~Erica's POV~
My father believed control was the same thing as love.
That thought sat heavy in my chest as I walked into the house that evening, unmoving, like a stone I'd learned to carry quietly.
The lights were all on. Every single one.
That alone told me he was home early, and when my father came home early, it was never a coincidence.
I closed the door softly, careful not to make a sound. It didn't matter. He already knew I was there.
"Erica."
His voice came from the living room. Calm. Measured. Dangerous in its restraint.
"Yes, Dad."
I stepped forward.
He sat in his armchair, jacket still on, tie loosened but not removed. My father never fully relaxed. Even at home, he wore authority like a second skin. On the coffee table in front of him was my phone.
Face up.
Unlocked.
My stomach sank.
"Sit down," he said.
I did.
"You stayed behind after class today."
It wasn't a question.
"Yes."
"With a man."
"With my lecturer," I corrected gently.
He let out a short, humorless laugh. "Do you think titles change nature?"
I pressed my fingers together in my lap. "I only asked a question."
"You invited attention," he said. "That is what you did."
I looked up at him then. "I'm allowed to care about my education."
His gaze sharpened. "You are allowed to succeed. You are not allowed to be careless."
"I wasn't careless."
"You were alone," he snapped. Then he exhaled slowly, as if restraining something worse. "The university portal updated this afternoon. New lecturer. New name. And a note that you stayed behind."
My chest tightened.
Of course.
He watched everything.
"You think systems don't talk?" he continued. "You think people don't notice patterns? A girl like you doesn't fade into the background, Erica. You never have."
I hated that he was right.
"They already think you're too perfect," he said, his voice lowering. "Too quiet. Too untouchable. Men don't like that. They want to break it."
"I'm not something to be broken," I said softly.
His jaw clenched. "Then stop putting yourself in positions where they'll try."
Silence stretched between us.
"You will come home straight after lectures," he said finally. "No lingering. No private conversations. And no illusions that any man in that place has your best interests at heart."
"I understand," I said.
It was easier than arguing. It always was.
He waved a hand. "Go to your room."
I stood and left without another word, my chest aching in a way that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with exhaustion.
In my room, I shut the door and sank onto my bed. I changed into something comfortable, loose, soft, anything that didn't feel like armor. My hands lingered on the smooth fabric for a moment, but my thoughts weren't on comfort. They were on him. Jackson Hale.
I pictured the way he had looked at me today—like I mattered in a room where I'd usually vanish. His eyes were sharp but calm, not arrogant, not casual. They were steady. Observant. And for some reason, that steadiness made my pulse stutter.
His voice lingered in my head, the slow, deliberate cadence that made even a simple sentence feel like it carried meaning. The way he moved, confident but unassuming, like he didn't need to prove himself to anyone. The careful, deliberate way he wrote his name on the board. I… I had never thought someone could make a classroom feel intimate, and yet, somehow, it had.
I shook my head, trying to push it away. He was a lecturer. A man I should respect, nothing more. But a tiny, stubborn part of me wouldn't let go. I caught myself replaying the moment he handed me my pen. The brief brush of his fingers against mine had felt electric, impossible, forbidden.
And then it slipped out.
"I… I need a private tutor."
The words shocked me as soon as they left my mouth. My cheeks burned. I hadn't meant to say them aloud, God, why had I said them? I didn't even know if I wanted him to be my tutor. Or maybe I did. A small, reckless part of me wanted him, wanted his attention, his guidance, even if it came with risk.
But the thought that this could cost me, my reputation, my father's wrath, even the fragile sense of control I had over my life, made my stomach twist.
And yet… I didn't regret it.
I rested back on the pillow, staring at the ceiling fan as it lazily turned above me. I could almost hear him saying, don't let fear convince you that you don't belong here. The words echoed, grounding me, even as my heart betrayed me with a flutter every time I remembered his gaze.
Before I could overthink it further, my phone buzzed.
!!!SOPHIE!!!
I answered immediately.
"Erica! Tell me you didn't just come home and stare at the ceiling all night."
I smiled faintly. "Not exactly."
"Not exactly? Erica, cut the act. Did you see him? The man? Jackson Hale?"
"Yes," I said, voice barely a whisper.
"Oh my God, Erica. Tall, commanding, hot as hell, and that voice…" Sophie's words tumbled out like a waterfall. "I'm telling you... I might be in love already, and I only met him once!"
I rolled onto my side, heart thumping. "Sophie…"
"No, Erica, listen," she said, rushing. "He's perfect. And I'm going to make a move tomorrow. You have to help me plan. Be honest, what would you do?"
I frowned, trying to keep calm. "I wouldn't… I don't think you should, he's our lecturer."
Sophie laughed like I had said something absurd. "Exactly. That's the point. Life is short! Men like that don't wait around forever!"
I felt something twist in my chest, jealousy, maybe, but mostly fear. Fear of what it could mean if I crossed boundaries I wasn't ready to. Fear of wanting something that could hurt me.
"What if you get him in trouble?" I asked gently.
She paused, then laughed again. "Relax. I'll be subtle."
"You're reckless," I muttered.
"And you're boring," she shot back. "Anyway, tell me, do you like him?"
"No," I said too quickly, but my voice trembled. "I just… respect him. He's… incredible."
"I knew it!" Sophie shrieked. "That's exactly how it starts. You can't lie to me, Erica. You're already thinking about him."
I sighed, resting my head against the pillow again. I couldn't stop thinking about his gaze, the way he made the lecture hall feel alive, the way he had made me feel seen without judgment.
I wasn't in love. Not yet. But I was curious. And I was afraid of what that curiosity could cost me.
Somewhere between my father's rules and Sophie's reckless excitement, I realized one thing:
The future didn't feel planned.
It didn't feel safe.
It felt dangerous.
And for the first time in a long while, it felt like mine.