Forbidden Lectures

FORBIDDEN LECTURES III

The university library at 2:00 AM was a cathedral of shadows. The towering shelves of leather-bound law books felt like silent judges, watching as I slipped through the restricted section of the third floor.

"Julian?" I whispered.

The only sound was the hum of the ventilation and the rain tapping against the high stained-glass windows. Then, a light flickered on at the very end of the row—the private desk of the Senior Faculty.

He was sitting there, his tuxedo jacket tossed carelessly over a chair, his white shirt unbuttoned halfway down. He looked like a fallen king. In his hand was the phone he’d taken from Markus.

"I deleted them," he said, his voice sandpaper-rough in the silence. "Every copy. Every digital ghost of that night."

I walked toward him, my heels clicking softly on the marble. "So it's over? We're safe?"

Julian stood up, the chair scraping loudly against the floor. He moved with a sudden, restless energy, stopping only when he was inches from me. "We are safe from Markus. But we are not safe from this."

He reached out, his hand tangling in my hair, pulling my head back just enough so I had to look at him. His eyes weren't the eyes of a professor. They were dark, hungry, and full of the same fire that had consumed us that first weekend.

"Every time I look at you in that lecture hall, I’m breaking a thousand oaths I swore to this university," he murmured, his breath ghosting over my lips. "I told myself I could control this. I told myself I could be your mentor during the day and... whatever this is at night."

"And?" I breathed, my hands finding the firm muscles of his chest.

"And I was wrong." He leaned down, his forehead resting against mine. "I don’t want to be your mentor, Maya. I don’t want to be the man who gives you a grade. I want to be the only man you see when you walk into a room. I want to be the reason you can’t concentrate on anything else."

He lifted me suddenly, sitting me on the edge of the heavy mahogany desk. Books scattered, falling to the floor with heavy thuds, but neither of us cared.

"Julian, someone might—"

"The night guards don't come up here until four," he whispered, his hands sliding up my thighs. "And right now, I don't care if the Dean himself walks through those doors. I’ve spent all night pretending I didn't want to tear that dress off you. Class is in session, Maya. And tonight... there are no rules.

The Monday morning lecture felt like walking into a trap.

The air in the room was stifling, filled with the scent of floor wax and the nervous energy of forty students. I sat in my usual seat, second row, dead center. My skin still felt sensitized, the ghost of Julian’s touch from the library still lingering on my shoulders.

When Julian walked in, he was the "Ice Professor" once again. His suit was a flawless charcoal gray, his tie knotted with surgical precision. He didn't look at me. Not once.

"Today's topic," he announced, his voice echoing like a gavel, "is the ethics of hidden evidence. What happens when a secret is discovered that changes the entire scope of a trial?"

He paced the front of the room, his eyes sharp and analytical. As he spoke, he walked up the aisle, stopping directly beside my desk. He didn't turn his head, but he rested his hand on the corner of my table as he addressed the class.

"Ms. Thorne," he said, his voice smooth and professional. "If you were holding a piece of evidence that could destroy a man's career, but save his heart... would you reveal it?"

The room went silent. I could feel every eye on me. Julian’s hand was inches from mine, and I noticed his thumb tracing a slow, rhythmic circle on the wood—a hidden signal meant only for me.

"I... I think it depends on the cost," I replied, my voice steadier than I felt.

"The cost is everything," Julian murmured, finally turning to look at me. To the class, it looked like a stern academic challenge. To me, it was a reminder of the penthouse, the rain, and the stakes we were playing for.

Suddenly, the door at the back of the hall swung open.

It was the Dean. He wasn't smiling. Beside him stood a woman in a sharp navy suit—an investigator from the University’s Ethics Committee.

"Professor Vance," the Dean called out, his voice booming through the silent hall. "A formal complaint has been filed regarding professional misconduct in this classroom. We need to see your office files. Immediately."

Julian didn't flinch. He slowly pulled his hand away from my desk and straightened his cuffs. He looked at me for one heartbeat—a look that said Stay quiet. Trust me.—before turning to face the Dean.

"Of course, Dean," Julian said coolly. "I have nothing to hide. Class dismissed."

As the students began to whisper and scramble for their bags, I caught sight of the person standing behind the Dean. It was Markus Reed. He had a bandage on his nose and a look of pure, vengeful triumph in his eyes. He hadn't deleted the photos. He had just waited for a bigger stage.

We received an anonymous tip, Julian," the Dean said, sliding a grainy photograph across the table. It was the shot from the library—half-shadowed, but the intimacy was undeniable. "A student and a professor? This is the end of your tenure."

Julian didn't even look at the photo. He looked at the Ethics Chair. "That photo was taken from a restricted area. It’s a violation of university privacy bylaws. But more importantly," he leaned forward, his eyes turning to ice, "it's a forgery."

The Dean blinked. "A forgery?"

"Check the metadata on the original file," Julian said, his voice a low, dangerous silk. "I’ve already had a digital forensic team look into the source. The person who sent this used AI to overlay my likeness onto a different scene. If you proceed with this based on a fake, I’ll have a defamation suit against this university by noon."

It was a bold-faced lie. A brilliant, legal bluff. Julian had spent the entire night before scrubbing the digital trail and planting a "fake" trail that pointed back to Markus.

The Dean hesitated. He knew Julian never lost.

"I’ll give you twenty-four hours to prove that, Vance," the Dean muttered, clearly shaken. "Until then, Ms. Thorne is suspended from campus."

I was waiting for him in the shadows of the parking garage. When I saw him walk toward his car, he didn't look like the victor. He looked exhausted.

"You lied for me," I whispered as I stepped out from behind a pillar. "You put your whole career on a lie."

Julian grabbed my waist, pulling me into the space between his car and the concrete wall. He kissed me with a desperate, frantic hunger—not like a professor, but like a man who was about to lose everything.

"I didn't lie for my career, Maya," he rasped against my lips. "I lied so I could keep you. The Dean thinks he’s investigating a scandal. He doesn't realize he's just given me twenty-four hours to finish what Markus started."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a set of keys. "Go to the address on this tag. It’s a cabin three hours north. No cameras, no students, no Dean."

"What about you?"

A dark, lethal smirk crossed his face. "I have one more lecture to give. And it's going to be the last one Markus Reed ever attends.