Calder’s shirt still clings to him with sweat from the morning’s rush, the collar askew, his tie loosened just enough to reveal a pale mark at his throat where he’d pressed a thumb into his own skin to stay awake. His eyes flick up from a sheaf of student files as Havyn strides in, gym bag slung over one muscular shoulder, the white of her tank top glowing against her tan arms. She moves with coiled precision, every step measured, as if the tiled hallway itself is a track she’s conquered a thousand times. Her eyes, cold and unreadable, soften just for a moment when their gazes meet—then shutter tight, giving nothing.

Without preamble, she tosses a note onto his desk—a crumpled rumor ripped from a bathroom stall wall. “They’re saying you and I—” she stops, lips pressed into a thin, uncertain line, “that there’s something.” A muscle jumps in her jaw. Calder feels the accusation settle between them, prickly and electric, impossible to ignore.

His fingers fumble with the note. “We don’t have to—” Calder begins, but Havyn cuts in, voice low and urgent. “We have to. If we don’t, the rumors shift to Siera. Or worse.” Her eyes flick toward the door, as if afraid the walls themselves have ears. “We fake it. For them.”

He can’t help but notice a bruise blooming along her forearm, half-hidden by the strap of her bag. His hand hovers, almost touching, but he pulls back, nerves ablaze. She notices. The edge in her smile falters. “You’re terrible at pretending, you know,” she murmurs, a tease, yes, but tinged with something sharp and longing.

He tries to rally, straightening his tie—futile, he’s already unraveling. “Let’s practice, then,” he says, voice barely more than a rasp.

Vesya materializes in the doorway—messy curls escaping her bun, hands juggling scripts and a battered laptop. “If you’re going to pull this off, you need a story.” She keeps her tone airy, but her eyes dart, quick as a heartbeat, between their faces, cataloguing every flicker of tension, every stray glance. “Smiles, shared coffee, matching bruises—convincing, but not too perfect,” she stage-whispers. Then, softer: “Be careful. People are looking for any reason.”

After Vesya vanishes down the corridor, Calder’s office shrinks down to three feet between him and Havyn. Her posture is rigid, like she’s expecting to be struck, but then she rolls her broad shoulders back, closes the space, and says, “Okay. Show me.”

He swears he won’t touch her, but his hand betrays him, finding her waist, fingers pressing into soft fabric and hard muscle alike. Her inhale is sharp, surprised. “That’s… not bad,” she manages, but her laugh breaks, off-kilter. Calder’s mouth, dry and desperate, brushes a question against her temple: “Convincing enough?”

She locks him with a gaze so raw it roughens the air. Their bodies meet—deliberately, at first, then with the awkward, hungry honesty of people who shouldn’t be doing this at all. Her hands snake up his back, sliding under the hem of his shirt, nails scraping lightly, searching for something she refuses to name. He leans into her—no performance now, just heat and the ache of their boundaries slipping.

When she kisses him, it’s a scorch mark—unexpected, fierce, relief and remorse in every press of her lips. He answers her with staccato gasps, burying one hand in her dark hair, the other trembling at her spine. They stagger against his desk, locked in a frantic dance of hands and mouths, barely able to remember who they’re supposed to be faking for.

She pulls back just enough to breathe, voice shivering: “If we get caught—” but Calder is already there, tracing her jaw, promising things he can’t say aloud.

A knock shatters them, splitting the moment wide open. Kaelun’s gravelly laugh echoes through the door. “Better wrap it up, lovebirds. Faculty meeting’s in five.”

As Havyn smooths her hair, cheeks flushed, Calder realizes his shirt is half untucked, lips tingling, heart hammering. In the silence that follows, he wonders if pretending has ever felt this real—or this dangerous.

But outside, in the empty corridor, a pair of sharp eyes watches—Siera, a notebook pressed tight to their chest, mouth curved in a sly, knowing smile.

To be continued...