My Wickedly Charming Professor: Married On Paper, Obsessed In Class

"Aren't you coming, Liz? It's going to be fun." Ana was already pulling clothes from my closet as she spoke. "It's John's birthday, and all his friends will be there."

Even though it was already past 6 in the evening, my head still throbbed from the night before. I rarely drank, and even that small amount had hit me harder than expected. The plan was a dinner at Pedro's house to celebrate his father's birthday. We had been invited partly because Pedro did not get along with most of his father's friends, which somehow made our presence necessary.

"Alright."

My eyes wandered around my room, a spacious suite decorated in soft shades of salmon and white. The framed photo of my parents on the dresser caught my attention, and a wave of longing mixed with nostalgia washed over me. I stared at it for a moment and sighed.

"Wear this," Ana said, tossing a pair of black high waisted skinny jeans my way, ripped along the legs. She added a white lycra crop top and a black jacket to the pile. The heels matched perfectly, the same dark shade as the rest.

"Hold on. Are we going to a birthday dinner or a nightclub?"

"And how exactly were you planning to dress? It's a celebration." Her eyes rolled as she dug through the closet to find something for herself.

Fine. I told myself I would survive it, especially if the food turned out better than last time. The memory of the shrimp they served before was enough to make my stomach twist.

I stood up and headed toward the bathroom, fully intending to take a long, slow shower. Big mistake.

"Come on, Liz! We're already late."

"I'm coming," I yelled back. I paused in front of the mirror and studied myself. Not bad at all, I thought.

The moment I stepped out of the bathroom, Ana lit up. "You look amazing, friend."

I still did not understand her excitement. She had changed outfits so many times I lost track. Eventually, she settled on a black leather skirt, a red spaghetti strap top, and black heels. The red brought out the freckles across her cheeks and made her glow. Pedro was definitely going to lose his mind when he saw her.

"It's just that Igor will be there."

"Ana, self love really works wonders. When are you going to accept that Igor doesn't care the way you want him to?" She let out a slow breath. "I know it sounds harsh, but maybe it's time you gave someone else a chance."

"I can't just decide who I fall in love with."

"Fine. I'm done trying to save you." I turned away and started drying my hair.

For makeup, I kept things balanced. Nothing too bare, nothing over the top. The one thing I never skipped was my crimson lipstick. It always felt like armor. Ana inspected herself next and chose the same shade, though she went heavier on the eyes, bold and dramatic.

"Ready?" I called out.

"Yes." She spun toward me. "How do I look?"

"Like trouble. The kind people would gladly pay for."

The two of us headed outside toward the car. Driving has never been my thing, so Ana took the driver's seat without even asking. Pedro's place in the city was only a few blocks away from mine, but tonight we were going to his family's country house, which meant settling in for a long drive.

Music filled the car as we made our way out of the city. We sang along loudly and terribly, completely off key, and laughed at how hopeless we sounded. When we finally arrived, the number of cars parked near the entrance immediately caught my attention. This was clearly not going to be an intimate dinner. Still, Pedro was our friend, so we went along with it.

The house looked like something out of a magazine, decorated from end to end. Waiters moved easily through the space, offering drinks and small plates to the guests.

"Ladies." Pedro's mother walked toward us with a warm smile.

"Mrs. Ferrari."

"I've told you already, just call me Joana."

"Sorry," I replied as she pulled us both into a hug.

"Pedro and John are by the pool."

"Thank you," we said together.

"Make yourselves at home," she muttered before turning back to the other guests.

We followed her direction toward the pool area. The crowd was thick, and it did not take long to spot Pedro standing with Igor.

"Liz. Ana." They noticed us at the same time and walked over.

"Wow, Liz, you look beautiful."

"Thanks, Igor," I replied politely and kept my reaction neutral. He never missed an opportunity to flirt, and I had learned not to encourage it.

"You look incredible," Pedro added, his attention fixed on Ana. It was painfully obvious, even though it was wasted effort. She only had eyes for Igor, as usual.

Conversation drifted easily after that. We jumped from topic to topic, laughing when Pedro poked fun at his father's friends and their exaggerated personalities. When the three of them stepped away to grab drinks and Ana excused herself to the bathroom, I used the moment to approach John.

"Congratulations, Mr. Ferrari," I said, reaching out to shake his hand.

"Thank you, dear," he responded warmly, returning the gesture. "You look wonderful, Liz. You always do."

"Thank you," I said, feeling my face warm. Compliments still caught me off guard.

"You're absolutely right." The sound of that low, unmistakable voice sent a shiver straight through me.

"Henry, I didn't think you'd actually show up." John stepped forward and hugged him.

"And miss something like this?" Henry's gaze swept over me for a brief second before returning to John. "You only turn 50 once."

They both laughed.

"Excuse me for a moment," John murmured when his phone started ringing. "I need to take this."

We stood there in silence as he disappeared into the crowd.

"You really do look beautiful." He stopped just long enough to give a crooked smile. "Miss Navarro."

"Thank you," I replied, careful not to let on how much the words unsettled me.

Something about him always pulled at my attention. It did not help that he was wearing a plain white shirt that clung just right to his lean frame. My eyes betrayed me, sliding lower to notice his strong legs outlined by fitted pants, while the black leather jacket only added to his reckless edge.

"Are you here with someone?" he asked, his brow tightening.

"And if I am? Why does that concern you?"

"I'd like to meet your husband," he said evenly, holding my gaze. "Since you claim you have one." He lifted a shoulder, dismissive.

"Lower your voice," I whispered.

"So your friends do not know you are married, Mrs. Navarro?" he asked, his eyes sharpening.

"No. And either way, that is none of your concern, Mr. McNight."

"Or are you lying?" He caught my arm when I tried to step away. "I am not done talking to you."

"And who exactly do you think you are? Since when do I owe you explanations about my life?" I spun back toward him, anger flaring. My patience snapped.

"Are you here with someone?" The question hit harder than it should have. Why would anyone assume I was hiding a husband from my own friends? Shame and anger rushed in at once, and my eyes betrayed me before I could stop it. He noticed immediately.

"Let go of me, or I will scream." I did not need to raise my voice. He released my arm without protest and stepped back, letting me walk away.

I moved quickly toward the bathroom, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other so I would not break down in the middle of the party. The thought made my chest tighten. Did he seriously think I was some kind of escort?

Inside, I stared at my reflection. My face was tense, my eyes bright with frustration. I drew in a slow breath and touched up my makeup, forcing my hands to steady.

Pull yourself together. Do not let that idiot, that stranger you somehow call a husband, ruin your night.

When I stepped back into the hallway, I ran straight into him again. His gaze swept over me without shame. I rolled my eyes and walked past him without stopping, heading straight for the dining room. Joana appeared moments later carrying John's cake, and soon everyone gathered to sing happy birthday.

As the night wore on, guests slowly began to leave. A small group remained behind, lingering over glasses of wine and quiet conversation.

Henry had settled into a corner with a drink in hand. I avoided looking at him, but I could feel his attention following me wherever I moved.

Nearby, Ana laughed with Igor. Pedro stood beside someone new, and the sight eased something in my chest. Maybe he had finally found someone who returned his feelings.

A glance at my watch told me it was already past 10 p.m. No one seemed to notice me slipping away, so I took advantage of the moment and headed toward the exit.

Outside, I stopped and pulled out my phone, trying to order a car. The screen loaded, then failed. No signal.

"Damn it," I muttered under my breath.

I held my phone above my head as I walked, desperate for even a flicker of signal. That was when the weight of my mistake finally sank in. I had wandered too far, and the quiet around me felt wrong. A car rolled toward me at a crawl, and my body reacted before my mind could catch up. Fear spread through me in waves. I should never have left alone.

The vehicle kept pace with me until a stranger's voice broke the silence.

"Hey. Do you need a lift?"

"No. Thank you," I answered quickly, my words unsteady despite my effort to sound calm. I drew in a shaky breath and kept moving.

"I'm harmless. Unless you want me not to be."

My steps sped up, but so did the car. It cut in front of me, blocking the path, and the passenger door swung open.

Panic took over. Tears blurred my vision as dread settled deep in my chest.

"Get in," he instructed. I could not see his face clearly, only the glint of something metallic in his hand. My legs refused to move. "Now." His tone sharpened. "You really don't want me to drag you, do you?"

My heart pounded so loudly I thought it might give me away. Then the night shattered with the roar of an engine. A sports car tore down the road and slammed straight into the side of his vehicle.

"Shit!" the man yelled. He floored it with the door still open, tires screeching as he disappeared into the dark.

"Are you hurt?"

Henry was already out of the car, sprinting toward me.

"Come here," he hissed, pulling me into his arms. My sobs broke free as his presence surrounded me. Warmth, steady and real, anchored me in place, and his scent filled my senses. I clung to him without thinking, shaken to the core.

He guided me toward his car with a firm but careful grip. When I looked up, the worry in his eyes was unmistakable.

***

I cried until exhaustion took over and sleep dragged me under. Consciousness returned only when the car came to a stop. We were inside a garage, but it was not mine. I immediately knew it belonged to him.

"I didn't want to wake you. And I don't know where you live. I can take you home now if you want."

I hesitated. Telling him my address was not an option. I could not let him learn the truth before the divorce papers were signed. Panic flickered through me, but I forced myself to stay composed.

"No. I'll call an Uber."

He looked at me, and my stomach dropped.

"Damn!"

"What is it?"

"I think I lost my phone."

"I can let you use mine."

"Maybe." He checked his pockets and the console, then frowned.

"I must have left it at home." He opened the car door. "Aren't you coming?"

"I'll wait here."

"Are you sure?" The question sent a shiver through me. Images from earlier flashed through my mind, and my body reacted before I could stop it. If he had not shown up when he did, I did not want to imagine what could have happened.

Without another word, I stepped out of the car and followed him.

The ride up was silent. An elevator stood inside his house, sleek and unnecessary, at least to me. I said nothing as the doors closed and carried us upward.

He unlocked the door and motioned for me to go in ahead of him. Stepping inside felt strangely familiar. Our houses shared the same layout and details, with the only real difference being the palette. Mine leaned toward white and blue, while his was dominated by gray and black. The decor followed a similar pattern. Potted plants, shelves lined with framed photos, and carefully placed ornaments filled the space. The living room flowed into the kitchen through a wide opening, divided by an island style counter, and every piece of furniture followed the same dark theme.

"Do you want something to drink?"

Only then did I notice how dry my throat felt.

"Water would be great."

He slipped out of his jacket and draped it over a chair by the counter. Moving with ease, he pulled a pitcher from the fridge, took a glass from the cabinet, and filled it before handing it to me.

"Have a seat." I did not question it. My body responded before my thoughts caught up.

"I'll grab my phone. I'll be right back."

He vanished down the hallway without waiting for an answer.

When he returned a few minutes later, the suit was gone. A plain white t-shirt clung to his frame, and a pair of sweatpants sat low on his hips. The casual clothes somehow made him look even more unreal. I had to blink, half convinced I was imagining all of it.

"Found it," he said, holding up the phone. "But you'll have to give it a moment." He lifted the charger with his other hand. "It's dead."

He plugged it in and set it aside.

"Are you hungry?" he asked when my stomach betrayed me with a quiet sound. "Do you like pasta?"

"Yes."

"Good. I'll make something while the phone charges."

Water began heating on the stove as he worked through the tomatoes with quick, precise movements. Watching him handle the knife so easily caught me off guard.

So my husband could cook too. Of course he could.

"Liz?"

"Sorry." My thoughts had wandered again before I even noticed.

"Do you want some?"

"Yes," I answered automatically, still trying to catch up.

"You'll like it." That was when I realized he was holding out a glass of wine.

Great. Lost in my head again, my own thoughts mocked me.

I reached for the glass, and the instant our fingers brushed, a sharp jolt ran through me. The glass slipped from my grip and shattered against the counter, wine splashing everywhere and soaking my clothes.

"Great. I'm drenched."

"Hey, relax." His mouth curved slightly, amused despite the mess. "Are you alright?"

"I'm sorry. I swear I'm not usually this careless." His eyes stayed on me, steady and unreadable. "I just want to go home."

"That's not happening like this." He gestured toward my clothes. "You're soaked. I have a dryer. Stay put."

Before I could argue, he was already walking down the long hallway. I grabbed a cloth from the sink and started wiping the counter, trying to calm my nerves.

"Here." His voice was suddenly right behind me, close enough to make me jump.

"What is it?"

"Change." He held out a clean shirt and a towel. "I'll wash your clothes before the stain sets."

"It's fine. I can manage like this."

"Can you just do one thing I ask?"

I said nothing. I simply took the shirt and towel from his hands.

"Bathroom's at the end of the hall, on the right," he said, pointing the way.