One Wild Night With My Professor

Chapter Three - Collision Course

~Ariel’s POV~

Professor Kaiden Draven.

His name rang severally in my mind and for a moment, the world stopped spinning.

I sat there, frozen in my front-row seat, staring at him.

The same man who had pinned me to crisp white sheets, whispered my name in a voice that burned, and made me forget who I was.

My sexy stranger wasn’t just my lecturer. He was my soon-to-be stepbrother.

I felt the air squeeze out of my lungs at the realization. Every inch of me prickled with disbelief, humiliation, and something darker, a forbidden thrill I shouldn’t be feeling.

His professional tone filled the room as if he hadn’t just wrecked me a night ago.

He didn’t even flinch nor did he act like I was invisible.

Prof. Draven simply paced across the room, discussing emotional symbolism in modern art, as I watched him.

I really watched him—the way his shirt clung to his arms, his clean shaven jaw—and every word he spoke twisted like a wire around my chest.

Oh, he knew. He definitely knew who I was, and that made it worse.

I shifted in my seat, crossing my legs slowly. Deliberately, I dropped my pen once, twice, each time letting my hand linger on the floor before picking it up.

I even tilted my head when he walked past, giving him a faint smile only he could see. No one else noticed.

But he ignored me completely.

The bastard.

Halfway through class, I realized I hadn’t written a single word. My notebook was blank except for a doodle of his initials — KD — scratched into the margin like some lovesick i***t.

“Miss?” His voice cut through the room suddenly, snapping me from my thoughts.

My head snapped up.

“Um… Miss?” he repeated, his gaze locking on me. “Ares, Professor. Ariel Ares,” I blurted.

Recognition and shock flickered behind his eyes. Then it was gone, replaced by an icy stare.

“Miss Ares,” he said, “perhaps you can explain the thematic essence of emotional detachment in postmodern expressionism?”

My throat went dry. He might as well have spoken Greek. I thought Kael said he’d look after me but here he was, clearly knowing I had barely written a thing, and still asking me a question.

Yeah, I wasn’t dull but right now my brain failed me. “Uh, it’s… when the artist, um, uses emotions but… doesn’t?”

The class burst into an uproar of laughter.

Kaiden’s expression didn’t change. “Wrong. Completely wrong.”

A flush crept up my neck. “Well, you can’t blame me for being distracted,” I said sweetly, forcing a smile. “Not when I have such a hot Professor,” I dared myself to say, even though it should have been a mutter.

The room exploded. Whistles, laughter, from around me. Someone even clapped.

But Kaiden didn’t blush or smile. Instead, his gaze turned glacial. “Enough,” he said sharply. “See me after class, Miss Ares.”

The laughter died almost immediately and I swallowed. He didn’t raise his voice, but the authority in his tone sent chills down my spine.

My heart skipped a beat wondering if he loved what I said or if he got too embarrassed from it.

“Where are we going?” I asked, still smirking, trying to recover some control.

“To the HOD’s office,” he replied evenly. “We’re going to discuss your conduct.”

The class went silent and my smirk faltered.

And for the first time since he walked in, I realized just how much trouble I was in. Not just academically, but in every possible way that mattered.

*********

The bell rang, snapping the tension like a whip.

Chairs scraped, chatter erupted, and one by one, the students began to file out. Every single one of them shot me a look—some amused, others pitying.

I sat there, unmoving, pretending their whispers didn’t sting.

Kaiden didn’t look at me once. He gathered his notes with slow precision, sliding papers into his folder like he was in no hurry at all. That composure of his only made it worse, made me feel smaller, reckless, defiant.

When the last student left, the door clicked shut and silence fell, thick and heavy.

“You can stop pretending to be invisible now,” I said, leaning back in my chair.

My voice came out low, teasing, laced with the same kind of challenge that had gotten me into this mess in the first place.

His jaw tightened. “You think this is funny?”

“Not really,” I said, shrugging. “Just… ironic. Of all the people in the city, I had to sleep with my professor. My soon-to-be stepbrother.” I let the words linger, watching the faint twitch in his expression. “You didn’t seem to mind last night, though.”

His eyes snapped up to mine—dark, sharp, and far too controlled. “Enough, Miss Ares.”

“Miss Ares?” I repeated, smiling faintly. “That’s cute. You didn’t call me that when—”

“Ariel.” His voice cut through mine after he had close the distance, deeper this time. Firmer. More dangerous. “Don’t push me.”

The air thickened between us again. He was standing now, towering over me, one hand braced on the desk. His scent, clean soap, faint aftershave—hit me hard, pulling memories I shouldn’t be thinking about.

“Forget that night,” he said quietly. “It shouldn’t have happened.”

I tilted my head, meeting his eyes. “Can you forget it?”

He froze.

For a fraction of a second, I saw it, saw the c***k in his perfect composure. The memory flashing behind his gaze. It only made my breath hitched even more.

Then he straightened, his face hard again. “You will not pull stunts like that in my class again. I won’t tolerate it.”

I stood slowly, brushing past him, close enough that my arm grazed his. “Sure, Professor,” I whispered, my lips brushing the word like a dare. “But we both know you won’t forget either.”

He didn’t move, didn’t speak, but his grip tightened on the edge of the desk—knuckles pale, jaw locked tightly.

I smiled faintly and walked out, every step deliberate.

If he wanted distance, he’d have to fight for it. Because I had no intention of pretending that night never happened.