A dull, throbbing ache pulsed behind my temples as the heavy velvet curtains kept the morning light at bay. My mouth felt parched, coated in the bitter aftertaste of cheap party punch, and a wave of nausea rolled through my gut the moment I shifted against the pillows.
"Ugh... where am I...?" I groaned into the sheets, my voice rough and hoarse from sleep.
"You are home."
The sound sliced through the dark room like a blade.
My heart jolted violently against my ribs, instantly shattering the lingering fog of intoxication. I snapped my eyes open and froze.
Alex sat in the high-backed velvet armchair barely three feet from the edge of my mattress. He had already showered and dressed in a crisp black button-down, his sleeves cuffed neatly at the forearms. His long legs were crossed, his elbows resting on the polished armrests, and his slate-gray eyes were locked onto my face with an icy, unforgiving intensity that made the room feel sub-zero.
The fragmented memories of the night came rushing back in a humiliating cascade: the pounding bass, the red plastic cups, the blur of neon lights, my stumbling steps onto the cold balcony, and the dark leather jacket Alex had worn when his fingers seized my arm.
Oh God. I'm completely ruined.
Panic clawed at my throat. But right beneath the shame, a sharper, far more alarming realization took root. How did he know where I was? I had never mentioned the venue. I hadn't texted him. I hadn't left a note on the hall table.
He had followed me. Alexander Vance hadn't simply coincidentally appeared; he had tracked me through the city streets like prey.
"Get up, Luna," he commanded, his baritone deadly calm, devoid of any warmth. "Take a shower. Wash the stench of stale liquor from your skin, and then meet me downstairs."
Without waiting for a reply, he rose and strode out of the guest room, leaving the heavy oak door open behind him.
The moment his footsteps faded down the corridor, I scrambled out of the bed, my legs trembling so badly I had to brace against the dresser to stay upright. I bolted into the en-suite bathroom and locked the door behind me, turning the shower handle all the way to hot.
Under the pelting spray, steam filled the tile, but it did nothing to dispel the cold terror settling into my bones. I leaned my forehead against the wet marble, desperately replaying every conversation from yesterday. Had I let slip a single word about the Freshers' Party during the car ride? Had I mentioned Sara or Meera?
No. I was certain of it. I had kept my mouth shut, desperate to hide behind the facade of a serious student. He had stalked me from campus to the club, standing outside in the darkness while I foolishly believed I had slipped his leash. And now, my recklessness had stripped away whatever thin ground I had to stand on.
Ten minutes later, wrapped in an oversized knit sweater and dark leggings, I crept down the spiral staircase. The house was cavernous and silent, smelling of floor polish and freshly brewed espresso. I drifted toward the kitchen, hoping to find a glass of water before facing him in the main hall.
I pushed through the arched entryway and froze.
Alex was already there, leaning against the quartz countertop beside a plate bearing a toasted sandwich and a tall glass of ice water. He didn't look up from his phone right away, but the sheer gravity of his posture filled every inch of the modern kitchen.
"Eat the sandwich," he said coldly, locking his phone and tossing it onto the marble island. The sharp click echoed against the backsplash. "And while you chew, you are going to explain yourself."
My fingers curled into the hems of my sleeves, my voice barely above a whisper. "Professor, I—"
"Who gave you permission to attend that party?" he cut in, his voice rising just enough to vibrate with suppressed fury. "Who told you that you could wander into a crowded warehouse and drink until you lost the ability to stand?"
"I... I just wanted to go for an hour," I stammered, shrinking under the fury burning in his pale eyes. "I didn't think—"
"Shut up, Luna!" The command cracked through the air like a whip, silencing me instantly.
He pushed off the counter and closed the distance between us, his broad shadow completely swallowing the daylight from the bay window. He stopped an arm's length away, his jaw clamped so tightly the muscle ticked visibly against his pale skin.
"You crossed a line," Alex snarled, his voice dropping into a dark, guttural register. "Did you forget that you are my responsibility? If you had been drugged, if you had been taken, if you had collapsed in an alleyway—who would have answered for you? The Dean? The university? Me."
A hot sting burned behind my eyelids, but I bit the inside of my cheek, refusing to cry.
"If something horrific had happened to you last night and I wasn't there, how were you planning to save yourself?" he demanded, stepping closer until the scent of cedar and mint overwhelmed my senses. "How were you going to get back here? Did you have the sense to check if you had enough money for a cab? Did you even know the address to this house?"
"I was with my friends—"
"What friends?" he spat, mocking the word with utter venom. "Those girls you met four hours earlier in the cafeteria? Did you grow up with them? Have they stood by you through a single crisis in your life? You handed your safety to total strangers because they smiled and handed you a poisoned cup!"
"I'm sorry," I whispered, tears of humiliation finally spilling over my lower lashes. "I'm really sorry, Professor."
"Do not apologize to me," he said, turning his back to me and raking a hand roughly through his dark hair. He let out a harsh, frustrated exhale, his shoulders rigid as he fought to rein in his temper. "Just sit down, be quiet, and eat."
He walked toward the doorway, his boots heavy against the floorboards, muttering under his breath, "Stupid, reckless girl..."
He stopped under the wooden archway, resting one large hand against the jamb as he drew in a slow, controlled breath. When he turned back to look at me, the chaotic fury had receded, replaced by something far worse: cold, absolute, and suffocating control.
"Listen to me very carefully, Luna, because I will not repeat this," he said, each syllable precise, final, and heavy with intent. "From this morning forward, your autonomy belongs to me. You will account for every hour. You will inform me where you are going, what you are doing, and precisely who you are with. Every single day."
My breath hitched in my chest.
"If I ever catch you lying to me, or sneaking off to another wretched gathering like that again, you will not like the consequences," he warned, his gaze sweeping over me with deliberate slowness. "There will be a punishment waiting for you that you will not forget."
He paused, letting the threat settle in the room like lead. Then, his gray eyes narrowed, boring straight into mine.
"And there is one more rule," Alex added, his baritone dropping to a possessive murmur that sent a violent shiver trailing down my spine. "You will not interact with the boys on that campus. No study groups with male students. No casual flirting. And you certainly will not take a boyfriend. You will stay completely away from them. Am I understood?"
I stood frozen beside the counter, completely paralyzed. The sheer audacity of the demand left me breathless, yet the guilt of my own disastrous choices stripped every defense from my tongue. I had stepped into his home, broken his trust on day one, and delivered myself straight into his iron grip.
I could only nod, trapped beneath the dark, satisfied curve that slowly returned to his lips.