Lecture Me, Please

Twice Is Not a Coincidence

Olivia’s POV

_______

Wednesday evenings were usually my favorites because they were my resting day. Except for tonight.

I had received a last minute order for a bento cake that was ridiculously priced—$500. I initially told the client I couldn’t take it because, as said, Wednesdays were my resting days. But she insisted she would pay double—or even triple.

And I wasn’t immune to money.

Except the cake in question was for a cat.

A literal cat.

I pulled up outside a modern duplex in the quieter part of town, glancing at the cake box resting carefully on the passenger seat of my white 2020 Honda Civic. The white frosting was still perfect, the tiny piped paw prints exactly the way the client requested, and the words written across the top read:

Happiest 2nd Birthday, Luna.

Yes.

I had driven across town for a cat.

I had learned not to question these things. People paid well enough for me not to give my opinion. I had even once made cakes, food trays, and gift boxes for a man’s wife and his mistress on Valentine’s Day. It was safe to say I had seen everything in my line of business.

I grabbed the box carefully and walked toward the door before the evening humidity could ruin the icing.

The door swung open before I even knocked.

“Oh my God, it’s beautiful!” the woman squealed the second she saw the cake. I couldn’t help but smile. Her happiness was contagious.

Behind her, a gray cat sat on the couch like it had personally financed the entire event.

I handed the cake over carefully.

“Please keep it refrigerated until you serve it,” I said automatically. “And don’t let the cat eat the frosting.”

She nodded enthusiastically while already pulling out her phone to record a video.

“Can I tag you when I post it?”

“Of course.” I replied with a smile.

Business was business. Even when it involved a cat named Luna.

Five minutes later, I was back in my car checking the time.

6:18 p.m.

Which meant I was officially late.

Again.

There was a seminar downtown on E-agriculture and digital innovation, and technically I hadn’t even planned to attend.

Well, not until that morning.

One of the organizers had reached out the previous week, asking if I could cover the event on my page for publicity.

I had refused initially because, like I said, it was my resting day. But agriculture had always been a passion of mine, so I changed my mind at the last minute.

Besides, it was also a good opportunity to make new connections.

I was still late, though.

I started the engine and drove toward the conference hall, weaving through early evening traffic while mentally running through everything I still had to do that night:

Edit videos. Go through my emails. Reply to client messages. Finish tomorrow’s catering order.

And somehow also survive Advanced Calculus.

Just thinking about Dr. Dante Nethans made me groan.

I hadn’t recovered from Monday.

The parking lot incident alone should have qualified as emotional trauma.

Then he made me stay back after class.

Just thinking about it made my stomach tighten.

I genuinely thought he was going to destroy my academic future over a parking space.

It had been the longest two minutes of my life.

I pulled into the conference venue parking lot and quickly checked my reflection in the mirror.

My gown was still perfect.

It was white, long, simple, and elegant—the kind that worked for business events without looking like I had tried too hard. The fabric hugged my waist and hips before falling straight to my ankles.

Classy.

Clean.

Content-creator appropriate.

I grabbed my phone, camera and my small notebook before stepping out of the car.

The conference hall was already full when I entered.

People sat in rows, listening to a speaker at the front discussing crop monitoring technology.

I paused near the entrance, scanning the room for an empty seat.

Then I felt it.

That strange sensation of being watched.

You know the one.

The instinct that someone’s eyes were on you.

But I was already late, so I didn’t waste time focusing on the feeling.

The seminar was impactful. By the time the speaker finished and questions began, the room was already clapping.

I stood as the hosts began wrapping up the session, preparing to leave after greeting the organizers.

Then I froze.

You’ve got to be kidding me.

No.

Absolutely not.

Three rows to the side, sitting calmly like he belonged in every room he entered, was Dr. Dante Nethans.

My terrifying, hyper-intelligent, parking-spot-stealing professor.

Of all the places in the city…

How?

My brain short-circuited for a second.

Then panic kicked in.

Had he seen me?

Of course he had seen me.

I quickly looked away like a criminal who had just been spotted by a security camera and walked toward the exit instead of heading in front to meet with the organizers.

Normal

Calm. Even though I was far from it.

What was he even doing here?

This wasn’t a university event.

It was a professional seminar.

Which meant—

He was probably there because he actually belonged.

Of course he did.

Dr. Dante Nethans was the kind of man who probably belonged everywhere.

I tried to escape before he noticed me.

I failed.

He had already spotted me and was now walking in my direction.

His eyes were on me.

Heat rushed to my face instantly. Just great.

First I fought with him over a parking space.

Then I begged him not to subtract imaginary marks.

And now he saw me attending professional conferences late.

Wonderful.

“Miss Olivia.”

I slowly turned so I was fully facing him.

And there he was.

Standing in all his six-foot-something glory.

My brain scrambled for a response.

“Professor,” I said quickly, standing.

For a moment, we simply looked at each other.

Then his eyes briefly scanned my outfit.

Not in an inappropriate way though.

“You attend agricultural technology conferences now?” he asked.

His tone was neutral, but there was something underneath it.

Curiosity.

I cleared my throat.

“I cover events and review businesses sometimes,” I explained.

A small pause passed between us.

“I see.”

Silence lingered for a moment before he spoke again.

“I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Neither did I,” I admitted.

That earned the faintest shift in his expression.

Not quite a smile.

But close.

Then he gestured lightly toward the exit.

“Are you staying for the networking session?”

I glanced at the crowd of professionals already exchanging business cards.

Then back at him.

“Honestly?” I said. “I was about to escape after greeting some of the organizers.”

Another almost-smile appeared on his face.

“Let me walk you.”

And somehow, without fully understanding why—

I did.

Twice was never a coincidence.

This was becoming unusually persistent.

And something told me that walking beside Dr. Dante Nethans might be the beginning of the most dangerous decision I had made all semester.