Chapter 29
Chapter
Twenty-Nine
ROSE
The office looked like a hurricane had hit it. The rug was strewn in my effort to get away from Professor Maxwell. There was a broken incubator on the floor. At some point during our battle, one of us had kicked the coffee table, and the papers on the table were now scattered on the floor.
Everything was in disarray.
The scene paled in comparison to the tornado raging inside me. I was battered and broken.
Peeling myself off the ground, I rested my back against his desk and wrapped my arms around my chest. I glanced at Professor Maxwell on the rug.
His hand was over his eyes as if needing a minute to recover.
It was the first time I had seen him vulnerable.
It was also the perfect time to escape, but I couldn’t leave.
My knee-length skirt was in tatters and hiked to my waist. The buttons of my white shirt were torn, with my bra on full display.
I couldn’t go out in front of his staff like this.
What kind of sick joke had the universe played on me?
After years of pining for a man, I mistook his twin for him and slept with him instead.
I had never confused them before; their physical attributes and demeanor were unmistakably different.
Perhaps I was intoxicated, but even so—why was he smoking like Damon?
During one of our lunches, he mentioned that he gave up the habit years ago.
Professor Maxwell dropped his hand and rose to his feet. Immediately, he looked around until he found me leaning against his desk. He straightened his clothes, and I gulped. He looked threatening, like the demon of lust with his body of steel.
I looked away when he tucked his semi-hard dick back into his black slacks. How could he still be hard?
Oh God. I shouldn’t know what his dick looked like, let alone what it felt like inside me.
He marched toward me and dropped to one knee. I tensed when he placed a hand on my trembling cheek, lifting my face to his. His eyes swept over my features. “Was I too rough?”
I had no idea what to say. I wanted to scream at him, but it felt like my voice was permanently gone.
Instead, I slapped his hand away.
He frowned. “You’re mad,” he surmised.
My weary eyes scanned his expressionless face. How could he be so utterly detached from basic human emotions? Of course I was pissed. Did he not notice it when I fought him?
“On the boat, you told me never to hold back with you.”
My heart careened.
Oh fuck, I said that to him, didn’t I?
I started all this because I thought he was someone else.
I hit on Professor Maxwell, not the other way around.
I kissed him. I crawled into his bed willingly.
I told him not to hold back because I didn’t want to be the infamously timid girl, especially when in his arms. I wanted him to treat me like his woman, not delicate glass.
“I thought that was how you wanted it,” he added.
It was a weak excuse for why he had attacked me in his lab with people on the other side of this door. But at least there was some logic behind it—I had practically asked him to do this.
What didn’t make sense was everything else. I made a move on him, but why did Professor Maxwell reciprocate?
Other women regularly sought out the impossible-to-please professor—I had seen it with my own eyes.
He dismissed them without a second thought.
And he hated it when female students were bold with him.
Breaking his personal and professional code of conduct was entirely out of character for him.
If anyone found out what had happened between us, it would jeopardize his career.
He could lose everything because of me, and I didn’t want that at all. So, why did he do it?
Professor Maxwell never made emotional decisions. He was cold, calculating, and always in control.
“I couldn’t hold back,” he said at my extended silence. “I’d been going crazy all weekend.”
He reached for me again, and I recoiled. I didn’t want to be consoled by the man who had forced himself on me, though he seemed unaware of the magnitude of his actions.
“If that’s not what you had in mind, it can be different next time,” he promised, brushing his thumb over my lower lip.
Oh God, there couldn’t be a next time. I just wanted to forget any of this ever happened.
“You’re safe with me,” he said when I still hadn’t spoken.
I swallowed my tears as my body started to shake.
“You trust me, don’t you, Rose?”
I so badly wanted to say yes. There had been many times Professor Maxwell had gone to great lengths to protect my bubble—except this time. He had shattered it in the worst way imaginable.
Deep down, I knew this wasn’t his fault. A string of misunderstandings had spiraled out of control, and I had no idea how to fix things.
At some point, he pulled me to his chest. The irony of him comforting me with a warm embrace wasn’t lost on me.
The worst thing? It was working. We had developed a friendship over the semester, and the bond provided me with a natural security.
With his massive body cocooning me, the monstrous nature of what he had done didn’t cross my mind.
I felt safe in his arms even though he was the biggest threat to me.
Burying my face against his chest, I wept, overwhelmed. No matter how many times he asked, I couldn’t bring myself to tell him what was truly wrong.
Finally, he offered to take me home.
When I seemed alarmed by the idea, he gestured at the back entrance of his office. “That door opens to the parking lot behind campus.”
I hadn’t noticed that exit before. It made sense to use it, given that I was in no condition to walk out through the front door. He also deduced I was in no condition to see other human beings.
“I’ll grab the car keys from Raoul and bring my car around. I’ll drive you home.”
He paused for a moment, his body angled toward the door. He returned to me and brushed his lips against my forehead. My heart stopped.
What was that ?
“Be right back,” he said softly.
The moment he stepped out of the office through the front entrance, I sprang to my feet and bolted through the back door. There might have been a few tears as I ran back to my dorm, clutching my ripped blouse and praying no one recognized me.
M y hands were stiff as I opened the door and stepped into my dormitory apartment. I flicked on the lights and saw that Amelie wasn’t home yet.
We shared a modest apartment that we had made into our own.
The narrow hallway opened into a cozy living room, where a kitchenette lined one wall with a mini fridge and a two-burner stove tucked beside the sink.
A small table served as both our dining area and a study spot.
Two bedrooms flanked the living room, with a tiny bathroom and shower stall squeezed in between.
It wasn’t anything special, but we were grateful for it. Having your room was a privilege for on-campus living, and Amelie was the perfect roommate—though I was relieved she wasn’t here right now.
I needed a minute to recover. Professor Maxwell was probably pissed that I ran out on him again. It dawned on me that he probably texted or called me, but his message wouldn’t come through as I had blocked all the unregistered numbers from this weekend.
I removed my sandals and stripped my torn clothes before stepping into the shower. I had the urge to scrub my skin until I bled.
I didn’t know how long I stayed under the stream, but the water had turned cold by the time I cleaned every inch of skin he had touched.
No matter how much I washed, I couldn’t erase the lingering trace of his amber scent clinging to me.
It stirred unwelcome images—his rough hands, his breath hot against my neck, the way he dominated every moment and refused to let me get away.
My skin flushed at the memory of his touch—demanding, possessive, laced with a tinge of obsession.
When did he even develop a sexual attraction for me?
Could this be a part of some deranged obsession with my scars? His fascination had been unsettlingly evident from the moment he had laid eyes on them, leading to the change in my diet and everyday life.
Or maybe he liked the thrill of being with someone inexperienced? I recalled his intrigue when I mentioned my intact hymen on the boat. There was a shift in his eyes, an almost primal draw to what he perceived as untouched and unmarred.
He was a scientist to the core and saw these physical attributes as keys to a deeper mystery within me, one he was determined to unravel regardless of my comfort or consent.
His peculiar interest in my scars and my virginity formed a disturbing pattern.
It painted a picture of a man whose desires were fueled by a chilling blend of possessiveness and fascination with things he couldn’t dissect.
I wrapped myself in a white fluffy robe and stared at the mirror. My fingers hovered over the damage he had inflicted—the marks on my neck where he choked me, my bruised arms from when he gripped me, the rug burns on my knees.
I thought I would be entirely numb, but the apathy my body language usually projected was absent. My raw eyes were strangely animated, my skin was flushed, and my cheeks sported a lively red color.
I never let anyone get close to me. I lived inside a fortress of my creation, but someone had breached the walls. Why hadn’t I retreated into myself like usual? It was my go-to defense mechanism. Instead, I looked alive.
I shook my head.
There was something wrong with me. Calling my therapist was the next logical move, yet I hesitated, fearing she would report our conversation to the authorities. She was bound by law to report a crime.
But had a crime even occurred? On the boat, we were consenting adults and it wasn’t illegal to have sex. The line of consent was murky during our second encounter, stemming from a place of profound misunderstanding rather than malicious intent.
Perhaps things could still be rectified, and I shouldn’t risk going public.
Although my father cut me off, he would go to war with the Maxwells if he found out what had happened.
It would escalate their already deteriorating relationship and drag me into the epicenter of the year’s biggest scandal.
I couldn’t deal with the spotlight. Damon would think I seduced his brother after shamelessly pursuing him for years.
Worst of all, Professor Maxwell would lose his lab and his credibility.
No one would win if I reported this incident. The best thing I could do was erase it from my memory and pretend like the last few days never happened.
“Hey, hey! I got you your favorite—lavender latte.”
The voice caught me off guard, and I turned to face my roommate.
I had been studying my reflection in front of the mirror and hadn’t heard her enter.
She had two cups of coffee from our favorite university café—Bageltown.
It was our go-to spot for breakfast, lunch, and to generally hang out.
She placed one of the cups on the table. It was labeled Rose .
She watched me intently for a moment. “There’s something different about you. But good different. What is it?”
I stealthily glanced back at the mirror. I had erased most of the evidence of the assault, and my robe covered the rug burns. Could she tell something was off from my expression?
She lifted a finger in my general direction. “Haircut?”
“No.”
She stared at me suspiciously. “You’re practically glowing. I’ve heard of these vampire facials that use blood to make your skin brighter. Did you get one?”
“Since I saw you this morning? No, I didn’t get a haircut or a blood facial.”
Her eyes softened. “That reminds me, how did it go with Professor Maxwell? Why was he so upset?”
My back straightened at the mention of his name. Acting nonchalant after what happened was impossible. “I labeled ethanol incorrectly. Imagine his surprise when he almost mixed it with nitric acid.” I tried to laugh.
She frowned. “But you’re so careful. You obsessively double-check your work.”
I avoided her gaze. “Everyone makes mistakes, and this was a bad one. It could have caused an explosion. I’m lucky he let me off with a warning.”
Her brows drew further together. “That doesn’t sound like him.”
“Obviously, there’ll be some academic reprimanding, and he’ll lower my grade by one letter,” I quickly added to make it sound more believable.
I had gone a step too far.
“That’s ridiculous. He practically plucked you out of the group because you’re so meticulous. You fuck up once, and he’s going to dock your grade. We should take this to the university admins.”
“No.” I backed away from her, the panic from earlier resettling in my chest. “Please, Am. I just want to drop it. Can we do that?”
“But—”
“I’ll talk to him and try to make him see reason so he won’t dock my grade. I’m sure he’ll agree once he calms down.”
She seemed unconvinced but eventually relented. “If that’s what you think. But he’s a giant ass.”
“Agreed.”
She laughed. “I thought he was your favorite teacher and you would jump to his defense again.”
“Not today.”
With a sigh, I lifted my latte to my lips and took a sip.
She gave me another odd look. “What’s going on with you?”
“What do you mean?”
“You didn’t rotate the cup three times like you normally do before drinking your coffee.”
I stilled. Amelie knew something was wrong, and though I tried to distract her by asking about her weekend with her boyfriend, her sharp look told me she wasn’t convinced. I should have gone back to Poppy’s home and lived another day in denial.
Eventually, I retreated into my room. I waited until Amelie left for her next class before I broke down in uncontrollable tears.