My Professor, My Fiancé

Chapter 2: Lines Crossed

I couldn’t possibly take my mind off what had happened in the hallway. No matter how hard I tried to focus on my steps or the book clutched against my chest, I felt it—eyes following me, whispers curling through the air like smoke. People threw me mocking, suspicious glances, some subtle, others painfully obvious. It was hard to unsee the question burning behind their stares.

Why her?

Mr. Kingsley—the hottest professor in the university, the man everyone admired from a safe distance—had helped an unknown nerd.

Me.

To anyone else, it might not seem like a big deal. A professor helping a student. Perfectly normal. Harmless, even. But this was Mr. Kingsley. He wasn’t the type to bend a knee, not even metaphorically, especially not for someone like me. He was aloof, sharp-tongued, and distant. He didn’t linger. He didn’t notice. And he most definitely didn’t kneel down to help a clumsy girl gather her scattered things.

It was completely out of character.

Which meant people would talk. Which meant assumptions would bloom and rot before I could even defend myself.

I needed to do something about it.

So I waited.

I lingered near his office longer than I should have, pretending to scroll through my iPad while my heart hammered violently against my ribs. Every time the door creaked, my breath hitched. When he finally stepped out, tall and composed as ever, I moved without giving myself time to think.

I appeared right in front of him.

He stopped short, clearly caught off guard, his usual calm cracking just enough for surprise to flicker across his face. For a brief moment, we simply stared at each other—me tense and breathless, him unreadable.

“We need to talk,” I blurted out, the words escaping before I could second-guess myself or lose the nerve I’d been clinging to for the past few minutes.

He blinked once, clearly taken aback by my sudden appearance, as if he hadn’t expected me to confront him at all. For a brief moment, his expression was unreadable—no teasing grin, no smug amusement—just surprise. Then he nodded slowly, composed as ever.

“Okay.”

The calmness in his voice only made my pulse race faster.

“Alone,” I added quickly, lowering my voice as I glanced around. Students crowded the hallway, some rushing past, others lingering far too long. They pretended not to stare while absolutely staring, eyes flicking toward us before darting away as if they’d been caught doing something illegal. Whispers hovered just beneath the noise of footsteps, waiting for something scandalous to bloom.

“Away from everyone,” I insisted, my grip tightening around the strap of my bag.

The weight of their attention pressed down on me, suffocating. I didn’t want an audience. I didn’t want rumors. I didn’t want this conversation twisted into something it wasn’t before it even began. I just needed him to listen—without eyes on us, without assumptions breathing down my neck.

He didn’t move.

That hesitation, that single pause, ignited something reckless in me. Before I could overthink it—or stop myself—I reached out and grabbed his sleeve, dragging him toward the nearest corner where shadows swallowed sound and eyes couldn’t reach us.

The realization hit me too late.

This was ridiculous. Embarrassing. Physically impossible, even—there was no way I could actually pull him anywhere if he didn’t allow it. Yet he let me. He followed without resistance, as if amused, as if curious.

And suddenly, standing far too close to him, my hand still clutched around his arm, I realized just how stupid I was to have the audacity to do this at all.

“You know that I’m out of this,” I said, my voice low but firm. “I don’t want to marry you. Okay?”

“Yeah,” he replied easily, shrugging as if we were discussing the weather. That infuriatingly playful grin slid onto his face—the kind that looked effortless, natural, and designed to get under my skin. “But you can’t do anything about it.”

I clenched my jaw. “Exactly. But I want to go through this my own way.”

The words hit me all at once.

Oh my gosh.

I couldn’t believe I was talking to my Econometrics professor like this—cornering him, negotiating with him, practically arguing over a marriage that shouldn’t even exist.

“Let’s just pretend that we don’t know each other,” I continued, my words tumbling out faster now. “That we’re not getting married—”

“But we are.”

I shot him a glare sharp enough to cut glass. He had the audacity to interrupt me with that calm, irritating certainty, like he enjoyed watching me spiral.

“Can we just pretend that this whole marriage thing isn’t happening?” I ranted, my hands curling into fists at my sides. “I’m a student, and you’re my professor. That’s it. That’s what we are inside the university. You understand me?”

I searched his face, trying to see if he was actually listening.

He was smiling.

Not just smiling—grinning. That exact same grin. The one that probably made girls lose their minds and common sense. The one that, under very different circumstances, I might have fallen for too.

But now wasn’t the time for that. Not now. Not ever.

“Wow,” he said finally, clearly amused. “Miss Montoya. I can’t believe you’re this assertive.”

A shiver ran down my spine, starting from the back of my head and trailing slowly, traitorously, down my back. I swallowed hard and looked away, suddenly aware that I had been staring at him.

For too long.

Longer than my instincts should’ve allowed.

“You better not make any shows,” I warned him, my voice quieter but no less serious. “No scenes. No special treatment. Nothing.”

Then I turned on my heel and walked away before he could say anything else—before he could look at me like that again.

For a moment, I truly believed my problem was finally solved.

Then his class came.

I sat in my usual seat, heart steady, convincing myself that he would keep his word. That he’d be professional. Detached. Normal.

“Miss Montoya.”

My head snapped up.

“Yes?” I asked, brows knitting together in confusion.

He looked directly at me, completely unbothered by the sudden tension thickening the room.

“Have you eaten yet?”

My jaw nearly hit the floor.

“Yes, sir,” I answered automatically.

The room fell into a suffocating silence.

When I glanced around, my stomach dropped. Everyone was staring at me. Literally everyone. Some looked confused, others curious, a few downright suspicious.

Heat flooded my face.

Fuck.

I slowly turned back to him, my eyes blazing.

He stood there, calm as ever, that damned grin tugging at his lips.

Fuck. He’s a f*****g ass.