Author's Note:
Hello, beautiful people! This story is fresh out of the oven, straight from my muse—who's wide awake and ready to create.
Expect updates every Friday!
If you're enjoying the ride, drop a vote—it keeps me motivated and fuels the journey ahead.
Chapter One
She smelled like roses—real ones, not the dusty, plastic imposters Rebecca hoarded in her room like some kind of floral taxidermist. Her hair? The same deep red as those roses, blooming and abundant, as if she'd stepped straight out of a romantic painting and into this drab lecture hall.
I'm no poet—far from it—but she made me want to trade in my programming textbooks for a leather-bound journal and start scribbling sonnets. How did a woman like her end up as a professor? She belonged on a runway, or in a glossy magazine spread, or anywhere with cameras and adoring fans. Instead, here she was, teaching Ethics in Technology to a room full of students who suddenly cared about ethics a whole lot more than they ever had before.
The lecture hall was packed to the rafters. Normally, this class was a ghost town—just a handful of us nerds who actually cared about the subject. But ever since Professor Alina Sinclair arrived, it was standing room only. Turns out, ethics got a lot more exciting once they were taught by someone who looked like she belonged on a magazine cover rather than behind a podium.
Her voice was like velvet on steel—soft, rich, and utterly intoxicating. I could listen to her lecture about the ethics of semiconductor development for hours and still shiver. And her mouth—God. That mouth looked like it had been made for kissing. Not the awkward kind, either. The desperate, can't-stop-even-if-I-tried kind. The kind where even when she pulls away, you chase after her with your lips like you've forgotten what air is.
It was unfair, honestly. Unethical, even, which felt ironic given the course title. One woman shouldn't be allowed to carry that much beauty. There should be regulations.
"What are you looking at!" Morty slung his arm around my shoulders, fresh from his class and radiating obliviousness.
I didn't answer. I couldn't. My gaze remained locked on Professor Alina as she walked away, poised, elegant, utterly untouchable.
Morty followed my line of sight and whistled. "Whoa, man, I get it. She's hot. But that, my friend, is a married woman. Off the market. As she damn well should be. Someone like that? She gets snatched up before she even finishes blinking. Lucky bastard."
I barely heard him. My eyes lowered, recalling that damned wedding band—the one I'd spotted when I introduced myself after her first class. A silent barrier. An unbreakable chain. Out of my reach, not even in my imagination.
I don't have a thing for things that belong to other people. That's not my thing. But then again, I hadn't felt like this before.
"You listening, man?"
I startled, blinked, then threw on a lazy smile. "Yeah, what's up?"
Morty slung arm tightened over my shoulder, as if I needed grounding. "You've got to start thinking about other things, man. Other women. How about we hit the club tonight, blow off some steam?"
Ah, good-natured Morty—always ready to fix life's greatest dilemmas with overpriced drinks and bad lighting. I shook my head, pulling away from him. "Sorry, bro. Got other things to work on."
"Yeah? Like what?" he called after me, clearly put out by my lack of enthusiasm. But I didn't need to answer. Our conversation had already slipped into the background—just static noise behind the storm in my mind.
Professor Alina.
She was distracting. Consuming. I hadn't been able to stop thinking about her since the moment I first saw her. Was this a crush? I'd had crushes before—fitting them neatly between my love for coding, building software, and proving I was the smartest guy in any given room. I'd dated. Had fun. Lived like any guy my age should. But I never fixated. Never chased. If a girl wasn't interested, I moved on without a second thought.
Until Alina.
Until her .
I was good-looking, brilliant, a total catch—no modesty required. Yet here I was, restless over a woman completely out of reach. Married. Off-limits. Unavailable in every conceivable way.
I don't make a habit of wanting things that belong to someone else.
Then again, I've never wanted quite like this before.
I reached the floor where the professor's offices were tucked away, hers positioned at the far end—right beside what could only be described as the Mt. Everest of neglected paperwork. Someone, at some point, probably intended to deal with it, but procrastination is a contagious disease. Others had spotted the pile and thought, why not add to the legacy? And now, here it was—towering, unbothered, practically a landmark.
I hovered at the stairs, hesitating. What was I going to say?
I couldn't just knock on her door and be like Hey, I think about your mouth way too often to be considered emotionally stable, got a minute?
She wouldn't take me seriously. Worse—she would take me seriously and report me to the Dean. Or her husband. Or both. No, I needed a story. Something innocent. Plausible. Ideally something that made me sound smart and not hormonally possessed.
Maybe I had a question about last week's lecture? No. Too vague.
Maybe I wanted her opinion on an AI ethics paper I was totally writing? Better. More academic. Less desperate.
Still, as I stood there hesitating like I was trying to hack into a crush-proof security system, the real question buzzed in the back of my mind:
What exactly do I want from her?
Because it couldn't be what it felt like. I wasn't that guy. I didn't do drama. I didn't chase unavailable women, least of all professors. Married professors. This whole thing should've been an automatic no.
And yet…
There I was. Not walking away. Not thinking clearly.
"Ow!"
The muffled cry snapped me out of my thoughts, and before I knew it, I was moving—rushing forward without a second's hesitation. I reached her office in moments, my hand gripping the doorframe as I leaned in.
"Are you okay, Professor?"
She was standing by her desk, her finger pressed to her lips—those soft, rose-colored lips that seemed to catch the light just right. My breath hitched. She was sucking on the tip of her finger, her expression a mix of surprise and pain.
Her eyes flicked up to meet mine, startled. For a moment, the world seemed to narrow to just the two of us. She flushed, pulling her hand away quickly, standing with a grace that seemed almost practiced. My gaze betrayed me, sweeping over her—slim, poised, her small waist accentuated by the curve of her stance.
I forced my eyes back to hers, catching the subtle shift in their color. One was more hazel than blue, a detail I hadn't noticed before. It was the kind of thing you only saw when you were looking too closely—when you couldn't help but notice everything about someone.
"Did you want something?" she asked, her voice gentle, polished—so composed it only heightened the urge rising in me. An irrational, undeniable need to hold her, shield her, keep her from whatever harm the world had to offer.
I stood there, momentarily speechless, blinking as I scrambled for words. Then I cleared my throat. "Uh—I don't know if you remember me. My name is Ash. Ash Locke. One of your students."
Her gaze flicked down to her finger for a fleeting second, as if debating whether it needed more attention, then back to me. "I'm sorry, there are a lot of students—I can't…"
"It's alright," I cut in smoothly, offering the best version of a disarming smile I could muster. "I just wanted to welcome you to the department. Normally, we'd host something—bring a few of us together to make it feel warm, inviting—but I heard you say you don't like large gatherings."
She had mentioned that in passing, halfway across the room, but I had caught it anyway. I had caught everything she said, absorbed every syllable, every flicker of movement. I was too focused on her for anything to slip past me.
"That's very thoughtful of you, thanks," she said, her voice smooth, polite. "I would prefer to just accept your words rather than anything. It's nice to be here."
"Yeah…" My train of thought briefly derailed as I met her gaze, but I caught myself. The last thing I wanted was for her to see me as some awkward admirer, a student incapable of forming sentences in her presence.
I cleared my throat, shifting focus. "Actually, I noticed the front of your office is ridiculously crowded. That must be uncomfortable."
The space was absurdly small for a professor—more like an afterthought than an office. Papers stacked in precarious towers, some arranged with a loose semblance of order, others existing purely on faith that they wouldn't collapse. Even the window was nearly swallowed by the mess.
"I could lend you a hand with all of this," I offered.
She blinked, surprised—her eyes widening slightly before something more restrained took over, her manners soft, measured. "Would you really?"
"Yes." I nodded, leaning into my confidence. "I'm actually free right now if you are. I'll get you more light in here in no time."
She hesitated for just a beat—then laughed, the sound bright and effortless, laced with something that sent heat prickling down my spine. It was electric, alive, like something physical that curled between us for a fraction of a second.
"That's so nice of you, Ash," she said, her eyes dancing with amusement. "I was wondering how I would ever get all of this out of the way all by myself."
I smiled, stepping fully into the room and dropping my bag onto the couch—well, what used to be a couch, now half-buried under a mountain of documents. "It's impossible to expect one person to handle all this, ma'am. Let me do it."
She looked at me, something unreadable flickering behind her gaze before she nodded. "Thank you. You're very kind."
Even the way she spoke was alluring—soft, composed, effortlessly graceful. She had me feeling like some eager schoolboy, desperate to impress. And so, I did what came naturally—I showcased my usefulness.
I lifted stacks of folders, one after the other, most of them likely obsolete but somehow still clinging to relevance in the bureaucratic void of academia.
The office itself felt entirely unfitting for her. Cramped, dim, more a storage closet than a proper workspace. Had she offended someone already? Or was this simply all the university had to offer? Either way, she took it in stride, moving with a quiet, unbothered ease.
Her red hair was swept into a loose bun, a few strands escaping as she rolled up the sleeves of her magenta vintage shirt. Then, without hesitation, she joined me in tackling the mess.
It was a lot of work, and before long, both of us were covered in sweat. The fabric of my shirt clung to my back, and her cheeks had taken on a soft flush from the exertion.
At first, I couldn't speak. Me—Ash Locke—tongue-tied. I'd always considered myself witty, even funny when I needed to be. "Timid" wasn't a word that had ever shared space with my name, but around her, I felt like someone else entirely. Someone quieter. Someone who blushed too easily and suddenly didn't know what to do with his hands.
I started panicking about the silence. Was I being awkward? Rude? Then I'd try to think of something to say and come up completely blank.
It didn't help that I was sweating like I'd run a marathon. My confidence wavered under her gaze. Where had Ash Locke gone? The computer genius, the rare prodigy my high school teachers never stopped bragging about? Gone.
"I was told to take these down to the room on the floor below," she said, balancing a stack of folders. So not only was she expected to manage this avalanche of documents, she was supposed to haul them up and down stairs like a glorified intern.
We made two trips. Then a third. By then, I was done.
"You know what?" I said, wiping my forehead with the back of my arm. "I've got a better idea."
She tilted her head, curious. "What is it?"
I walked to the window, pointing to the one right beneath hers. "That's the storage room, right? Instead of hauling this stuff all the way around the hall and down the stairs, we could just pass it through the window. It's faster."
Her brow lifted. "That's… actually kind of brilliant."
I grinned, already reaching into my pocket. "Hold on, I'm calling a few friends. We're going to need some backup."
"No, no," she put up a hand, firm but polite. "I could never bother anyone."
"It's not a bother, I promise," I said, offering my most reassuring look before pulling out my phone. I called Rebecca, Morty, and Benson—the usual suspects.
Benson was the first to step in, carrying the scent of something cheesy and spicy like he had just raided a food truck. "What's kicking?" he greeted, only to abruptly freeze when his eyes landed on Professor Alina.
I fought the ridiculous urge to block his view. I had reacted the same way when I first saw her, but somehow, seeing someone else do it felt irritating.
"Good afternoon, ma'am," Benson said, his voice suddenly clean of every swear word he'd ever known. "How can we be of service?"
Rebecca landed a swift kick to his backside before stepping in after him. Her blonde hair was in twin pigtails today, gum rolling in her mouth, silver trinkets flashing across her frame like she had robbed a jewelry shop before arriving.
"Move aside, you oaf," she said, tossing me a quick wave before narrowing her eyes. "Hey—you said to hurry, so I assumed you had something interesting for me. But what is this? Manual labor?"
"Please don't bother," Professor Alina cut in, her voice gentle. "It's too much trouble."
Rebecca popped her gum, barely sparing Professor Alina a glance before turning her glare on me.
"I promise it'll be fast," I said quickly, mostly reassuring myself that Rebecca wouldn't strangle me first and ask questions later. She always acted like she had a million things to do—too busy, too important—but still showed up every time I called.
Morty burst in just as I finished talking, panting like he had just run a marathon. "I got everything!"
"Good, bring it."
He hefted a plastic basket and a coil of rope into the room.
I took the rope, testing its strength with a firm tug. "This should hold at least 10kg."
"What are you going to do?"
The question came softly from over my shoulder, and I realized too late how close Professor Alina had moved. She wasn't just near—she was right there , standing close enough that I caught the subtle notes of her perfume. The scent curled into my senses before I could stop myself.
I swallowed hard, keeping my expression neutral, hoping my face wasn't betraying me.
"It's going to be efficient, Professor Alina," I said, recovering quickly. "Just focus on organizing. I'll get this set up, and you guys can head down to the other room to receive the documents."
"When did I become one of your minions?" Rebecca shot me a glare, her dark eye makeup making the expression extra lethal.
"I'll owe you one," I said, nodding at her in what I hoped was a peace offering.
Her cheeks tightened before spreading into a grin. "You don't even know what I'll ask."
"As long as it's not sex or hacking into a bank, then I'm good."
Her smile vanished like smoke. "Then what good are you?"
"Think of something."
She huffed, turned, and stomped down the stairs.
"Where does that place me?" Benson pointed at himself, looking like a lost student searching for directions.
I didn't bother smiling. "Go with Rebecca. You're responsible for getting the books out of the basket."
"Okay," he muttered, then hesitated. "Ni—nice to meet you, Professor."
Benson didn't take Ethics in Technology , nor was he in the computer engineering department, so he had never seen her before. But I had never heard him stammer in his life—until now.
Morty snickered beside me. "Look at him blushing."
"You can man the ropes," I told him, focusing on the pulley system I was setting up. "Don't get distracted or you'll drop it on some unsuspecting passerby."
I was acting cold—colder than usual. Morty noticed. His expression flickered between mild amusement and something unreadable, like he either wanted to mock me or call me out.
"Got it, boss."
"You work efficiently," Professor Alina praised, her voice warm and genuine. The words hit me like sunlight breaking through clouds, something in me opening up to the warmth of it.
I couldn't meet her gaze without losing my composure, so I kept my head down, focusing on the task at hand. "It's nothing special," I mumbled, though her words lingered, echoing in my mind.
In no time, we had a rhythm going—books down, empty basket up. The office transformed before our eyes, the clutter disappearing, the space brightening and widening.
Professor Alina stretched, arms reaching upward, and my eyes betrayed me, drawn like a magnet to the curve of her small waist. I looked away instantly, heat rising to my face. I'd been trying— really trying—to keep things pure, to not let my thoughts wander. But one simple stretch, and I'd failed.
"Wow, that was a workout," she said, exhaling with a soft laugh. "But it's so airy now."
She closed her eyes, tilting her face toward the breeze that brushed through the newly cleared window. The soft wind played against her neck, and my gaze followed, tracing the line of her throat. My chest tightened, my breath catching in a sharp, unbidden want.
"Remember, married," Morty whispered in my ear, snapping me back to reality.
"What was that?" Professor Alina's voice cut through my thoughts, her eyes on me now.
"Huh?" I blinked, scrambling to pull myself together. My thoughts were a tangled mess, refusing to cooperate.
"Did you say something?" she asked, her expression patient, amused—like she found me interesting in a way that made my heart stutter.
That look alone colored my entire day, made every ounce of effort worth it.
"No," I said quickly, shaking my head. "It's nothing."
"Here, I think I've got some change somewhere."
Professor Alina walked over to her purse, pulling out a pale pink wallet. She opened it thoughtfully—then, in a spectacular twist of fate, hundred-dollar bills burst free, flying everywhere like some dramatic lottery win gone wrong.
Morty let out a startled squeak and dove after them, scrambling to catch the ones floating dangerously close to the window.
I could only stare. Crisp, clean bills scattered across the floor. Four grand, at least. Was Professor Alina rich or something?
"Oh dear," she gasped, eyes wide as she hurried to gather the chaos.
Morty and I helped, scooping up the runaway cash and returning it to her. She smiled, cheeks blooming pink with embarrassment.
"Sorry, that was such a mess," she murmured.
"Don't worry about it," I said.
Then, with casual ease, she counted out four hundred dollars and extended it toward me. "Here. Buy some drinks with this."
I blinked, caught off guard. "Not necessary," I protested.
"Very necessary," Rebecca cut in, sauntering forward, boots clapping against the floor. Without hesitation, she plucked two hundred from the stack.
"I'm taking his since he doesn't want it," she announced.
Morty wasted no time grabbing the other half, grinning as he jogged over to Benson.
"Thanks for being so generous, ma'am," Morty called over his shoulder.
Benson chimed in, the two of them practically glowing with excitement. "Invite us again if you ever need help!"
"I'm sorry," I muttered as silence settled in their absence. "I didn't mean for them to be so rude."
The sun had dipped beneath the horizon, leaving behind a deep orange glow, its last light spilling through the window and catching on her skin. It bathed her in warmth, in something ethereal, something that made her look even more breathtaking—like the universe had chosen this exact moment to immortalize her beauty.
She laughed, soft and easy, the sound curling around the quiet. "You have nice friends," she said. "I'm really glad I met you, Ash. You helped me a lot."
I was hooked. Completely, irreversibly lost.
That smile—it was mine . Or at least, I wanted it to be. I wanted to keep it, to be the reason for it, to make sure no one else ever got to see her like this—so simple yet radiant, like an angel riding the last embers of daylight.
Whatever this was, I couldn't shake it.
And I needed to know—truly, honestly —if it was impossible for this woman to ever be mine.