Page 37 of Marrying My Professor

I lean in one more time, unable to stop myself, and press a hard, possessive kiss to her mouth. She melts into it immediately, her hands fisting in my shirt again like she's afraid I'll pull away.

When I finally break the kiss, we're both breathing hard.

"Go," I tell her, releasing her chin and stepping back before I do something even more reckless. "Before someone sees you leaving."

She nods, grabbing her bag with shaking hands, and I watch as she walks to the door on unsteady legs.

Just before she reaches it, she glances back at me over her shoulder, and the look in her eyes—heat and promise and challenge all mixed together—nearly makes me cross the room and drag her back.

Then she's gone, slipping into the hallway just as the first wave of students begins to flood the corridor.

I stand there for a long moment, my hand braced against the desk she was just pressed against, trying to get my breathing under control.

What the fuck did I just do?

But even as the question forms, I know the answer.

I just crossed a line I can never uncross.

And God help me, I don't regret it.

11

ELARA

The phone rings three times before someone picks up.

"Hello?" The voice is warm, maternal, with the soft vowels of a Vermont accent that makes me think of maple syrup and autumn leaves.

I take a breath, steadying myself. "Mrs. Jackson? Margaret Jackson?"

"Yes, this is she. Who's calling?"

I'm sitting cross-legged on my bed, Taylor Jackson's initiation file pulled up on my phone screen, and suddenly I'm not sure what to say. How do you tell a mother that her son is being systematically broken down by a fraternity that treats human beings like disposable assets? How do you explain that the organization he thinks will give him connections and belonging is actually a pipeline to trauma?

"My name is Elara Cross," I say finally. "I'm a student at Belgrave University, and I'm calling about your son, Taylor."

There's a pause. Long enough that I wonder if she's hung up. Then: "Is he alright? Did something happen?"

The concern in her voice makes my chest tighten. "He's... physically fine. But Mrs. Jackson, I need to talk to you about the organization he's trying to join. The Sovereign Bastards."

Another pause. "The fraternity? He mentioned something about that. Said it was very selective, very prestigious. That it would help with his career."

"It's not a fraternity," I say carefully. "Not in the traditional sense. It's... something else. Something dangerous."

I hear her shift, the sound of a chair creaking. "What do you mean, dangerous?"

"I was at a party last Friday," I tell her, choosing my words with precision. "A party hosted by the Sovereign Bastards. Taylor was there, along with six other initiates. They were serving drinks to guests. Completely naked except for underwear. They looked exhausted, Mrs. Jackson. Ashamed. Like they'd been up for days."

Silence.

"And that's just what I saw in public," I continue, my voice softening. "I can't imagine what they're doing to them behind closed doors. This isn't about building character or brotherhood. This is about control. About breaking people down until they'll do anything to belong."

"Why are you telling me this?" Her voice has changed, gone harder. Protective. "You don't even know my son."

"You're right, I don't," I admit. "But I know what it looks like when someone is trapped in something they can't get out of. And I know that if someone had called my mother—" My voice catches, and I have to swallow hard. "If someone had warned her before it was too late, maybe things would be different."

The lie tastes bitter. My mother has been gone since I was twelve, but Mrs. Jackson doesn't need to know that.