She was still asleep.
Hair tangled on the pillow. One bare shoulder exposed in the sheets. Lips parted. Peaceful, like sin had never touched her.
I sat in the armchair by the window, fully dressed. Couldn't sleep. Could barely breathe.
My hands were steady now.
But my mind?
Chaos.
Because last night wasn't a mistake.
It wasn't drunken or accidental.
It was intentional.
I wanted her.
Every inch. Every sound she made. Every look that dared me to stop pretending.
But now?
Now, the guilt sat heavy—like another presence in the room.
Not because of the university. Not even because of the rules.
But because for the first time in years… I felt.
Not lust. Not possession.
Something quieter.
More dangerous.
I'd memorized her laugh.
The way she bit the inside of her cheek when she was hiding something.
How her voice changed when she was tired—softer, almost sweet.
I knew I was crossing lines before.
But this?
This was the edge of something I couldn't control.
I stood and walked to the mirror.
The man looking back at me didn't look like a professor. Or a professional.
He looked like someone ruined.
By red lips.
By a last name that could destroy me.
By the girl I should've never touched.
And now?
I knew I would do it again.
Even if it was the end of me.