The Professor's Secret: One Mistake

Whose Baby Is It?

I didn’t go to Professor Cole’s office after class.

I ran.

Out of Business 301. Past the stares. Past Kunle’s smirk. I locked myself in the library bathroom and opened the photo again.

11:43 PM. Silk Nightclub. Back exit.

Kunle had his arm around my waist. My head was on his shoulder. Eyes closed. Red dress riding up my thighs. The timestamp was real.

August 15th. The night I slept with Professor Cole. Or thought I did.

My phone buzzed.

Unknown: Scared, Lila? You should be. You stole from me first. Now I’m taking everything back. - K

Me: What are you talking about?

Kunle: You broke up with me at Silk. Said I cheated. Then you disappeared with some old guy. I followed you. Found you passed out in the alley. Took you home. To MY place.

No.

Me: You’re lying.

Kunle: Am I? Ask your professor why the hotel had no record of you. Ask him why his “one night stand” doesn’t remember your face. Because he never touched you. I did. And now you’re pregnant with My kid.

I dropped my phone. It hit the tile and cracked.

I couldn’t breathe.

The bathroom door slammed open.

Professor Cole stood there. Students behind him peered in, then scattered when they saw his face.

He didn’t speak. He just held out his hand.

“Phone.”

I gave it to him. My hands were numb.

He scrolled. Saw the photo. Saw Kunle’s messages. His jaw went so tight I thought it would snap.

“Explain,” he said.

“I don’t— I don’t know. I woke up in a hotel. Alone. With a note. I thought—”

“You thought what? That I put you in a cab? That I write notes?” His voice was ice. “I don’t do hotels, Miss Adeyemi. I have a penthouse. I don’t leave women alone. Ever.”

He threw my phone back. It hit my chest.

“So you were with him?”

“No! I was drunk. I don’t remember—”

“You don’t remember. But you were quick to take my name when you saw two pink lines.”

That hit. Low.

“I didn’t know!” I yelled. “I woke up naked and sick and you were the only man I talked to that night! What was I supposed to think?”

He stepped closer. The bathroom was too small. Too hot. “You were supposed to be sure before you walked into my class. Before you signed my contract. Before you made me marry you.”

Marry me. Not my wife. Not Lila. You.

“You think I wanted this?” I was crying now. Hated it. “I thought you were my mistake. Now you’re telling me my ex r***d me and I don’t even remember?”

He flinched. Just for a second.

“Don’t use that word,” he said.

“What word? r**e? Because that’s what it is if I was unconscious, Professor!”

He grabbed my shoulders. Not hard. Just firm. “Stop. Talking.”

We stood there. Me shaking. Him breathing like he was trying not to break something.

Then he let go.

“New rule,” he said. “You don’t leave my sight until paternity is confirmed. Twelve weeks. You sleep in my penthouse. You eat what my chef makes. You go to school and back. No one else. Especially not him.”

“You don’t get to lock me up—”

“I just did.” He pulled out his phone. Dialed. “Security? Track Kunle Ojo. If he comes within 500 meters of Miss Adeyemi, detain him. Yes. Now.”

He hung up.

“You’re insane,” I whispered.

“I’m protecting my investment.” He looked at the cracked phone in my hand. “Yours and the baby’s. Even if it isn’t mine.”

Even if it isn’t mine.

He opened the bathroom door. “My office. Now. We’re doing the blood test again. DNA this time. I don’t wait twelve weeks.”

The walk to his office was the longest of my life. Students stared. Lecturers whispered. Kunle was standing by the stairs, phone out, recording.

Professor Cole saw him.

He didn’t stop walking. Didn’t speak. He just took off his glasses, handed them to me, and kept going.

Kunle lowered his phone.

Inside the office, a doctor was already waiting. Not the clinic woman. A man in a suit. With a briefcase.

“Mr. Cole,” the man said. “We can do a non-invasive prenatal paternity test. Finger prick from you. Blood draw from her. 99.9% accuracy. Results in 48 hours.”

48 hours.

Professor Cole rolled up his sleeve without a word. The doctor pricked his finger. One drop of blood on a card.

Then he turned to me.

I sat down. Held out my arm. The needle was cold.

“Look away if you’re scared of needles,” the doctor said.

I wasn’t scared of needles. I was scared of the answer.

Professor Cole wasn’t looking at me. He was looking at the blood vial. Like it held his whole life.

“Done,” the doctor said. “I’ll call when it’s ready.”

He packed up and left.

Stillness.

Professor Cole put his glasses back on. Picked up his briefcase. “Go home. Car is waiting downstairs. My driver will take you.”

“I’m not a package—”

“You’re a liability right now, Lila.” He used my name. Finally. “Go home. Don’t talk to anyone. Don’t answer calls. Don’t open the door.”

He walked out. Didn’t look back.

I sat in his office for an hour. Until the cleaner came in and asked if I was okay.

I wasn’t.

The penthouse was empty when I got there. But it wasn’t safe.

Because on the kitchen counter was a white envelope.

No name. Just: For the Gold-Digger

Inside: printouts.

Security footage from Silk.

11:00 PM: Me crying at the bar. Kunle yelling. Me throwing a drink in his face.

11:15 PM: Me walking to VIP alone. Professor Cole standing there, watching me.

11:20 PM: Him buying me water. Not alcohol. Talking.

11:43 PM: Me walking OUT the back exit. With Kunle. Not Professor Cole.

Professor Cole was still in VIP at 11:43 PM. On camera. Talking to the manager.

He never left with me.

I wasn’t in his hotel room.

I was never his one night stand.

My phone buzzed. Unknown number.

Unknown: Check your email. I sent you the note you “woke up with”. Funny thing about handwriting. Yours and mine look alike when you’re drunk. - K

I opened my email.

There it was. A photo of the note from the hotel pillow. Don’t look for me.

Then a second photo. My essay from last semester. The G in Gold was the same. The loop in the Y.

I wrote the note to myself.

My knees hit the floor.

The penthouse door opened.

Professor Cole walked in. Saw me on the floor. Saw the printouts.

He didn’t speak. He just picked up one photo. The one of me leaving with Kunle.

His hand started to shake.

Then his phone rang.

He answered. Listened for three seconds.

His face went white.

He looked at me.

“They got the results early,” he said.

His voice was dead.

“The baby is his.”