THAYER'S POV
I watch Tesslyn run from the building like she's being chased by demons.
Maybe she is. Maybe we both are.
"Well, well." Linnea Frost's voice cuts through my panic like a knife. "That was interesting."
I force my expression neutral. Turn to face her. "What can I do for you, Linnea?"
She steps into my office uninvited. Closes the door behind her. Her green eyes are sharp. Calculating.
"That girl. Miss Verne. She seemed very... flustered."
"First day nerves," I say smoothly. "She arrived late and was worried about making a bad impression."
"Hmm." Linnea circles my desk like a predator. "Funny. I could have sworn I saw something else. The way you looked at her. The way she looked at you."
My heart pounds, but I keep my face blank. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Don't play stupid, Thayer. We both know you're smarter than that." She stops directly in front of me. Too close. "You've been a ghost for three years. Ever since Celeste died. Cold. Distant. Barely human. Then I walk in here and find you alone with a pretty young student, and suddenly you're alive again."
"You're imagining things."
"Am I?" Her smile is sharp. "Because I've known you for ten years. I know when you're lying. And right now, you're lying."
I stand up, putting distance between us. "Linnea, whatever you think you saw, you're wrong. Miss Verne is my student. Nothing more."
"Yet." The word hangs in the air like poison. "Nothing more yet."
Anger flares through me. "What exactly are you accusing me of?"
"Nothing. Yet." She heads for the door, then pauses. "But I'll be watching, Thayer. Very closely. Because if you're foolish enough to break university policy over some teenage girl, I'll make sure everyone knows about it."
She leaves, door clicking shut softly behind her.
I collapse into my chair, heart racing.
Eight years. Eight years teaching at Ashcroft without a single incident. No inappropriate relationships. No ethics violations. Not even a hint of impropriety.
One night. One beautiful girl. And my entire career is hanging by a thread.
My phone buzzes. Text from Jensen: Drinks tonight? You look like you need them.
I text back: You have no idea.
Six hours later, I'm at our usual bar—not The Violet Hour, can't go back there—drowning in whiskey while Jensen watches with concern.
"Okay," he says finally. "Spill. What happened?"
"I slept with a student."
He chokes on his beer. "WHAT?"
"Before the semester started," I clarify quickly. "Two weeks ago. I met her at a bar. She didn't tell me she was starting at Ashcroft. I didn't tell her I taught there. It was supposed to be one night. Anonymous. Over."
"But?"
"But she walked into my class today. First day. Advanced Literature." I down my whiskey. "She's nineteen, Jensen. Nineteen. And I—"
"Okay, stop." Jensen holds up a hand. "Let me process this. You—Thayer 'I Haven't Touched a Woman Since My Wife Died' Murdoch—had a one-night stand with a student?"
"She wasn't a student when it happened!"
"Doesn't matter. She is now." He runs a hand through his hair. "Jesus, Thayer. This is bad. Really bad. If anyone finds out—"
"Linnea suspects."
His face goes pale. "Frost? You're kidding."
"Walked in right after I told Tesslyn—Miss Verne—that we need to forget it happened. Saw us alone together. Made some pointed comments about watching me closely."
"Damn it." Jensen signals for another round. "Okay. Here's what you do. Complete professional distance. No private meetings. No special treatment. Treat her exactly like every other student."
"I know that."
"Do you?" He leans forward. "Because I've seen how you get when you care about someone. You're all in. Protective. You won't be able to hide it."
He's right. God help me, he's right.
"What if I can't?" I admit quietly. "What if being in the same room with her, knowing what I know, remembering—"
"Then you're screwed." Jensen's voice is blunt but not unkind. "And so is she. Because Frost won't just go after you. She'll destroy that girl's academic career. Ruin her reputation. Make sure everyone thinks she slept her way into good grades."
Rage floods through me at the thought. "Tesslyn didn't do anything wrong."
"The university won't see it that way. Neither will Frost." He pauses. "You care about her. Already. After one night and one class."
It's not a question.
I don't answer. Can't answer.
Because yes. Yes, I care. Which makes this so much worse.
"The boyfriend," I say suddenly. "She has a boyfriend. I saw her with him on campus. Blond kid, looked like a fraternity clone."
"Good," Jensen says firmly. "Focus on that. She's taken. Off-limits. Not just because she's your student but because she's someone else's girlfriend. That should make it easier to keep your distance."
Should. But doesn't.
Because I remember how she felt in my arms. How she laughed at my bad jokes. How she quoted poetry between kisses. How she looked at me like I was someone worth saving.
And I remember seeing her with that boy today—wearing his jacket, holding his hand—and feeling something dark twist in my chest.
Jealousy. Possessiveness. Things I have no right to feel.
"I'm in trouble," I say quietly.
"Yeah." Jensen claps my shoulder. "You really are."
That night, I lie awake staring at my ceiling. Tesslyn's shirt—the one she left at my apartment—is still in my closet. I should throw it away. Burn it. Erase every trace of her.
But I don't.
Instead, I replay every moment. Her laugh. Her kiss. The way she said my name.
The way she ran from my office today, terrified.
My phone buzzes. Email notification.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Department Meeting Tomorrow
Thayer,
Mandatory department meeting tomorrow at 9 AM. We'll be discussing new university policies regarding student-teacher relationships and appropriate boundaries. Attendance is required.
How convenient.
Best,
Linnea
I stare at the email. This isn't coincidence. This is a warning shot.
Linnea's making it clear: she's watching. And if I slip up even once, she'll destroy me.
I should be scared. Should be planning how to protect my career.
But all I can think about is Tesslyn sitting in my classroom three times a week. Those hazel eyes avoiding mine. That brilliant mind I want to watch grow.
That girl I have no right to want but can't stop thinking about.
My phone buzzes again. Different email this time.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Class Question
Professor Murdoch,
I have a question about the reading assignment. When you have time, could we schedule office hours to discuss?
Thank you,
Tesslyn Verne
I read it three times.
It's perfectly professional. Completely appropriate. A student asking her professor for help.
But my hands shake holding the phone.
Because office hours means alone. Behind closed doors. Just the two of us.
Exactly what we're supposed to avoid.
I should say no. Email back that I'm unavailable. Suggest she ask questions in class instead.
But my fingers type: Tomorrow. 4 PM. My office.
I hit send before I can reconsider.
What am I doing? This is insane. Reckless. Everything Jensen warned me against.
But I can't help it.
Four more months. Sixteen weeks of having her in my class. Of pretending she's just another student. Of ignoring the electricity between us every time our eyes meet.
I'm not sure I'll survive it.
Worse—I'm not sure I want to.
Because the alternative is forgetting her. Moving on. Going back to being the ghost I was before she walked into that bar.
And I've been dead for three years already.
I don't want to die again.
Even if staying alive means risking everything.
My phone buzzes one more time. Text from an unknown number.
I know what you did. And I'm going to make sure everyone else knows too.
My blood runs cold.
Someone knows.
Someone knows about me and Tesslyn.
And they're coming for us both.