Page 51 of Marrying My Professor

His thumbs brush my cheekbones, gentle despite the intensity of his grip.

"And because," he continues, voice dropping, "I'm selfish enough to want you alive, even if it means binding you to me forever."

Tears prick at my eyes, hot and unwelcome. "I can't marry you."

"You have to."

"I don't even trust you," I say desperately. "You're part of the same organization that might have killed my brother. How am I supposed to⁠—"

I stop.

The silence that follows is absolute.

"What did you say?" Alexander's voice has gone very quiet.

Fuck.

"Nothing. I didn't⁠—"

"Your brother." His hands drop from my face. "Brandon Hayes."

The name between his lips makes something in my chest crack open. "How do you know that name?"

"Because I was in a council meeting two weeks ago where they discussed his death," Alexander says slowly, pieces clicking into place behind his eyes. "Because they suspect he was murdered by James Harrington. Because—" He stops, standing abruptly. "Fuck. Fuck. That's why you were there tonight. That's why you were looking through the Annual Rites folder. You weren't just snooping. You were investigating."

"Yes," I admit, because what's the point of lying now? "Brandon was my brother. He died last April. They said it was suicide, but I know—I know—it wasn't. And I found evidence that he was part of some kind of initiation, that he was sponsored by someone, that he was rising in the ranks and then suddenly he was dead and no one would tell me anything."

"So you came to Belgrave."

"So I came to Belgrave," I confirm. "I transferred here. I enrolled in your class because Brandon was in it before he died. I started getting close to Wesley because he's part of the same organization. I did everything I could to find out what happened to him."

"And you found the folder," Alexander says.

"And I found the folder." I pull out my phone with shaking hands, navigating to the photos I took. "Look. His name is there. Someone crossed out another name and wrote Brandon's in its place. For the blood sacrifice."

Alexander takes my phone, studying the image. His expression goes dark, dangerous.

"This is a death sentence," he says quietly. "If the Veritas knew you had this information⁠—"

"They already want to kill me," I interrupt. "What difference does it make?"

"It makes every difference." He hands my phone back. "But it also means I'm going to help you."

I blink. "What?"

"I'm going to help you find out what happened to Brandon," he says, and there's steel in his voice now. "I have access to information you don't. I have connections within the Order. I can dig deeper, ask questions, put pressure on the right people. But in order to do that, you need to stay alive. Which means you need to marry me."

"Alexander—"

"I know you don't trust me," he continues. "I know this isn't what you wanted. But Elara, I swear to you—I had nothing to do with your brother's death. I didn't even know you existed until three weeks ago. And I will help you get justice for him. But you have to trust me. You have to let me protect you."

I stare at him, this man who just condemned himself to a lifetime of servitude to save me, who's offering to help me find my brother's killer, who's looking at me like I'm the only thing in the world that matters.

"Okay," I hear myself say.

"Okay?"

"Okay, I'll marry you." The words taste strange on my tongue. "But this is temporary. Just until we figure out what happened to Brandon. Just until we can find a way out of this."