Lena hadn’t bothered with the assignment.
The deadline had come and gone, and instead of scribbling out an essay Draven would shred with red ink, she had spent the evening scrolling through her phone, smirking to herself. She knew exactly what skipping his assignment would earn her.
That was the point.
Now, standing in front of his office door, she adjusted her skirt—shorter than last time, pleated, dangerously high—and smoothed down the skin-tight black top that left nothing to the imagination. She didn’t knock. Just pushed the door open like she owned the place.
The air was different today.
Draven didn’t look up from his papers. His glasses sat low, his pen moved slowly across the page, and his entire posture screamed unbothered.
That was the first red flag.
“You’re late.” The sam
