Married To His Father Mate To His Son

Intense conversation

ARIELLE'S POV

My heart hammered against my chest as I stared at Kian's familiar face in the front row. Of all the classes, of all the students, why did it have to be him? I forced myself to look away, focusing on the other faces scattered throughout the lecture hall, but I could feel his intense gaze burning into me.

The classroom was packed with about forty students, a mix of sophomores and juniors who clearly hadn't expected much from their new philosophy lecturer. I could see the skeptical expressions, the way some of them were already pulling out their phones, assuming this would be an easy class with the fresh-faced professor.

"Good morning, everyone," I began, setting my bag down on the podium with more force than necessary. "As I mentioned, I'm Professor Warren, and I'll be taking over this Philosophy and Historical Ethics course for the remainder of the semester."

A girl in the back row whispered loudly enough for everyone to hear, "She looks like she's barely older than us."

Snickers rippled through the room. I straightened my shoulders, determined not to let them see how their casual dismissal stung. Being young in academia was always a challenge, but being a young woman made it ten times worse.

"Today, we'll be exploring the philosophical foundations of moral courage," I continued, my voice gaining strength. "But first, I want to get to know you all better. I'd like each of you to write a brief reflection on who has inspired you the most in your journey toward understanding philosophy and history. It doesn't have to be a famous philosopher, it could be anyone who has shaped your thinking about ethics, morality, or the human condition."

The students bent their heads, some eagerly scribbling away while others stared at their blank papers with obvious boredom. All except Kian, who continued to watch me with that same look he'd given me in my bedroom.

I tried to focus on organizing my lecture notes, but my hands trembled slightly every time I caught sight of him. How was I supposed to teach a class on ethics when I was living the most unethical situation imaginable?

"Alright," I said after giving them fifteen minutes. "Who would like to share first?"

A few hands went up tentatively. I called on a quiet girl in the middle row who spoke about how her grandfather's stories of surviving war had taught her about moral resilience.

"Very thoughtful responses," I said, genuinely impressed despite my nervousness. "Anyone else?"

More hands went up. The student answered and each response was thoughtful, personal, and exactly what I had hoped for.

I was starting to relax, thinking maybe I could get through this class without incident, when Kian's hand shot up.

My stomach dropped. "Yes?"

He rose slowly from his seat, that trademark smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. The entire class turned to look at him he was hard to ignore, with his commanding presence and the easy confidence that came from being the Alpha's son.

"The person who has inspired me the most," he said, his voice carrying clearly across the now-silent room, "is sitting right here in front of us."

The room went dead quiet for exactly three seconds. Then chaos erupted.

"Oh my God, did he just say that?" someone gasped.

"Is he seriously hitting on the new teacher?" another voice chimed in.

"Dude, she's been here for like twenty minutes!"

The laughter started as scattered chuckles but quickly grew into full-blown hilarity. Students were nudging each other, pointing at Kian, and making exaggerated kissing sounds. Someone in the back called out, "Smooth move, Romeo!"

My face felt like it was on fire. I gripped the edge of the podium so tightly my knuckles went white. "That's... thank you. That's very kind, but—"

But the damage was done. For the rest of the class, I could feel the students watching me differently.

I stumbled through the rest of my lecture on Aristotelian ethics, my usual confidence completely shattered. Every time I looked in Kian's direction, he was still watching me with that same intense expression, as if we were the only two people in the room.

When I finally dismissed the class, the students filed out in groups, their conversations animated.

When the last student left, I sank into the chair behind the desk, my head in my hands. This was a disaster. My first real class, and I'd already become the subject of campus gossip.

"We need to talk," Kian's voice came from behind me.

I didn't look up. "No, we absolutely do not need to talk. What we need is for you to transfer to another philosophy class.”

"Arielle."

The way he said my name, soft, intimate, like a caress made me look up despite myself.

"Don't call me that here. It's Professor Warren."

He was standing close to the podium now, closer than any student should be to their professor. "You can't avoid me forever."

"I'm not avoiding you. I'm trying to maintain professional boundaries." I stood up, but that was a mistake because it brought me even closer to him. "Do you have any idea what you just did to me?"

"I told the truth."

"You made me look like an i***t!" My voice was rising, and I forced myself to lower it. "They were already skeptical because I'm young, and now they think... they think..."

"They think what?"

"They think I'm some naive new professor who's going to fall for the first charming student who pays me a compliment!" I moved around the desk, trying to put some distance between us. "This is exactly what I was afraid of. You can't just say things like that in front of a whole class."

He followed me, his expression serious now. "I wasn't trying to embarrass you."

"Well, you did. They were laughing at me, Kian. And now they're going to watch every interaction we have, looking for signs of... of whatever they think this is."

"And what is this, Arielle?"

The question sounds like a slap. I wanted to say it was nothing, that it was a mistake, that it could never happen again. But the words wouldn't come.

"It's impossible," I whispered finally. "That's what it is."

He moved closer, and despite every instinct telling me to step away, I found myself frozen in place. "What if it doesn't have to be?"

"Are you insane?" I looked toward the door, suddenly paranoid that someone might walk in. "You're my stepson. You're my student. Do you know how many rules that breaks? How many careers that could end?"

"My father's career survived marrying someone young enough to be his daughter."

The comparison stung. "That's different, and you know it."

"Is it?" He was close enough now that I could smell his cologne, the same scent that had been driving me crazy since that night. "You married him for protection, for status. Not for love."

"How do you know that?"

"Because you're here with me instead of home with him."

Before I could argue, he reached out and touched my waist, his fingers warm through the fabric of my dress. "You do look beautiful in this, by the way."

"Kian, stop." But even as I said it, my traitorous body leaned slightly into his touch. "Please, you have to understand. This isn't just about your father finding out anymore. This could destroy my career, my reputation. I could lose everything I've worked for."

"And what about what you could gain?" His other hand came up to cup my cheek. "What about the mate bond? What about happiness? What about finally living for yourself instead of everyone else?"

My breath caught. The mate bond was pulling at me, stronger than ever in his presence. Every rational thought in my head was screaming at me to push him away, but my heart was telling me something entirely different.

"I can't," I whispered, but I didn't move away from his touch.

"You keep saying that, but you're still here."

He was right, and we both knew it. I was still here, still letting him touch me, still feeling that electric connection that made every nerve ending come alive.

"Kian, I…”

Footsteps echoed in the hallway outside.