The Professor's Secret: One Mistake

I found out I was pregnant ten minutes before Professor Adrian Cole called my name. Two pink lines. Bathroom stall. Business School, 3rd floor. I stared at the plastic stick like it would change if I blinked hard enough but It didn’t. My phone buzzed. Academic Office: Reminder: Business Ethics 301 starts in 8 minutes. 3 absences = automatic fail. Scholarship review pending. I flushed the test down the toilet and ran. Business Ethics 301 was packed. Two hundred students, all pretending to care about corporate fraud. I slid into the back row, praying I could be invisible. My head was spinning. My mouth tasted like metal. The last thing I ate was tequila which my roommate bought for me last night. The door opened at exactly 9:00 AM. Every girl in the room sat up straighter. Even the guys stopped scrolling. He was tall. British accent. Suit that probably cost more than my aunt’s rent for a year. He didn’t smile. He just dropped his briefcase on the desk and wrote his name on the board. Prof. A. Cole My stomach dropped to my shoes. I knew that voice. I knew that cologne. I knew the scar on his left jaw because I kissed it on a Friday night three weeks ago when the lights were off and he whispered, “Say my name.” I didn’t know his name that night. He was just the stranger in the VIP booth who bought my drink when I was crying about my ex. The stranger who said, “Dance with me and forget him.” The stranger who carried me to a hotel when the club started spinning. The stranger I woke up next to with no clothes, no memory after midnight, and a note on the pillow that said: Don’t look for me. I obeyed. Until now. “Good morning,” Professor Cole said. His eyes swept the room. Cold. Bored. Dangerous. “I’m Professor Adrian Cole. I’ll be taking over Business Ethics for Dr. Umeh this semester.” He didn’t look at me. Why would he? He saw a hundred faces that night. I was just the drunk 20 year old in a red dress. I tried to breathe. My scholarship needed me to pass this class. My aunt needed me to pass this class. The baby I might be having definitely needed me to pass this class. “Attendance,” he said, picking up the register. “When I call your name, answer.” My hands went clammy. Please skip A. Please skip Adeyemi. “Akintola.” “Present.” “Balogun.” “Here.” I started counting exits. Two doors. Three windows. If I ran now, could I— “Adeyemi. Lila Adeyemi.” Every head turned. Scholarship kids always got attention. I stood up because my legs moved before my brain did. “Present,” I said. My voice cracked. That’s when he looked at me. Really looked. His pen stopped moving. His jaw went tight for half a second. Then his face went blank again, like someone pulled a curtain down. “Miss Adeyemi,” he said. No recognition. Just a name on a list. “Sit.” I sat. Hard. My chair squeaked and two people laughed. For the next fifty minutes, I didn’t hear a single word about ethics. I heard my heartbeat. I heard the toilet flushing on loop in my head. I heard my aunt’s voice: Lila, if you lose that scholarship, we lose the shop. When the lecture ended, I shoved my books into my bag and bolted for the door. “Miss Adeyemi.” I froze. The class was emptying fast. He was erasing the board, back to me. “My office. Five PM. We need to discuss your academic standing.” My academic standing was fine. I had a 4.8 GPA. “Sir, I—” “Five PM,” he repeated. Still not looking at me. “Don’t be late.” I walked out on shaky legs. I spent the next seven hours in the library, googling “can stress cause false positive pregnancy test” and “professor student dating Nigeria university code”. The answers were no and expulsion. At 4:58 PM, I was outside his office. Door closed. Nameplate: Prof. Adrian Cole, PhD. Corporate Law & Ethics. Ethics. Right. I knocked. “Enter.” His office smelled like the hotel room. Bergamot and something expensive. He was behind his desk, laptop open, not looking up. “Close the door.” I did. My hands were shaking so bad I missed the handle twice. “Sit.” I sat. The chair was leather. I felt like I was on trial. He finally looked up. His eyes were grey. Like the London sky in the photos he had on his wall. “You missed two classes last week.” “I was sick,” I said. Technically true. I’d been throwing up since Saturday. “Are you sick now?” I opened my mouth. Nothing came out. Because I was about to be sick right on his desk. He frowned and stood up. “You look pale. Water?” He walked to the mini fridge behind me. His sleeve brushed my shoulder. I flinched like he burned me. He stopped. Slowly, he turned. He was too close. I could see the scar on his jaw. The one I traced with my finger while drunk and stupid. “You,” he said. It wasn’t a question. My heart stopped. “Professor, I don’t—” “You were at Silk. Friday night. Red dress. Three weeks ago.” His voice went low. Dangerous. “VIP booth.” I couldn’t lie. Not with him looking at me like that. “Yes.” He stepped back like I slapped him. He ran a hand through his hair. “No. No, that’s not possible.” “Professor—” “Did you plan this?” He laughed, but it wasn’t funny. “Did you know who I was? Is this blackmail?” “What? No! I swear I didn’t know you were—” “Stop.” He held up a hand. “I don’t know what game you’re playing, Miss Adeyemi, but I don’t cheat. I don’t sleep with students. I was drugged that night. Someone spiked my drink.” I stood up so fast the chair fell over. “I was drunk too! I didn’t drug you! I thought you were just some guy!” “Some guy,” he repeated. He looked disgusted. With me or himself, I couldn’t tell. We stared at each other. The silence was worse than yelling. Then his eyes dropped to my stomach. It wasn’t showing. It couldn’t be. But I crossed my arms anyway. His face changed. “Are you…” I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t tell him here. I couldn’t lose everything right now. I grabbed my bag. “I have to go.” “Lila.” He said my name. Not Miss Adeyemi. Lila. Like he did that night when— I ran. I didn’t stop until I was outside the Business School, gasping next to the statue of the founder. My phone buzzed. Unknown number. I almost deleted it. Then I opened it. Unknown: We need to talk. About Friday night. And about why you were in my hotel room. My office. Tomorrow. 8 AM. Don’t be late. - A.C. I looked up at the Business School building. His office light was still on. Third floor. Another text came through. Unknown: And Lila? If you’re pregnant, I want a paternity test. If it’s mine, you’ll sign an NDA. The baby is mine. You are not. I dropped my phone. Across the courtyard, Professor Adrian Cole was standing at his office window. Looking right at me. He held up his phone. Then he mouthed one word: “Run.”