PLEASURED BY MY ENEMY'S FATHER

Chapter 12 Saved

I was only a few steps away from the dormitory gates when I finally allowed myself to slow down. The tension in my body hadn’t fully left yet… my shoulders still tight, my fingers still curled around the strap of my bag like I might need to run again at any second.

Then a voice came from behind, making almost jumped on my spot.

“Are you alright?”

It wasn’t loud, but it carried enough authority to make me stop instantly. I turned. And for a moment… I forgot how to respond.

Wilthon Rachford stood a few paces away, one hand casually tucked into the pocket of his dark denim jeans, the other resting loosely at his side.

Up close, he was… overwhelming in a way that was difficult to articulate. Not just because of how he looked, but because of how he held himself.

He wore a fitted gray shirt, sleeves slightly rolled just below his elbows, revealing strong forearms marked with faint veins and a natural tension that suggested discipline rather than display.

The fabric stretched subtly across his shoulders and chest, outlining a build that wasn’t just for appearance… it was earned, maintained. Solid. Imposing without trying.

His posture was relaxed, but there was nothing careless about it. Everything about him felt deliberate.

His gaze was fixed on me… sharp and assessing, but not unkind.

“Are you hurt?” he asked again, this time more directly.

I opened my mouth, and nothing came out. Because this was… this was Wallace’s father.

The same man who had walked into that conference room and shifted the entire atmosphere without raising his voice. The same man who had reduced his son to silence with a single look.

And now… he was here. Talking to me.

Up close, his presence felt even heavier. Not suffocating, just… undeniable. Like standing too close to something you instinctively knew could overpower you without effort.

“Nyra, isn’t it?”

I blinked.

He knew my name.

“I–” I stopped, forcing myself to breathe properly. “Yes.”

His eyes moved over me briefly, not in a way that felt invasive, but observant. Taking in details.

“You’re trembling,” he noted.

Only then did I realize that I still was.

“I’m fine,” I said quickly, even if it wasn’t entirely true.

A faint curve touched his lips, not quite a smile, but close enough to suggest he didn’t fully believe me.

“Doesn’t look like it.”

There was a pause. And then, something shifted in his expression. Subtle. Almost amused.

I frowned slightly, confused.

“What?” I asked, more defensive than I intended.

His gaze lingered on my face for a second longer before he exhaled quietly.

“Nothing,” he said. “Just… unexpected.”

“Unexpected?” I repeated.

“You don’t seem like someone who freezes easily,” he replied.

I didn’t know how to respond to that. Because he wasn’t entirely wrong.

I forced myself to straighten slightly, pushing past whatever strange effect his presence was having on me.

“Why are you talking to me?” I asked, finally regaining some composure. “You don’t even know me.”

One of his brows lifted slightly.

“That’s your first question?”

“Yes.”

A brief silence followed. I secretly swallowed, trying to control my breathing.

“Interesting,” he murmured, almost to himself.

My patience thinned. “I asked you something.”

“And I heard you,” he said calmly. “But I’m more curious why that’s what you chose to ask.”

I frowned deeper. “What does that mean?”

He studied me for a second, really studied me this time. Not just looking but observing in a way that made me feel like he was piecing something together.

Then he spoke again.

“Is that how you thank someone who just stepped in before things escalate?”

The words hit me like a sudden drop. I stared at him.

“What?”

His gaze didn’t waver.

“The car,” he said simply.

My mind raced back… headlights cutting through the dark, the timing, the way the group had been distracted just long enough for me to get away.

That wasn’t coincidence.

“You…” I stopped, trying to process it. “That was you?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Which, somehow, was the answer.

I felt something shift in my chest… surprise first, then something heavier. Realization.

“You followed me?” I asked, my tone sharper now.

“No,” he said, just as evenly. “I was already on that road.”

I held his gaze, trying to determine if that was true.

“And you just decided to help?” I pressed.

Another pause.

Then, “Would you have preferred I didn’t?”

That… wasn’t a fair question.

I exhaled, tension slipping slightly from my shoulders.

“No,” I admitted quietly. “I just… didn’t expect it.”

“Clearly.”

There it was again, that faint trace of amusement in his voice.

I narrowed my eyes slightly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He tilted his head just a fraction, studying me again.

“You’re very expressive,” he said.

“I am not.”

“You are,” he replied calmly. “You just don’t realize it.”

I opened my mouth to argue… then stopped. Because arguing with him suddenly felt… pointless.

I exhaled again, this time more controlled.

“Thank you,” I said finally.

The words felt heavier than they should have. But they were genuine.

For a moment, he didn’t respond. Then he gave a small nod… acknowledging it, not dismissing it.

“Try not to walk alone that late again,” he said. “At least not through that road.”

“I didn’t think it would be that bad,” I admitted.

“That’s the problem,” he replied.

Silence settled between us, not uncomfortable, but… charged in a way I couldn’t quite define.

I became suddenly aware of how close he was standing. Not invading my space, but close enough that his presence felt… constant. Grounding. Intimidating. Confusing.

“I should go,” I said, breaking the moment.

He didn’t stop me. But as I turned, his voice came again… quieter this time.

“Nyra.”

I glanced back. His gaze held mine for a brief second, something unreadable passing through it.

“Be careful.”

Simple words. But the way he said them, it didn’t feel casual.

I nodded once. Then I walked toward the dormitory gates, my mind far from steady. Because tonight, it wasn’t just the danger that lingered in my thoughts.

It was him.

By the time I reached my dorm room, the world outside had quieted… but my mind hadn’t.

I closed the door behind me, leaning against it for a brief second as if that alone could separate everything that had just happened from the safety of this small, familiar space. The encounter. The tension. The relief. And then… him.

Wilthon Rachford.

I pushed myself off the door, dropping my bag onto the small table before moving mechanically through my routine… washing my hands, arranging my things, checking what I had bought. Normal actions. Grounding ones.

But they didn’t work.

Because no matter what I did, my thoughts kept circling back.

The way he looked at me… steady, composed, as if nothing could unsettle him. The quiet authority in his voice, the kind that didn’t need to be raised to be obeyed.

And that presence… it wasn’t just confidence. It was something heavier. Something that made me aware of him even when he wasn’t speaking.

I exhaled sharply, pressing my fingers to my temples.

“This is ridiculous,” I muttered under my breath.

I had just been cornered by a group of drunk men not even an hour ago. That should’ve been the only thing occupying my thoughts.

And yet, it wasn’t.

Instead, it was the image of him standing under the dim streetlight, sleeves rolled, expression calm but alert.

The subtle tension in his arms, the way his shirt fit just enough to reveal strength without trying to display it. Even the faint curve of his lips when he seemed… amused.

I squeezed my eyes shut. Hard.

“Stop,” I whispered to myself.

This wasn’t important. It shouldn’t be. He was Wallace’s father. That alone should’ve been enough to shut this down completely.

And yet my chest tightened slightly at the memory of his voice saying my name.

I opened my eyes quickly, annoyed now.

“No,” I said more firmly, as if correcting my own thoughts. “This is nothing.”

Just adrenaline. That’s all this was. A reaction to stress. To fear. To being suddenly pulled out of a dangerous situation.

Anyone would feel… something.

I turned to my desk, forcing myself to sit down and open my notebook. Assignments. Deadlines. The gala orientation tomorrow. Things that actually mattered.

I picked up my pen and started reading through my notes. For a few seconds, it worked.

But later…

“You’re trembling.”

My grip tightened. I shut my eyes again, inhaling deeply before exhaling through my nose.

Focus.

I forced myself to continue, rewriting a section of my notes, organizing key points, outlining what I needed to study next.

But the words blurred. Not because I didn’t understand them, but because my mind kept drifting back to him.

To the way he had looked at me, not with pity, not with condescension, but with something sharper. Something observant. As if he had already figured out parts of me that I hadn’t even said out loud.

I dropped my pen onto the table, frustration rising.

“This is so annoying,” I muttered.

I stood up abruptly, pacing once across the small room before stopping near the window.

The night outside had settled completely now, the campus quieter, calmer, nothing like the chaos that had nearly unfolded earlier.

And yet, my heartbeat hadn’t fully steadied.

Not entirely. I pressed my forehead lightly against the cool glass.

Why?

Why did he have this… effect?

It wasn’t just attraction. If it were that simple, I would’ve brushed it off already. This felt different. Unfamiliar and uncomfortable. Like something I didn’t have control over.

And that was what bothered me the most.

I straightened, exhaling slowly before returning to my desk.

“Enough,” I said under my breath.

I sat down again, this time forcing myself to focus harder… reading each line more deliberately, writing slower, anchoring myself to every word.

Minutes passed. Then an hour. Eventually, the thoughts became quieter… not gone, but distant enough for me to function.

By the time I finished, my eyes felt heavy. I glanced at the clock. Too late.

I sighed softly, closing my notebook and preparing for bed. The exhaustion was there now, creeping in, but it wasn’t clean. It was layered with everything I had been trying to suppress.

As I lay down, staring at the ceiling, I told myself the same thing over and over.

This doesn’t matter. He doesn’t matter. And yet, just before sleep finally took over, it was his face that lingered in my mind. Clear. Uninvited. Unavoidable.