Cassian
"Ah, Professor Cassian." The head of department , Dr. Vance looked up from his papers as I stepped inside his office, his face breaking into a welcoming smile. He gestured toward the polished chair opposite him.
"Dr. Vance," I said, offering a polite, respectful nod before taking my seat and relaxing back into the cushioned chair.
Dr. Vance had been a veteran in the department, someone who had dedicated decades to this institution. I respected his experience, and there was a quiet, easy familiarity between us that made meetings like these simple.
"How are things settling in so far?" Dr. Vance asked, setting his pen down. "Getting used to being on the other side of the podium?"
"Pretty well, actually," I replied.
Truthfully, stepping into academia after years in the fast-paced corporate world was a completely different rhythm. Lecturing required a different kind of control. A patient delivery compared to boardroom negotiations. Re-engaging with pure art history was refreshing, even if adjusting to the academic pace will take a bit of focus.
"The transition has been smooth," I added. "The curriculum is solid, and the students seem engaged."
"That’s excellent to hear," Dr. Vance said, nodding warmly. "We were thrilled to have you join the faculty this term. I knew you’d handle the transition with ease."
He turned toward his desk, pulling a thick paper file from a drawer. "While I have you here, I went ahead and pulled up the paperwork you asked about yesterday."
He slid the closed folder across the mahogany desk toward me. "Here is the tuition breakdown for the full academic session." I reached out, picking up the folder and resting it on my lap. "Thank you for pulling this so quickly."
"Of course," Dr. Vance said. "You can pay for the entire year at once, or we can set up a semester by semester payment plan. Whatever works best."
I opened the file, looking down at the neat rows of numbers.
This was something I had been pulling off for a couple of years now, and honestly, it stood as one of the proudest achievements of my life. Far more than just personal feelings. Seeing the result right before my eyes felt exhilarating.
My gaze lingered on the page as my mind drifted toward a certain someone. Elvie.
A quiet knot of regret tightened in my chest as my thoughts slipped back to this morning. I had been far too sharp with her. When she stood there by the dining table, her big, hopeful eyes looking up at me over the breakfast she had taken the time to make, it had thrown me completely off balance.
Her warmth was disarming, and my instinctive reaction was to pull back, putting up an icy wall just to keep my own composure intact.
I remembered the breathless look on her face when our eyes had locked across the classroom earlier. I really had handled the morning wrong. Rejecting her effort so coldly.
She clearly didn’t remember who I really was, and the last thing I wanted was to make her feel uncomfortable or unsafe under my roof. I wasn’t always this cold, but having her so close forced every defense mechanism I had into overdrive.
"Cassian?" Dr. Vance’s voice snapped me out of my thoughts.
I looked up, giving him a calm, appreciative look. "Sorry about that. Just reviewing the totals."
"Take your time," Dr. Vance said with an easy smile.
"Let’s go ahead with paying the full year upfront," I said, setting the folder back on his desk and standing up. "It’s simpler that way. And if any additional fees, course materials, or expenses pop up later in the semester, please bill them directly to me."
"Consider it taken care of." Dr. Vance said extending his hand.
I met his grip with a warm, respectful handshake. "I appreciate your help with this, Dr. Vance."
"Always a pleasure, Cassian. Have a good afternoon."
I gave him a final nod, turned, and walked out into the quiet hallway. As the heavy wooden door clicked shut behind me, I pulled my phone from my pocket, unlocking the screen to write a text.
**
I parked my car in the garage, killed the engine, and checked the dashboard clock.
8:30 PM.
I had spent the last four hours completely lost in work at the office, buried in research and phone calls, barely tracking the time.
Part of me had stayed late on purpose, just to delay the drive home. I wasn’t sure what to expect when I opened that front door.
After leaving Dr. Vance’s office, I had finally sent the text: I’ll be home for dinner tonight. Keep it simple.
It was a small attempt to smooth over my coldness from this morning, a subtle peace offering without sacrificing my boundaries.
I grabbed my briefcase, locked the car door, and walked across the quiet courtyard toward the main house. Unlocking the front door, I stepped into the foyer and immediately froze.
A rich, mouth-watering aroma hit me instantly. Roasted garlic, fresh herbs, and savory seared meat lingering softly in the warm air.
I couldn’t remember the last time I had walked into my home and smelled real food cooking.
Even during the time I shared with Victoria, our kitchen was strictly decorative, reserved for catered events or takeout boxes. The house had always been cold, quiet, and sterile.
But it felt different here. I set my briefcase down on the leather armchair in the living room and unbuttoned my suit jacket, my footsteps entirely silent as I padded toward the kitchen.
I was greeted with the sight of Elvie standing by the stove, her back turned to me. She wore a simple oversized sweater with the sleeves pushed up past her elbows, her hair pinned up loosely with a few soft strands falling down her neck. She was swaying gently to a quiet rhythm in her head, humming a soft tune under her breath as she stirred something in a heavy steel skillet.
I stayed rooted to the threshold, the quiet tension in my chest coiling tighter. Just watching her domestic, unbothered warmth triggered that same unsettling, electric pull I had felt when her hand grazed mine last night.
She tasted the sauce with a wooden spoon, setting it down on the rest before reaching for a spice jar. As she turned, her eyes caught the dark silhouette standing in the doorway.
She gasped, startled, her body flinching back so fast her hand clipped the hot spoon sitting on the stove’s edge.
It clattered against the counter and bounced off her thigh before hitting the tile floor.
"Ouch!" She recoiled, clutching her leg as a sharp hiss escaped her teeth.
Before my mind could process the distance, my feet were already moving. In two long strides, I crossed the kitchen floor and closed the gap between us, my hands reaching out to catch her by the waist before she could stumble backward.
"Are you alright?" I asked, my voice low, thick, and far too close to her ear.
She froze in my grip, her small hands coming up to press against my chest for balance. Her wide, breathless eyes snapped up to mine, the proximity radiating a sudden, suffocating wave of heat through me.
My gaze dropped involuntarily to her lips—soft, parted, and trembling with a tiny breath.
Her eyes widened slightly as she caught where my attention had drifted. A small sound escaped her throat. "Um..."
The sound snapped me back to reality. I let go of her waist instantly, stepping back to put a safe, respectable distance between us. The lingering warmth of her skin under my palms vanished, replaced by a sudden, heavy awkwardness that hung thick in the air.
I cleared my throat, forcing my expression back into an unreadable mask. "Next time... be careful."
Elvie nodded quickly, clutching her thigh where the spoon had hit. "Thank you. I—I didn’t know you were back yet. Sorry about that."
A tight knot formed in my chest. Why was she apologizing? It wasn’t her fault; I was the one who had practically snuck up on her in the dark.
I gave a short, silent nod, refusing to voice the thought.
"I’m almost done with dinner," she added softly, gesturing toward the skillet on the stove. "I wasn’t sure exactly what time you’d be home, so I held off on plating it."
My eyes swept over the stove. Rich pan-seared chicken breasts were simmering in a garlic and white wine butter sauce, flanked by a side of roasted asparagus. Despite my usual strict routines, a sudden, sharp hunger hit me. I was genuinely eager to taste what she had made.
"Sure," I said, my voice quiet. "Go ahead and finish up. I’m going to go upstairs and freshen up."
"Okay, sir."
The word hit my ears like a physical barrier. I stopped dead in my tracks right at the kitchen doorway, the formal title grating against every raw nerve in my body.
A sudden, fierce urge surged through me to turn around and tell her to drop the "sir"—to snap at her for speaking to me like a stranger under my own roof. But I caught myself in time. I had already done enough damage to her nerves today.
Without another word, I turned and headed up the stairs. The moment I stepped inside my bedroom, I shut the door heavily behind me reaching up with a harsh motion and took off my necktie, tossing it onto the dresser before unbuttoning the top three buttons of my shirt.
I leaned my hands on the mahogany desk, letting out a rough, ragged breath as I looked down at my knuckles.
A sharp, stubborn heat was pulsing heavy in my lower abdomen, a lingering physical reaction to how soft, warm, and small she had felt against my chest just moments ago.
"Cassian, pull yourself together," I muttered under my breath with self-disgust.
She was completely off-limits. She was a student, an employee, and someone who probably depended on this house. She had barely been under my roof for two days, and here I was, losing my grip over a simple touch.
I squeezed my eyes shut, running a hand down my face to force the heat from my veins. I needed a cold shower, a sharp mind, and every ounce of my restraint before I stepped back downstairs for dinner.