My Professor Obsession
One night, I was a girl seeking vengeance in a velvet mask. He was the stranger who took me against a cold stone wall, his touch a silent, lethal promise.
Now, he is Caspian Blackwood-the most feared architecture professor at Aethelgard. When my "perfect" boyfriend, Dominic Calloway, cheats on me and sabotages my degree, Caspian offers a lifeline with a razor-thin edge: Be his silent, nude model for thirty days.
The rules are absolute. I must wear a silk mask and a weighted collar. I must never speak. I must hold the poses he demands until my muscles scream for mercy. In the lecture hall, he ignores me with arctic indifference. In the studio, his gaze is a physical weight, stripping me faster than his hands ever could. But as the charcoal scratches against the paper, I realize the "deal" isn't just for art. It's for the soul I accidentally gave him in the dark. Will the deal destroy his career, or consume me first?
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Chapter 2
Seven days.
I'd spent one hundred and sixty-eight hours trying to scrub the phantom sensation of those calloused hands off my skin. Every time I closed my eyes in the shower, I felt the bite of the cold stone against my back and the way that man had filled me until I couldn't breathe. I'd walked through the halls of Aethelgard like a ghost, looking at every tall, broad-shouldered man and wondering if he was the one who had claimed me in the dark.
"Sera? Are you even listening?"
I blinked, the sterile lights of the campus café snapping me back to reality. Dominic was staring at me, his "Golden Boy" smile not quite reaching his eyes. He looked perfect-pressed khakis, a cashmere sweater, and hair that cost more to maintain than my monthly grocery bill.
"Sorry," I muttered, stirring my black coffee. "Just stressed about the thesis."
"You worry too much," Dominic said, reaching across the table to pat my hand. His touch felt cold compared to the memory of the stranger. "You're a St. Claire. Even a fallen one has standards to uphold. My father is expecting you at the gala next month as my plus-one. Don't let the workload make you look haggard."
Haggard. Not 'I hope you're okay.' Just 'don't embarrass me.'
"I'll be there, Dom."
I waited until he left for his "lacrosse practice" before heading to the library archives. It was 11:00 PM. The archives were tucked in the basement of the North Wing, a labyrinth of dust and silence where the university kept the rare architectural blueprints. I had the keys because of my scholarship. I needed to upload the final 3D renders of my thesis to the main server. It was my ticket out of this gilded cage.
The air in the basement was damp and smelled of old paper. As I reached the heavy oak doors of the restricted stacks, I heard it.
A wet, rhythmic sound. A gasp.
I froze. My heart hammered against my ribs as I pushed the door open just a crack.
The light was dim, flickering from a single desk lamp. I expected to see a couple of freshmen fumbling in the dark. I didn't expect to see Dominic.
He wasn't at lacrosse. He was bent over a mahogany table, his pants around his ankles. And he wasn't alone. Isolde, his sister, was draped across the table, her blonde hair spilling over the blueprints of the campus chapel. Her skirt was pushed up to her waist, and her eyes were rolled back as Dominic hammered into her from behind.
"Harder, Dom," she hissed, her fingers clawing at the wood. "Show me how much you hate her."
"I don't hate her," Dominic grunted, his face contorted with a cruel sort of pleasure as he buried his cock inside her with a wet slap. "She's just a placeholder. A charity case to keep the Board happy. You're the only one who matters. The only one with the right blood."
I felt the bile rise in my throat. It wasn't just the cheating-it was the sickening, incestuous intimacy of it. They weren't just banging; they were sharing a secret that made my stomach turn.
I should have walked away. I should have run. But my hand slipped, and the heavy door creaked wide open.
Dominic froze. He didn't pull out. He just turned his head, looking at me with a cold, mocking expression as he stayed buried deep inside his sister. Isolde smirked, adjusted her position, and didn't even bother to cover herself.
"Sera," Dominic said, his voice devoid of any guilt. "You're early."
"You... you're disgusting," I choked out, my voice trembling. "I'm going to the Dean. I'm going to tell everyone what you are."
Dominic let out a short, bark-like laugh. He slowly pulled out of Isolde-the sound of his cock sliding out of her pussy making me want to vomit-and reached for his laptop on the desk next to them.
"You aren't going to do shit," he said calmly.
He tapped a few keys. I saw the Aethelgard internal server logo on the screen.
"You know, Sera, being a legacy student has its perks. Like administrative access to the architecture department's cloud."
My blood ran cold. "What are you doing?"
"Deleting a virus," he said, his finger hovering over the 'Enter' key. "Your senior thesis, Sera. The one you've spent three years building? It's gone. All the backups. All the renders. I just wiped the drive."
He pressed the key.
"No!" I lunged for the laptop, but he shoved me back. I hit the floor hard, the air leaving my lungs in a painful rush.
"Now," Dominic said, zipping his fly as he looked down at me like I was a bug he'd just stepped on. "Go ahead. Tell the Dean about me and Isolde. But remember: you have no thesis, no scholarship, and no future. And my father owns the Board. Who do you think they'll believe? A Calloway, or a girl whose father is a convicted fraud?"
Isolde stood up, smoothing her skirt. She walked over and looked down at me, her eyes dancing with malice. "You were always too cheap for him, Sera. Go find a gutter to crawl into."
They walked out, leaving me alone in the dark, surrounded by the smell of their sex and the digital graveyard of my future. I sat on the cold floor, my hands shaking so hard I couldn't even wipe the tears away.
I was ruined. I had nothing left to lose.
I didn't know that from the shadows of the mezzanine above, a pair of arctic-blue eyes had watched the entire thing.
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9.3
Alyssa Gregory slept with Benton Steele, a recently disgraced and bankrupt heir, just to humiliate him.
She threw a massive check at his bare chest, treating the former prince of Wall Street like a cheap escort.
But Benton didn't take the charity.
Instead, he manipulated her anger, tricking her into signing an ironclad contract that surrendered absolute control of her entire trust fund to him.
When her abusive mother found out she had funded a penniless outcast, she slapped Alyssa across the face.
Her mother froze all her bank accounts, locked her inside her bedroom, and arranged to sell her off to a degenerate politician.
Desperate to escape, Alyssa climbed down her balcony, falling fifteen feet and shattering her ankle on the stones below.
Stripped of her money and freedom, she dragged her broken body to a VIP club just to publicly declare that Benton belonged to her.
She thought she was the boss, playing a rebellious game with a broken man.
But when Benton effortlessly carried her away from the club and locked her inside his rundown apartment, the terrifying calculation in his dark eyes shattered her illusion.
How could a man stripped of his entire empire still radiate such suffocating, violent power?
"You bought me," Benton whispered, his massive frame trapping her against the sofa. "That means I have to take care of you."
Physically trapped and completely broke, Alyssa stared into his consuming eyes, her mind racing to find a way to turn the tables.
8.3
My husband watched as my skin melted, scalded by boiling soup, yet his hands were busy comforting my attacker. Five years of marriage, built on a foundation of my family's power, crumbled with a single, brutal act of betrayal. He bought me off with a penthouse and a trust fund, but I tore out my IV and threw his charity back in his face.
It was our fifth anniversary, but my husband, Ethan, remained distant, avoiding any talk of Chicago or the mafia protection my family once offered him. He then pushed a black velvet box across the table.
Inside was a Separation and Property Division Agreement, not a diamond. He told me to sign for Ilene's security, offering millions. When I refused, Ilene hurled boiling soup. Ethan shielded her, not me, as the scalding liquid melted my dress.
With second-degree burns, he blamed me, ordering me from our home for Ilene’s comfort. My family saved him, yet he sacrificed my body and marriage for another woman.
The love I felt turned to ash. What kind of debt demanded my flesh and marriage?
I ripped the IV from my arm, hurling his "charity" keys back. My diamond ring placed on the agreement, I walked away. From today on, Ethan, you and I are dead to each other.
8.7
I was the spare daughter of the Vitiello crime family, born solely to provide organs for my golden sister, Isabella.
Four years ago, under the codename "Seven," I nursed Dante Moretti, the Don of Chicago, back to health in a safe house. I was the one who held him in the dark.
But Isabella stole my name, my credit, and the man I loved.
Now, Dante looked at me with nothing but cold disgust, believing her lies.
When a neon sign crashed down on the street, Dante used his body to shield Isabella, leaving me to be crushed under twisted steel.
While Isabella sat in a VIP suite crying over a scratch, I lay broken, listening to my parents discuss if my kidneys were still viable for harvest.
The final straw came at their engagement gala. When Dante saw me wearing the lava stone bracelet I had worn in the safe house, he accused me of stealing it from Isabella.
He ordered my father to punish me.
I took fifty lashes to my back while Dante covered Isabella's eyes, protecting her from the ugly truth.
That night, the love in my heart finally died.
On the morning of their wedding, I handed Dante a gift box containing a cassette tape-the only proof that I was Seven.
Then, I signed the papers disowning my family, threw my phone out the car window, and boarded a one-way flight to Sydney.
By the time Dante listens to that tape and realizes he married a monster, I will be thousands of miles away, never to return.
9.0
My ex-husband returned after a three-year bet, ready to reclaim me and the son he thought was his. He had no idea that I'd secretly aborted his child, divorced him, and remarried the day he left. His world was about to come crashing down.
His delusion turned deadly when he and his manipulative best friend, Haylee, kidnapped my son, Leo.
I found them at his family's mansion, with Leo suffocating from a severe allergic reaction to a dog they were forcing him to play with. Elliot physically restrained me, scolding me for overreacting while Haylee giggled as my son turned blue.
At the hospital, as Leo fought for his life, Elliot grabbed my arm, demanding to know who the man standing beside me was. He was convinced this was all a game to make him jealous.
That's when my real husband, billionaire Gregory Morton, stepped forward.
"Since when is this child yours, Elliot?"
7.5
I was Nyx, a top-tier covert operative. But when I opened my eyes, I was trapped in the unfamiliar, overweight body of a bullied girl named Eliza.
Before I could even process the body swap, the bedroom door splintered open. I was in bed with Julian Malone, a wealthy military heir, both of us heavily drugged. Cameras flashed wildly. It was a vicious setup to ruin his career, and I was the bait.
To save his family's reputation, Julian was forced to marry me. But the moment the wedding was over, he abandoned me. His elite family treated me like a disease. His mother froze my only bank account, trying to starve me into submission.
I even intercepted a private conversation between his parents.
"Once she's in a private facility, she loses all legal standing. We can sign anything we want on her behalf."
They planned to lock me up in a mental asylum and erase my existence entirely to get rid of the "trailer park trash."
To them, I was just a weak, pathetic pawn they could crush without a second thought. They thought they had backed a helpless girl into a corner.
They had no idea they had just declared war on a lethal weapon.
I didn't cry or beg. Instead, I bypassed their state-of-the-art security, cracked their safe, and stole the financial secrets that could destroy their entire empire.
"I want five hundred thousand dollars, or these files go to the IRS."
This time, I was playing by my own rules.
9.5
My husband told me I was a contractual obligation, an irritant he was forced to endure after a car crash stole his memory of our love five years ago. He replaced me with a social media influencer, a woman whose lies were as polished as her feed.
But when her baby was found with a small cut on her lip, she tearfully accused me of being a jealous monster who attacked an innocent child.
My husband, the man I had stood by through everything, didn't hesitate. In a blind rage, he ordered a guard to take a needle and thread and sew my lips shut.
"She needs to see nothing. Hear nothing. Say nothing," he commanded, his voice devoid of mercy.
He then had me hung upside down in the lobby of my own wellness retreat, a public spectacle for the world to condemn.
As I dangled there, bleeding and broken, I finally understood. My blind love and foolish hope had been my downfall. I had loved the wrong man, and he had utterly destroyed me.
But they made one fatal mistake. They didn't know about the hidden camera I' d planted in the baby's room. And they had no idea that my family could crush his entire empire with a single phone call.