3. Chapter Three - Hushed Tension
Culver leaned against the wall as though he belonged to it, untouched by the passing of time.
When he noticed me, he straightened, and whatever guarded expression he had been wearing softened into something quieter.
As though I was the only reason he had stayed.
The thought slipped past my guard before I could dress it up as simple politeness.
I hadn’t expected him to wait. Most people didn’t linger unless they wanted something. With him, I couldn’t tell if that made me feel safer or more exposed. The fact that he hadn’t left pulled at something in me, stirring a quiet sense of gratitude tangled with growing curiosity.
“You waited for me?” I asked, keeping my voice light, even if my heart clearly hadn’t gotten the message.
“I did,” he said, a faint smile touching his lips. “Where else would I go if not to stay here?”
Every sentence out of his mouth sounded unnecessarily romantic.
“I mean… I figured you’d be late for class or something,” I muttered, lowering my gaze to the schedule in my hands.
He stepped closer and extended his bare hand. “May I see?”
I handed it over without thinking. “Says I’ve got Ms. Halls first. You know where that’s at?”
He studied the page carefully. For a brief moment, something tightened in his jaw. It disappeared quickly, but not before it made my stomach dip. He said nothing about it, though. He only folded the paper neatly before handing it back and nodding toward the corridor.
“You share this hour with me,” he said quietly. “Follow me, little lamb.”
If he pulled out a cane and started herding sheep, I honestly wouldn’t have been shocked.
I couldn’t shake the sense that this was more than coincidence, though. I didn’t believe in fate, not really, but I couldn’t stop the thought from slipping in anyway. Not fate exactly, just the unsettling feeling that something had been moving toward me long before I knew to look for it.
There was something about him that felt threatening, but not the sort you ran from. The sort you leaned toward. More akin to a scent that lingered on skin or a song that refused to leave your head. I didn’t trust it, and I didn’t trust him, but I wasn’t ready to walk away either.
The seminar room came into view, just as imposing as the rest of the campus.
When Culver pushed the door open, it didn’t feel as though he was simply entering a classroom.
I followed behind him, my pulse picking up as a quiet tension settled in.
I suddenly understood why rich people developed superiority complexes.
If high school looked like this, I’d probably become insufferable too.
The room was far too large for the number of students inside.
It could have easily held sixty, but only five people were scattered across the seats.
A group of four leaned together, already talking and comfortable in a way that made it obvious they had known each other for a while.
Someone else sat alone toward the back, barely noticeable, as though they had chosen that space on purpose.
At the front, a young blonde woman looked up. “Mr. Scarbrough and—”
“Ah.” I stepped out from behind him, suddenly aware of how his broad frame made me seem smaller. “My name’s Ira.”
That was all it took for the whispers to start.
“Why did she walk in with him?”
“Wonder if they know each other?”
“Better keep our distance.”
Oh good. Love that for me.
First day, and apparently I’d accidentally attached myself to the campus cryptid.
I ignored them, even though their words lodged beneath my skin in tiny splinters.
As she turned back to her desk, my attention drifted toward Culver.
He still hadn’t moved and was speaking with her in a low, controlled voice.
I couldn’t make out the words, but I could feel the steady composure in his tone.
Even the whispers around us seemed to quiet under his presence.
He didn’t acknowledge them, didn’t need to.
Whatever authority he carried didn’t require effort. It simply existed.
I scanned the room again and chose the furthest seat I could find, partially shielded by a pillar near the window. The others returned to their conversation, clearly more comfortable pretending I didn’t exist.
For a moment, I watched Culver, struck by how easily I understood him despite his accent.
Everyone else spoke the same language, but theirs tangled in my ears, forcing me to sort through it just to keep up.
With him, every word came through clean and effortless.
It was strange, almost as though he didn’t belong here either.
Eventually, he finished speaking and turned toward me. His gaze locked onto mine without hesitation as he moved through the rows. He passed empty seats without a second glance, closing the distance between us. Then he took the seat beside me, as though there had never been another option.
Of course he did.
My ma’s bosses had to be seriously wealthy to put this kind of money into a place like this, and I?
I was the extra piece added in. The thought pulled a quiet laugh from my chest. I tipped my head back slightly and let my gaze drift to the cream-colored ceiling, grounding myself in something steady.
I tried not to look at Culver, but it was impossible not to feel him beside me. Not just close, but present in a way that made it hard to breathe normally.
“Why did you move?” he asked, his voice low but clear, cutting through the dull hum of the lecture hall. “I assume that you moved here recently.”
The faint scratch of pens on paper and the professor’s distant voice blurred together, but his didn’t. His voice settled into me, impossible to ignore.
I turned toward him, narrowing my eyes slightly. The question sounded simple, but it was too pointed. “Why’re you curious about that?”
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, I noticed the slow movement of his throat as he swallowed, the quiet shift of his jaw, and his gaze never leaving mine.
A faint, crooked smile touched his lips. “I possess a rather selective curiosity,” he said smoothly. “It simply so happens that you have captured it.”
I smirked, biting lightly at my lip as the faint taste of my gloss lingered. I guess I could give him a little.
“My ma got a job offer,” I said, shrugging one shoulder. “I just came along for the ride.”
I glanced down at my freshly painted nails, the glossy finish catching the soft overhead lights while I waited for him to respond.
I expected a smug response. Instead, when I looked back up, his expression had softened into something more thoughtful. His eyes traced over me in a way that left my skin warmer beneath the cool air of the room.
“You may have followed your mother here,” he said, each word measured, “but that does not suggest your life has been placed on hold.” His gaze held mine, unwavering. “If anything, I would argue it has only just begun.”
My breath caught slightly, though I wasn’t sure why.
“England offers opportunity,” he continued, quieter now. “It cultivates ambition and talent.” A brief pause. “You would not arrive here without purpose. I imagine you will prove to be… a striking addition to it.”
Heat rushed up my neck, blooming across my cheeks. One more sentence like that and I was going to end up developing feelings against my will. I cleared my throat and looked away while the faint scent of his cologne lingered nearby, thick and unmistakable, making it harder to think straight.
I scoffed lightly, forcing something casual into my tone. “You’re good at this.”
His brows drew together slightly, the smallest crease forming between them. “At what?”
I rolled my eyes, though a smile tugged at the corner of my mouth despite myself. “Getting people to talk.”
“I wouldn’t know,” he said evenly, though there was a quiet edge beneath it. “I do not make a habit of engaging with many… people.”
“Convenient,” I deadpanned, shifting subtly closer without realizing it, close enough to feel the faint coolness of his breath against me.
“Is it?” he murmured.
We were too close.
“Or does it leave you questioning whether I am being honest?”
My fingers tapped lightly against the edge of my seat, the subtle texture grounding me as my pulse picked up. “I think you like hearing yourself talk.”
“Not particularly.” His voice dipped lower, threading through the spaces of my thoughts. “But I do find that I enjoy hearing you respond.”
That small, knowing smirk returned, restrained but purposeful.
A shiver slipped down my spine, his voice settling somewhere far too deep.
I tightened my grip on my textbook, forcing myself to breathe and remember where I was.
A classroom. My first class in a new country.
I had no business reacting like this, no reason to let one sentence from him feel perilous enough to unravel me.
Before I realized it, students were already filing out, their movement and chatter pulling me back to the present.
I stood quickly, needing distance. Distance suddenly felt as necessary as breathing, which was probably not a great sign.
I needed time to think. Time to not feel the weight of his attention lingering over me.
I headed for the door without looking back. His cologne followed me, though. And his voice… God, his voice. Smooth and rough all at once, silk dragged over something coarse.
It made me wonder how long I could keep walking away before my mind caught up and pushed me into doing something reckless.
Something akin to pulling him into a dark corner and forgetting every good decision I had ever made.
Logically, I knew better. Still, a quiet, persistent thought lingered that one night with him would change everything, ruin me in the best possible way.
He felt like the type who wouldn’t just make you cum.
He’d make you forget who you’d been before.
I swallowed, warmth rising in my face as I stepped into the hallway.