LILY

I didn't belong here. The bar was loud-too loud. The heavy thrum of bass vibrated through the floor, rattling through my bones. Laughter and voices clashed in the thick air, an intoxicating mix of liquor, sweat, and desperation. Bodies pressed too close, the dim lighting casting long, shifting shadows. My skin prickled, my breath coming too shallow. I should have said no.

"Come on, Lil," Maya insisted, her fingers curling around my wrist. "You can't spend your whole life hiding in the dorm. It's just one drink."

Just one drink.

Now, I stood near the bar, my fingers wrapped around a sweating glass of something I didn't want, feeling like an imposter in my skin. Maya thrived here-flipping her hair, tossing flirtatious smiles like confetti, soaking in the attention. She belonged. She knew the rhythm of this place, how to move with it. I was counting the minutes until I could disappear.

Maya shot me a pointed look. "If you don't loosen up, I swear I'm getting you a shot."

"I'm loose." I muttered, knowing it was a lie.

She smirked. "You look like you're waiting for someone to call your mom to pick you up."

I rolled my eyes but said nothing, shifting on my feet to fade into the background. If I could just stay invisible, I could survive this night-no unwanted attention, no awkward conversations. Just an hour of pretending before I slipped away.

Then I felt it. A shift in the air. The weight of a gaze, heavy and deliberate. It wasn't like the sloppy, half-drunken leers I'd been dodging all night. This was something else. Something sharper.

I turned and locked eyes with him.

He sat alone at the bar, a glass held in one hand, his fingers resting against the rim. His other arm draped along the counter, his posture relaxed, but nothing about him suggested ease. Dark hair, striking features-a face that belonged in another time, carved from sharp angles and quiet authority.

And he was older. Late thirties, maybe? Past the age of the careless boys crowding this space. Yet, he didn't seem out of place. If anything, he seemed to own the room, watching the chaos unfold around him as though it were beneath him.

And he was watching me. A slow, knowing smile tugged at his lips, and a flicker of heat licked up my spine. I should have turned away. Should have ignored the strange pull curling in my stomach. But I didn't. I just stood there, trapped beneath the weight of his stare.

Maya followed my gaze, letting out a low whistle. "Holy shit."

My throat tightened. "What?"

She nudged me, containing her glee. "That guy is checking you out."

No. Not checking me out. This was more than that. He wasn't just looking at me-he was studying me. Like he had already decided something about me before I even knew what it was.

My fingers clenched around my glass as I tried to steady my breathing, but before I could shake off the sensation, he moved. He stood, lifting his drink as he turned in our direction. My stomach twisted as he crossed the room, his steps unhurried, sure of himself. He wasn't smiling anymore. And he wasn't looking at Maya. He was looking at me.

The space between us disappeared. His presence wrapped around me, a force of gravity too strong to ignore. Up close, he was even more striking-tall, composed, a man who looked as if nothing in the world could touch him.

"Can I buy you a drink?" His voice was smooth, the deep timbre cutting through the noise. Low enough that I had to lean in to catch it.

Maya nudged me again, not-so-subtly, her smirk widening. I hesitated, my grip tightening around my full glass. "I already have one."

Something flickered in his expression. Amusement, maybe. "Then let me buy you the next one."

It wasn't a question. His attention never wavered. He didn't acknowledge Maya, didn't glance at the surrounding crowd. Just me. I should have walked away. I should have laughed it off, made an excuse, let this moment fade into nothing.

Instead, I heard myself say, "Okay."

His smile was a whisper of a thing. Satisfied. Knowing. He turned to the bartender, ordering something smooth and expensive, something I wouldn't have chosen for myself. Maya, delighted, muttered something about finding another drink and melted into the crowd, leaving me alone with him.

I took a slow breath, fingers curling around my glass. "You don't even know what I like."

His gaze flicked over me, considering. "I have a feeling you'll like this."

The bartender slid the drink toward me. I hesitated for a heartbeat before picking it up, the cold glass smooth beneath my fingertips. I took a sip-dark, rich, laced with something sweet. He was right.

I swallowed, setting the glass down. "So, do you make a habit of buying drinks for strangers?"

"Only when they're interesting."

A quiet laugh slipped past my lips, nerves lacing the sound. "You don't even know me."

His head tilted, studying me with unnerving precision. "Don't I?"

The way he said it sent a shiver through me. Like he had already unraveled me. Like I was answering a test I didn't even know I was taking.

I cleared my throat. "Well, if we're skipping introductions, should I just guess your name?"

His lips twitched. "Alexander."

The name fit him-strong, commanding, untouched by time.

"Lily." I offered, my voice quieter than I intended.

He repeated it like he was tasting it. "Beautiful name."

I didn't know what to say to that. I took another sip of my drink, hoping it would cool the warmth spreading through me.

"So, Alexander," I lifted a brow. "What do you do when you're not buying drinks for strangers?"

His silence stretched for a beat before he answered. "I teach."

Something about the way he said it sent a slow, curling unease through me. Not what he taught. Not where. Just I teach.

I narrowed my eyes. "That's vague."

A ghost of a smile. "It is."

He was playing with me. I could feel it. And yet, I didn't look away.

The conversation continued, an unraveling thread, each word laced with unspoken tension. And just when I thought I had a grasp on whatever this was, Maya reappeared, looping her arm through mine.

"I hate to break up whatever this is, but we need to go."

I blinked, reality snapping back into place. "What? Why?"

She sighed. "Because if I don't leave now, I won't wake up for my quiz."

I turned back to Alexander, unsure of how to end this. His expression hadn't changed, but the weight of his gaze lingered.

"Looks like this is goodnight," I said, trying for casual.

He didn't argue. Didn't ask for my number. Instead, he lifted his drink in a quiet toast.

"Goodnight, Lily." His voice wrapped around my name like a secret.

As I walked away, I swore I could still feel his touch-just a whisper of pressure against my wrist. I didn't look back. But I knew he was still watching me.

---

The next morning, I barely recognized the girl from last night.

Standing outside my first lecture hall, clutching my bag to my chest, I felt like I had imagined the whole thing. The bar, the drink, the way Alexander had looked at me like I was something rare, something worth knowing. But it was real.

I could still feel the faint ghost of his touch on my wrist. A second too brief to mean anything. A second too intentional to mean nothing. I exhaled, shifting on my feet as students filed past me into the lecture hall. I needed to stop thinking about it. Whatever had happened last night-it was nothing. Just a fleeting moment. He hadn't even asked for my number.

I adjusted my bag, steeling myself, and stepped inside. The room was massive, stadium-style seating stretching upward in perfect rows. My stomach twisted as I scanned for an empty seat, trying not to look too lost. I found one in the middle, dropping into it and pulling out my notebook. I just needed to focus. First day of classes. A fresh start.

The room filled, voices buzzing around me. Then, just as I settled in, the noise shifted-lowering, growing expectant. A presence. I looked up.

Alexander stepped inside, his posture at ease, a stack of books in one hand. My breath caught in my throat. This wasn't happening.

His eyes swept over the room, scanning the students. He hadn't seen me yet. Maybe he wouldn't. Maybe I could slip out. Then his gaze landed on me. For the briefest second, I saw it-that flicker of recognition, a knowing glint in his eyes. And then, it was gone. He turned away, setting his things down at the desk, his face unreadable.

I gripped the edge of my notebook, my mind scrambling to process what was happening. Alexander-my Alexander-was Professor Alexander Hale. I forced myself to breathe as he turned to face the room, his expression calm, composed. The man from last night was gone. This Alexander was polished and professional. A sharp suit. A quiet authority that demanded attention. When he spoke, his voice carried through the room, rich and smooth, that subtle British lilt making it impossible not to listen.

"Welcome to English 302. I'm Professor Hale."

Professor Hale. The words felt foreign, wrong. Last night, he had been Alexander. The man who had bought me a drink, who had looked at me like he already knew me. Now, he was standing at the front of the room, dictating the syllabus, acting as if we were strangers.

I tried to focus. But the entire time he spoke, I felt like I was holding my breath, waiting for him to acknowledge what had happened. But he never did. Not a glance, not a slip in his tone. Nothing. It was like last night had never happened. I shouldn't have felt disappointed.

The class ended sooner than I expected, students gathering their things, filing toward the exits. I hesitated, heart pounding, unsure if I should leave or if that would make it more obvious. His voice cut through the air while I remained frozen.

"Miss Bennett."

My pulse spiked. I turned. Alexander stood behind the desk, flipping through a book, his expression neutral. His gaze met mine-steady, unreadable. For a second, I thought maybe I had imagined it. Maybe he had just called my name like any professor would. Then his lips curved. Barely noticeable. Almost like a secret.

"See you next class." A beat. "Miss Bennett."

The way he said it felt intentional. A reminder. I swallowed hard, nodded, and forced myself to leave. But as I stepped into the hallway, my mind was already racing. Had I imagined all of it? Or was he playing a different game?

I sat in my dorm, a battered paperback open on my lap, my fingers toying with the pages. I was supposed to be reading, but the words blurred together, their meaning lost on me. Something about a forbidden love, a brooding hockey player, a girl who should know better but can't help herself.

I wasn't paying attention.

Because the only forbidden love story I could focus on was my own.

Alexander. No-Professor Hale.

The revelation had hit me like a slap to the face. How had I not put the pieces together? He told me he teaches. He looked older. And yet, in that dimly lit bar, with his dark eyes drinking me in, my mind hadn't even entertained the possibility.

I should have asked questions. Should have been smarter. But his voice, his confidence, and the way he made me feel like the only person in the room captivated me too much. My desire silenced my rational mind and took control.

And now? Now, it didn't matter.

Because whatever had happened between us-whatever could have happened-was inconsequential. Our relationship was forbidden, and I had no choice but to shove that night into the deepest corners of my mind and pretend it never happened.

Before I could spiral further, my dorm door burst open.

A dress flew at my face. I peeled it off with a sigh, glancing up to find Maya standing over me, hands on her hips, a knowing smirk on her lips.

"Do I even want to ask?" I drawled, holding up the barely there scrap of fabric she had the audacity to call a dress.

"We're going clubbing." she announced, as if it were a command rather than an invitation.

I hesitated. The last thing I wanted was to be swallowed by the strobe lights, the pounding bass drilling into my skull, surrounded by sweaty bodies and desperation. But I was awful at saying no-Maya knew that. And she always got her way.

So, I swallowed down my reluctance and let her shove me toward the mirror, her fingers working to doll me up. I hated it-the tight dress, the heavy makeup, the way she grinned like she was molding me into someone else. But I didn't say a word.

I never did.

By the time we reached the club, my head was already aching. The flashing lights stabbed through my skull, and the music rattled my bones. I spotted our friends tucked into a corner booth.

Todd held Violet on his lap, their mouths fused together in a display so excessive it would have been comical if it weren't so predictable. They had an on-again, off-again relationship that swung like a wrecking ball through our group, leaving collateral damage in its wake. But right now, their relationship was "on," meaning everyone pretended Todd hadn't flirted with Maya last weekend.

Maya leaned in, whispering something into Violet's ear, and the two of them burst into laughter-glancing my way just a second too late to be innocent.

I forced a smile.

I was used to it.

Ryan, sitting at the edge of the booth, caught my eye. He was nursing a drink, his expression neutral, but something flickered in his gaze when he saw me-something softer than the rest of them.

But the moment passed, and he looked away.

"Lily, dance." Maya declared, already pulling me toward the dance floor.

I wanted to refuse. I wanted to tell them I had a headache. That I needed to go home. That I didn't belong here, squeezed into a dress I didn't choose, surrounded by people who only liked me when I played along.

But I didn't.

Instead, I let Maya drag me into the crowd, pretending I didn't see Ryan watching me as if he wanted to say something but never would.

Just like I pretended that night with Alexander never happened.