My Professor's Obsession

The Campus Smile

Walking through the quad at Aethelgard felt like walking through a minefield while wearing a ballgown. My skin was still tight from the salt air of the Glass Cage, and my neck felt phantom-heavy, as if the iron collar was still there, branding me. I had to look perfect. I had to look like Seraphina St. Claire—the girl who was fine, the girl who wasn't currently being owned by the most terrifying man on campus.

I was sitting on the stone steps of the library when the shadow fell over me.

"You look like you've seen a ghost, Sera," Dominic said. He was leaning against a pillar, a group of his lacrosse friends hovering behind him like a pack of hyenas. "Or maybe just someone who knows they're about to be expelled."

I didn't look up from my sketchbook. "Leave me alone, Dominic."

"Why so tense?" He stepped closer, his voice dropping so the others couldn't hear. "Is it because you're realizing that nobody is coming to save you? Not your bankrupt father, and certainly not your loser brother."

"My brother is none of your business," I hissed.

Dominic laughed, a loud, sharp sound that drew eyes from across the lawn. "Oh, I think he is. See, I heard a rumor that Vane is in deep with some very scary people. People who don't like it when little girls play pretend."

"What do you want, Dom?"

"I want you to admit what you are," he said, loud enough for everyone to hear now. He reached out and grabbed my wrist, pulling me up. "Tell everyone how you begged me to stay. Tell them how you're just a charity case with a pretty face."

"Let go of me," I whispered, my heart hammering.

"Or what? You'll call your dad? Oh, wait, he's in a cell."

The crowd was leaning in, phones coming out. This was what the Calloways did—they didn't just break you; they televised it.

"Is there a problem here, Mr. Calloway?"

The voice was like a bucket of ice water. The quad went dead silent. Professor Caspian Blackwood was standing ten feet away, his hands in his pockets, his posture relaxed but his eyes lethal.

Dominic didn't let go immediately. "Just a private conversation, Professor."

"It doesn't look private," Caspian said, stepping forward. He didn't raise his voice, but the authority in it made the other students back away instinctively. "It looks like a distraction from the senior symposium. And as I recall, your preliminary drafts were... lackluster. Perhaps you should spend more time in the studio and less time accosting my students in public."

Dominic’s grip tightened for a second before he let go, his face flushing. "She's failing your class, Professor. I was just giving her some motivation."

"Miss St. Claire's grades are my concern, not yours," Caspian said. He turned his gaze to me. It was cold. It was professional. It was the "Ice Professor" through and through. "Miss St. Claire, my office. Now. We need to discuss the... structural integrity of your latest submission."

I didn't wait. I grabbed my bag and hurried past him, feeling the heat of his presence as I went.

"The rest of you," I heard Caspian say behind me, his voice echoing off the stone walls, "find something productive to do before I decide to grade your next assignments on a curve of pure spite."

I waited for him in the hallway of the North Tower. When he finally arrived, he didn't even look at me. He just opened his office door and gestured for me to enter.

"Close the door," he said.

I did. I turned to face him, my chest heaving. "Thank you. For... back there."

"Don't thank me," he said, sitting behind his desk. He looked at me with an unreadable expression. "I didn't do it for you. I did it because your distress was becoming a spectacle. A masterpiece isn't meant to be handled by amateurs like Calloway."

"He was going to—"

"I know what he was going to do," Caspian interrupted. "He’s a bully with a legacy name. He’s easy to predict. But you... you are becoming unpredictable, Sera. You’re letting the mask slip."

"It’s hard to keep it on when you’re holding my brother’s life over my head!"

Caspian stood up and walked around the desk. He stopped inches from me, his shadow falling over my face. "Your brother is alive because of me. Dominic would have let him rot. Remember that next time you feel like being a martyr in the quad."

He reached out, his fingers grazing my neck where the collar usually sat. "In the studio, you belong to me. On this campus, you belong to the shadows. Do not let him touch you again. Not because I care about your honor, but because I don't like other people touching my things."

I looked up at him, and for a split second, the "Ice Professor" wasn't there. There was something else—something dark and possessive that made my breath hitch.

"He's suspicious," I whispered. "He knows I'm going somewhere at night."

"Let him wonder," Caspian said, his hand dropping. "Mystery is the only power you have left. Now, go to your next class. And Sera?"

"Yes?"

"Try to smile. A masterpiece shouldn't look so... haunted."

"How can I smile when I'm in a cage?"

"Because," he said, a ghost of a cruel smile touching his own lips, "the cage is the only place you're safe from people like him. Think of it as a privilege."

I walked out of his office, my head spinning. He was protecting me. He was shielding me from Dominic’s cruelty, but he was doing it with a collar in his hand. He was my savior and my captor all at once, and as I walked down the hall, I realized the scariest part of all.

I was starting to like the way the cage felt.

The walk from Caspian’s office to the courtyard felt like a dream. My head was spinning. He’d saved me from Dominic, but he’d done it like a man guarding a piece of art, not a girl. I touched my neck, still feeling the ghost of his fingers. I was starting to like the cage. That was the scariest thought I’d ever had.

I didn't have time to process it. As I reached the bottom of the stairs, a heavy, cream-colored envelope was slid under the door of my locker. No stamp. Just my name in a jagged, black script.

I opened it. It was an invitation to the Aethelgard Winter Gala. But across the bottom, in the same ink as the contract, someone had written: Assistant. 8:00 PM. Black Tie. Don't be late.

My heart did a slow, heavy roll in my chest. He wasn't just keeping me in the studio anymore. He was dragging me into the light.