I step out of the lecture hall, the echoes of Cassian Ward’s voice still resonating in my mind. Every word, every measured glance, every slight inflection in his tone feels deliberately designed to provoke. My heels click against the tile as I walk toward the building exit, but I can feel his gaze like a tangible weight pressing against my spine. He doesn’t need to follow me to dominate me—he has already done so.

“Finally!” Cleo calls from the doorway, her grin sharp and knowing. “Report. Are you alive, or are you melting under that… gaze?”

I manage a breathless laugh, but it dies in my throat. My pulse is rapid, a shivering heat crawling up my chest. Cleo notices and moves closer, giving my shoulder a light, teasing squeeze.

“He’s going to try to eat you alive, just so you know,” she says, eyes sparkling with mischief.

I can only shake my head, trying to force composure. “He’s… precise,” I whisper, words failing me under the weight of memory and anticipation. “Controlled. And… I respond.”

Cleo cackles. “Oh, honey. That’s what Adrian would hate to hear. But I think you secretly love it, don’t you?”

I bite my lip, the tension between desire and reason snapping tight. Adrian. Even with the safe word in place—Anchor, my protection, my shield—the thought of him coils in my chest like fire. And now, Cassian Ward. My body recognizes the danger, the authority, and the thrill in a way I didn’t anticipate. I can feel my nipples tightening under the thin fabric of my blouse, pulse quickening with a mixture of fear, lust, and curiosity.

Cleo gives me one last squeeze before letting go. “You’ve got a problem, girl. And it’s delicious.”

I glance back at the lecture hall. Cassian is still standing near the doorway, observing with that unsettling calm. There’s no obvious hostility in his stance, no need for theatrics. Yet his presence is invasive, precise. Every subtle shift in his weight, every slight tilt of his head, is a probe, a test. My stomach twists, part desire, part warning.

“Ready to move, Miss Hale?” His voice cuts through the air, low, controlled, and undeniably sharp. I startle at the directness of it—he’s speaking to me alone now.

“Yes,” I manage, my voice slightly breathless.

He gestures to the hallway. “After me.”

The corridor seems impossibly long, each step echoing like a drumbeat in my ears. My mind races with thoughts of Adrian and our established boundaries. Anchor. The word has been a lifeline since our last encounter, a reminder that even in surrender, I hold power over my own safety. Yet, standing here, tailing Cassian as he moves with deliberate ease, I feel the pull of instinct, the magnetic draw of his authority.

We stop in front of a small, rarely used seminar room. The door is slightly ajar, and Cassian steps inside with an unhurried grace, inviting me to follow. I comply, heels clicking against the polished floor, each step measured, aware of every inch of my body. The air inside is cool, sterile, but electric. The tension coils like a live wire.

“Sit,” he commands softly, and I obey immediately. The chair beneath me is ordinary, but it feels like a stage. My fingers clutch the edge, pulse racing.

“You are… responsive,” he begins, pacing slowly around me, eyes never leaving mine. “Your reactions are… illuminating. Body betrays mind. Desire overrides hesitation. You are… fascinating, Miss Hale.”

Heat blooms across my chest. I feel my body answering before my mind can rationalize. I imagine Adrian’s hands instead of Cassian’s, guiding me, commanding me—but there’s a precision here that’s different. Cassian’s control is surgical, unrelenting. It doesn’t invite comfort. It provokes, teases, tests.

“Do you… crave guidance?” he asks, voice low, velvety, with an undertone that leaves no room for casual response.

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