Love by the monster I created

​The walk to the faculty wing felt different today. It wasn't just the weight of my textbooks in my designer bag; it was the weight of the secret I was carrying-a secret that felt like a living, breathing thing inside my chest. Since the gala, the air in the university seemed to have shifted. Every time I passed a mirror, I expected to see "Property of Jalen Hart" branded onto my skin for the whole world to see.

​I reached the heavy mahogany door of Jalen's office. My hand hovered over the brass handle, my pulse fluttering in my throat like a trapped moth. My father thought I was here for a remedial session to "perfect my focus." In reality, I was walking into the mouth of the wolf.

​I knocked, the sound echoing through the quiet hallway.

​"Come in, Fiona," the voice rumbled. It wasn't a request; it was a command.

​I pushed the door open. Jalen was silhouetted against the large window, the London skyline gray and brooding behind him. He didn't turn around immediately. He stood with his hands tucked into his trouser pockets, his broad shoulders stretching the fabric of his white dress shirt. The sleeves were rolled up, revealing the powerful, hair-dusted forearms that had held me so tightly just nights before.

​"Close the door," he said, his voice dropping an octave. "And lock it. We wouldn't want any... interruptions from your classmates."

​The click of the lock felt like a gavel coming down. I leaned against the door for a moment, trying to find my breath. The office smelled of him-sandalwood, expensive tobacco, and that sharp, intellectual scent of old books and authority.

​"Sit," he commanded, gesturing to the velvet chair across from his desk.

​I sat, my knees pressed tightly together, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. Jalen finally turned and walked toward me. He didn't sit behind his desk like a professor. He leaned against the edge of it, directly in front of me, his long legs nearly brushing my knees.

​"Your father called me this morning," he began, his eyes scanning my face with a clinical intensity that made me feel naked. "He's pleased that I'm taking such a personal interest in your 'development.' He thinks I'm the only one who can handle your... rebellious streak."

​"And can you?" I whispered, my voice trembling. "Handle me?"

​A slow, predatory smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. He leaned down, his face inches from mine, until I could see the flecks of gold in his stormy eyes. "Fiona, I've been handling far more dangerous things than a twenty-year-old heiress since before you knew how to tie your shoes. But you... you aren't just a student. You're a variable I didn't account for."

​He reached out, his thumb catching my chin and forcing me to look at him. "This is our new syllabus. Outside these walls, I am your professor. To your father, I am his loyal friend. But in this room, behind that locked door, those titles don't exist. Here, there are only two roles: the Master and the Subject. Do you understand the terms of this contract?"

​"I understand," I breathed, my lungs burning for oxygen.

​"Good." He let his hand slide down my neck, his fingers tracing the sensitive skin of my throat. "Because the price of my silence is your absolute obedience. Jude is watching you. Marian is watching you. Even your father's shadows are lurking in the corners. If you slip up, if you let a single person see the way you look at me in the lecture hall, I will lose everything. And you... you will be sent away to a life you'll hate."

​The fear was there, cold and sharp, but it was drowned out by the sheer, obsessive need I felt for the man in front of me. I reached up, my fingers brushing the silk of his tie. "You won't let that happen. You're the monster, Jalen. Monsters don't let people take what belongs to them."

​Jalen's eyes darkened, a flash of raw, "monstrous" hunger breaking through his professional mask. He gripped the arms of my chair, pinning me back, his body a wall of heat and muscle that blocked out the rest of the world.

​"You have no idea what I am capable of to keep what is mine," he rasped, his lips brushing against mine, not quite kissing me, but teasing me with the promise of it. "You think this is a game? You think you created me? Little Bird, I was a monster long before you were born. You didn't create me. You just gave me a reason to stop pretending I'm human."

​He stood up abruptly, the sudden distance feeling like a physical wound. He walked back behind his desk and pulled out a heavy leather-bound ledger. "Now, open your sketchbook. We have work to do. And if your hand shakes while you draw, I'll know exactly what you're thinking about."

​I opened my book, my fingers indeed trembling. I tried to focus on the lines of the plaster bust he placed before me, but all I could see was the shadow of the man across from me. For the next hour, the only sound in the room was the scratching of my charcoal and the steady, rhythmic ticking of the clock on the wall.

​Every time I looked up, I found him watching me-not my drawing, but me. He was studying me like a hunter studies a map, looking for every weakness, every entry point.

​When the hour was finally over, I stood up to leave, my legs feeling like lead. As I reached the door, Jalen's voice stopped me.

​"Fiona?"

​I turned back. He was standing by the window again, the afternoon sun casting his shadow long across the floor.

​"Be careful when you walk through the courtyard," he said, his voice devoid of warmth. "Jude is waiting for you by the fountain. He thinks he's clever. He thinks he can bait you into a confession. Don't give him a single word."

​"I won't," I promised.

​"And Fiona?" He turned his head slightly, his profile sharp and lethal against the glass. "Wear the green ribbon I left in your bag. I want to see it on you in class tomorrow. A small sign that you remember who owns the air you breathe."

​I checked my bag as I stepped into the hallway. Nestled between my textbooks was a strip of emerald green silk-the exact color of the dress from the Masquerade.

​I tied it around my wrist, the silk feeling like a shackle. I wasn't just a student anymore. I was a signed contract. And Jalen Hart was the only one with the power to fulfill it.