PROFESSOR BLACK’S POV
She entered my office like a storm disguised as a girl.
Her chest rose and fell too fast, her eyes wide, lips parted as though she’d run here.
I leaned back in my chair, keeping my expression cold, though inside, the sight of her stole the air from my lungs. My gaze locked on her waist. His hands had been there. That damn janitor hands. Touching what belonged to me.
The image seared through my mind like fire.
“You let his hands on your waist,” I growled.
Her whole body stiffened in the doorway. She didn’t speak, didn’t move. Just froze as if the weight of my words had pinned her there.
“Come here,” I said, my voice low, commanding.
For a moment she hesitated, clutching the strap of her bag. But she obeyed, her steps soft and uneven across the wooden floor unti
