Heiress and Her Dangerous Professor

Chapter 2: No Permission Needed

Freya's POV

Getting miffed by the sound of a name wasn't on my checklist that evening, but there I was, as if crossing paths with that self-entitled minx wasn't testing enough.

What I found curious, though, was how my honest-to-a-fault roommate knew this Stella girl. But I wasn't too surprised. Grace was a people person, after all.

Forget it; I can ask her later. It's not like this was any of my business.

I was going to leave after that short spurt of curiosity—emphasis on “leave" because, in the end, there was no way I could.

The girls who had been standing around Grace weren't just casually standing anymore, and their following action could no longer be put in the “friendly squabble" box.

Sleek Ponytail and another girl with glittery earrings that winked in the dark flanked Grace, pinning her in the middle. I wish I'd heard what was exchanged to earn her such treatment.

Against my better judgment, I inched closer.

“Stella, please," Grace said in a small voice, “I didn't mean to—"

“Didn't mean to what?" Stella cut her off, moving even closer than before. “Embarrass me? Make me look stupid in front of everyone?" She spat venom.

The anger that rose in my chest had my hands tightening around the strap of my bag. But not yet. I couldn't just throw myself into other people's matters, even if I had my own personal vendetta against that one.

I took a deep breath to let off some steam and decided to study the situation, waiting to see how far this would go. Grace wasn't my friend—not yet—but she'd been kind, so I should at least make sure nothing happened to her before leaving.

That turned out to be a great choice because the next second, Ponytail Girl shoved Grace so hard that her knees hit the ground with a thud, forcing her into a kneeling position. Grace gasped, catching herself on her hands before she toppled over. Her neat braids had come undone, strands sticking to her sweaty face.

When she tried to get up, Glittery Earrings grabbed the hem of her shirt and yanked. As expected, the shirt tore with a sickening rip. Grace scrambled to cover herself, wrapping her arms around her chest.

I thought they'd feel sorry for ruining her shirt, but no, they just laughed and teased her figure.

My self-control was running thin now.

“Hold her still," Stella ordered, and Ponytail Girl pinned Grace's arms behind her back.

Then the girl in glasses, who had made no move so far, took out her phone, and I saw red.

My body moved before my brain could give it permission. There was this weird static behind my ears, as if something in my head had just broken—probably my restraint. The quiet, unnoticed life I had promised myself burned away in the flames of my anger.

When I came to, I was shoving the girl with the phone so hard she stumbled and dropped it, screen-down, on the concrete. She landed on her butt, and it took all my willpower not to follow through with the thought of giving her—no, all of them—a nasty beating. I was no bully.

“What the f**k is this?!" I heard myself bark. I couldn't recognize my own voice.

All heads snapped toward me. Stella's eyes narrowed, and I saw the moment she recognized me. “You again?" she spat, but I was already charging forward.

My first target was Ponytail Girl. I pushed her hard enough to make her stumble back, causing her to let go of Grace. Good.

Glittery Earrings, who didn't know any better, swung at me. I knocked her arm up and pushed her to join Glasses Girl on the floor. When I turned around, the rest naturally backed away. Cowards.

After making sure no one would try any funny moves, I turned to Grace. Seeing her vibrant face filled with tears and trembling lips as she clutched at the scraps of her shirt made me feel guilty. Why hadn't I come to her aid the moment things started getting ugly?

I let out a sigh as my hands moved on their own to the buttons of my black shirt. The cool night air hit my skin as I shrugged it off, leaving me in my tank top.

Grace's eyes widened, but she didn't move as I draped the shirt around her shoulders, pulling it tight to cover her.

“There," I said softly, ensuring it wrapped around her trembling frame.

After giving Grace's hand a reassuring squeeze, I stood so my frame shielded her and faced Stella and her pack of sidekicks.

My arms crossed over my chest, jaw clenched. “As females yourselves, you think stripping someone and filming it is fun? Even calling you 'worse than beasts' doesn't cover it—you're nothing but a bunch of sorry excuses for girls!" I said, my voice flat but simmering.

Stella rolled her eyes and flicked her hair back, as if she were on a magazine shoot instead of a dark, half-lit path with a girl crying behind me.

“Oh, isn't the peasant a dramatic one? Can't take a joke? Oh—my bad. I guess peasants don't know how to have fun."

“There must be a screw loose in your head to call this fun. All of you!" I wanted to strangle that girl.

Stella laughed, and the rest giggled as if this were all funny. “Don't think I've forgotten just because I haven't said anything." She watched me with a sly grin tugging at the corner of her lips. “You owe me, remember?"

Of course, she wasn't going to let that go. Her voice curled like smoke around the words, eyes locked on me with venom.

“You owe me six grand," she said, stepping forward. “I don't like speaking to rags like you, but if you can pay me now…" She stared me dead in the eye. “I'll make an exception for you."

She spread her hand open. “Pay up."

I didn't flinch.

“Oh, and this?" She reached over and snatched the coffee cup from the girl in the polka-dot dress. “Let's even the score."

She raised the cup, but I caught her wrist mid-air—a perfect grip.

My fingers locked tightly around her delicate bones, and her whole body stiffened.

“Don't," I warned, twisting her wrist just enough to make the cup tilt dangerously in her direction. “You might want to think this through."

She let out a gasp, struggling. I didn't even have to use much strength, and she was already screaming in pain. It was obvious she'd never had anyone push back before.

She jerked her arm, trying to break free. “Let go! You're crazy!"

“You started this," I said coldly. “Now, promise you'll never lay a hand on Grace again."

She bared her teeth in something that wasn't quite a smile. “Or what? You'll snap my wrist? You think you're scary?" Her eyes flashed. “I'm not afraid of you."

“You should be," I said, twisting her wrist just enough to make her gasp again.

Still, she didn't back down.

“I'm not saying it," she spat. “I don't take orders from gutter trash. Keep pushing, and I'll have the dean expel you so fast you won't even have time to beg."

I narrowed my eyes. “You really think your name can cover you forever?"

“Oh, I don't think so. I know," she sneered. “One call, and you're done here. That's the difference between you and me—I have people who matter."

And just then—just as my grip tightened and I was about to answer—

A voice cut through the air, smooth and unhurried but with enough weight to silence everything.

“That's enough."

It was firm, calm, and low. The kind of voice that didn't need to raise itself to command attention.

I turned toward it and found him standing a few paces behind the crowd, just off the path, where the orange glow of the streetlamp met shadow.

I blinked once. Twice.

He wasn't a boy—not like the ones who'd been flexing all day in the courtyard. No. He was a man.

Mid-to-late twenties, maybe. His hair was dark and swept back in a clean, slightly tousled style that looked effortlessly perfect. A few strands drifted across his forehead, just enough to soften his sharp, angular face. His skin was fair but not pale, like someone who spent long hours at a desk under low lighting—probably a faculty member.

Shit.

His shirt was the kind that cost good money, even if it looked casual—deep navy blue with sleeves rolled to his elbows, exposing solid forearms, veins barely visible under skin that hinted at strength. It was tucked into dark gray trousers, no tie, no blazer, but polished leather shoes that said authority without screaming it.

His eyes were the most startling thing—gray. Not flat or dull, but cold and watchful.

That cold gaze swept over the scene. He didn't ask again.

He walked forward slowly, hands in his pockets, and even that simple motion sent a ripple through the crowd of girls. They all stepped back.

Every single one of them.

I didn't know when I let go of Stella's wrist.

“Is someone going to tell me what's happening here?" he asked, looking straight at me. Then his eyes flicked to Grace, then to the others.

No one answered.

Of course they didn't. What could they even say?

But Stella—oh, Stella knew how to work a scene.

She took a careful step forward, lifting her wrist as if it were made of glass. Her bottom lip trembled just enough to look real, and the way she blinked rapidly, like she was holding back tears, could've earned her an award.

“She hurt me," she said, her voice soft, cracked, and perfectly rehearsed. “I was trying to calm things down, but she grabbed me. She twisted my wrist. Look." She held it up like a bruised flower, faint red marks still visible where I'd gripped her, making sure to flash them clearly beneath the streetlamp.

“We were just talking," she went on, glancing at the man with wide, watery eyes. “But she came out of nowhere and started yelling. I—I think she has anger issues."

My jaw tensed.

Grace flinched behind me, and a few of Stella's girls exchanged awkward glances.

The man's face didn't change. His hands were still in his pockets, but his eyes scrutinized each of us.

Stella saw her window and stepped in again.

“I mean, we didn't mean any harm," she added quickly. “It was just a joke. Girls being silly, you know? But she got violent."

I smiled. Not because I found the situation funny, but because of the strategy Stella was employing. Was this a template for all mean girls? Play the victim first, then act nice for pity points?

I was having none of that.

I stepped forward, casually taking Stella's wrist, then reached with my free hand to brush the side of her jacket as if fixing a wrinkle.

She stiffened.

I leaned in close and whispered low—so low no one else could hear.

“Tell him we're friends," I said, the smile still plastered on my face. “Tell him it was a joke. Or go ahead and tell the truth, but if I hear one more lie, I'll make sure the next time we meet, it's just you and me."

Her body went stiff as a board.

I tugged her jacket's lapel lightly, pretending to adjust it, and straightened with the same cold smile.

She looked at me, then at the man, and swallowed hard before giving a too-bright smile.

“See," she said, showing our joined hands, “we're all friends here. This was… just a misunderstanding."

He raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?"

“Absolutely," Stella said, too quickly. “We plan to join the drama club, so we were practicing for fun."

His gaze narrowed. “Because if I find out someone's being harassed, bullied, or worse, there will be consequences," he said. “And trust me, I don't care who your parents are, so you'd better tell me the truth before I find out myself."

Stella's jaw twitched.

“I'm not lying," she said stiffly. “This was really a misunderstanding."

He studied her for a long moment.

I could feel him about to ask more, to press the issue.

So I cut in first.

“Come on, bestie," I said with fake affection, pulling Stella away from the group. “Let's not waste his time."