.
When we broke apart, he looked like he was trying to catch his breath, eyes flicking over my face as if searching for regret. But there wasn't any. Not right then.
"What… what was that for?" I managed to ask, still breathless.
He smiled faintly, that complicated, dangerous smile of his. "Let's just call it a reminder."
Before I could respond, someone knocked on the door.
My heart jumped to my throat. "Mason," I hissed, pushing lightly against his shoulder. "Move!"
He didn't. "Relax," he said quietly, smirking again, as if testing me.
I frowned, shoved him more firmly until he finally stepped aside and stood near my desk, pretending to inspect one of the reports.
"Come in," I called out, forcing my voice into something steady.
The door opened—and Carter stepped in.
He looked perfect as usual—calm, polished, confident—but his eyes immediately went to Mason, standing casually by my desk.
"Hey," Carter said with a curious smile. "Didn't realize you had company."
My mind scrambled for the first excuse it could find. "Oh—this is Mason," I said quickly. "He's one of my students. He came by because he missed part of the lecture earlier and needed to ask about the homework assignment."
Mason turned, meeting Carter's gaze with unsettling calm. "Yeah," he said smoothly. "Sorry to intrude. Just needed clarification."
Carter's expression softened, his polite smile returning. "No harm done. Nice to meet you, Mason."
He held out a hand.
Mason stared at it for a second before shaking it. "Nice to meet you too," he replied, his grip firm, his smile sharp around the edges.
"Elise's told me a lot about her students," Carter added pleasantly. "She must really care about your class."
I felt my stomach twist. That was his way of being kind—but the irony in the moment made it feel cruel.
"I'm lucky," Mason said, not breaking eye contact. "She's a great teacher. Very… dedicated."
It was a simple sentence, but something in his tone made my pulse catch. Carter didn't seem to notice, but I did.
"Well," Mason continued casually, "I should go. Don't want to take up her time."
"Of course," Carter said warmly. "Glad to meet you."
Mason flashed him a quick smile. "Yeah. Same here."
He turned to me then, and our eyes met only briefly—but the look he gave me said everything words couldn't.
It wasn't over.
Then he walked out, the scent of paint and summer air lingering in the space he left behind.
Carter slipped an arm around my waist, completely unaware. "You alright? You look pale."
"I'm fine," I lied, forcing a smile. "Just tired."
He glanced at the papers on my desk. "Well, wrap up soon. Mr. Jones wants to join us for dinner later. Big day tomorrow."
I nodded, trying not to let my voice shake. "Of course."
But my eyes remained fixed on the door long after it closed, on the space Mason had stood.
His kiss still lingered; his warning still echoed.
This was far from over—and for the first time, I was terrified of what that meant.