Chapter 6 FALTERING ARMOR.
ASHER'S POV:
My single objective walking into Cleveland College was simple: pose as a professor, find Clara Bennett - my sworn enemy's daughter and eliminate her. No distractions. No attachments. Keep it professional until the job is done.
The moment I saw his hand on her shoulder; my entire plan went up in flames. I told myself to look away, to stay calm, to ignore it, but I couldn’t.
Something in me went still, not peaceful, just restrained, because if I moved or spoke too soon, I wasn’t sure what would break first - my control or his jaw.
Jake Williams. Loud. Careless. The kind of boy who thought a smirk could buy him the world. And there he was, leaning close to her, whispering in her ear, touching her like he had the right.
He was loud in the way boys are when they mistake charm for confidence — all grin, no backbone. That smirk of his stayed fixed, the kind that assumes rules bend in his favor.
I watched him the way you watch a small animal that thinks it’s a wolf — amusing, almost cute, until it tries to bite. He had no idea what he was crossing.
He had no idea who I was - which made him smug, reckless, the exact kind of man I wanted to snap in half with a look.
My jaw twitched; my hands clenched beneath the desk before I even registered it. The room blurred, voices folding away until the only thing I could hear was the steady thud of my own pulse.
But it wasn’t just annoyance that tightened my jaw; watching him clasp her even briefly, even casually, stirred something I wasn’t ready to name.
It was worse than anger, something closer to possessiveness, a foolish sense of territory I’d never agreed to claim. I should’ve stepped in and removed him with a cold, precise reprimand.
Instead, I stayed still. Composed. Because if I moved too quickly, I’d lose whatever control I had left. It wasn’t about her being my student; it was about her being mine in a way I couldn’t explain or admit.
So, I did the only thing I could to keep from unraveling completely: I watched. And when his hand lingered a second too long, my voice finally cut through the classroom’s murmur.
Low. Sharp. Just enough to remind him who was still in charge.
“Williams. Am I interrupting something?”
The look on his face almost satisfied me, almost. He blinked, stepped back like a boy caught stealing, and the small victory tasted hollow. Because even while I was warning him, my eyes had already found hers again.
Clara Bennett.
Her shoulders were tense, her breathing uneven, her eyes darting anywhere but me - the same spot where his hand had been still marked in her posture.
She looked fragile and unbreakable all at once, like a glass that had learned to stand its ground. And still, I couldn’t look away. That was the problem - I never could.
My whole reason for being here; to destroy her, had been rehearsed until it was a cold, steady pulse under my skin.
Yet every time she glanced at me — a quick, unreadable flicker — that pulse unraveled; the hatred I meant to wear like armor started to feel like a costume I couldn’t force on anymore, and I hated that with everything I’d worked for.
I hated myself a little more because I wanted her the way men crave the impossible, with a desperation they’d never admit.
Even when I told myself she was just a job, just a name on a list, something about her always pulled me off balance: the quiet defiance, the way she didn’t flinch when I stared.
By the time class ended, I knew I had already lost.
The words left my mouth before I could stop them.
“Miss Bennett. Wait behind.” It wasn’t a request or an attempt at civility — it was instinct: a command to probe, to measure how she held herself when the room emptied.
She stood there with her breath hitched, fingers digging into the paper, and I registered everything.
The little tremor in her voice when she repeated my question, the way she tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, the cautious intelligence in her eyes - smart, sharp.
And maybe a little too naive for her own good. She believed in straight lines and clear loyalties, unaware of the web she had walked into.
I’m not just a man with a plan — I’m a man who uses that plan to hurt. Which is why, with calculated casualness, I paired her and Jake for the upcoming project, forcing proximity.
A teacher’s decree that would keep them in each other’s pockets for weeks. I told myself it was tactical, a way to keep her close and under my watch. The truth, however, smelled very different.
I wanted to watch how she moved when cornered, to see whether the thing that pulled at me would break or be revealed. It should have settled something in me, but instead it shredded the last of my certainty.
Watching another man touch her even a dull, entitled fool like Williams made me feel like a fool myself, as if I had given away my only weapon: Composure.
I resented him for the contact and the way she flinched yet didn’t flee. I resented her for sitting there, brave and bewildering, and making it impossible to hate her cleanly.
Never in my life had I wanted to wreck someone so badly, and never had I been so unsure whose ruin I was planning: Hers or my own.
Jake had barely taken a step toward the door when he turned to Clara and asked if she wanted him to wait. Something inside me snapped. Not loud, just sharp, a flash of heat, fast and lethal.
“Alone.”
The word slipped out before I could stop it, low and controlled, yet carrying a weight I didn’t bother to hide.
He froze, blinked, then muttered a quick “Sure, Professor,” before slipping out.
Good.
As the door clicked shut behind the last student, silence filled the room — heavy, taut, pressing against your ribs and refusing to leave.
Only her now, standing directly in front of me, notebook clutched to her chest like a small shield.
Her eyes darted toward me once, then away, a strand of hair falling across her face, catching the sunlight and turning it to gold.
I told myself to keep busy, to make it seem like I had a reason for keeping her back, but there was no reason.
I didn’t need to talk to her; I just couldn’t bear the thought of her walking out with that fool Jake Williams, listening to him talk, laugh, maybe even offer to carry her bag like some self-important hero in his own imagination.
That thought alone twisted something dark in my chest. I turned away and began gathering my things, moving slowly and deliberately, though it didn’t fool either of us.
From the corner of my eye, I caught her brows knitting together. That small, stubborn, somehow adorable frown — as she watched me shuffle papers that didn’t need shuffling.
Finally, she broke the silence. “Um… you wanted to see me, sir?” Her soft, uncertain voice scraped at something raw inside me.
I slid the last paper into my bag, zipped it shut, and slung the strap over my shoulder, then turned. Our eyes met — her confusion clear, but so was the spark beneath it.
She didn’t look away this time. The girl had fire. Feisty, I like it. My jaw clenched before I could stop it, because standing this close, with that curious tilt of her head and the pulse visible at her throat, all I could think about was that first night.
The way she had moaned my name, breathless and reckless, as if saying it could save her, hit me too hard, too real — and for a second, control felt like a thread about to snap.
I forced myself to swallow it down, schooling my expression back into calm, my voice came out low, steady, even.
“Have a good nights' rest, Miss. Bennett.”
Her lips parted, maybe to ask something, maybe to challenge me — but I didn’t give her the chance.
I stepped past her, close enough to catch the faint scent of her shampoo — vanilla, mixed with something warmer, like sun-touched skin — and felt a heat pulse low in my chest.
My fingers twitched, wanting to reach out, to trace that stubborn line of her jaw just once. But I didn’t. Couldn’t.
Instead, a dark smirk tugged at the corner of my mouth as I reached the door, and the lock clicked behind me, sounding far louder than it should have in the empty hall.
And as I walked down the hallway, I realized a truth I didn’t want to admit: I hadn’t kept her back because I had anything to say.
I’d done it because I wanted her there - still, silent and MINE, even if it was just for a minute.
That thought alone was enough to make my control feel dangerously fragile.