The clacking of my Dior heels echoed through the university halls as I strutted, head held high. As a Steelman, confidence was second nature to me. Even though Allistair's words struck a nerve, and I felt as if he might be right. Perhaps I had been too severe in my treatment of that pathetic mouse girl.

But a true queen never doubts her actions, I reminded myself, and quickly brushed the notion off. The wench had assaulted me and paid the price. I refused to second-guess myself. If anything, I found his need to defend that shoe vandal quite infuriating and preposterous.

Teresa and Tamara chattered aimlessly at my sides, their incessant gossip just background noise as we headed into our first class of the morning. We claimed our usual seats just as an unfamiliar man strode into the lecture hall with an air of misplaced confidence.

A hush fell over the class as all eyes fixated on the new psychology professor. I had to admit, he wasn't hard on the eyes - sharp, chiseled features complemented by intense dark eyes, a well-groomed goatee, and thick black hair. But what struck me most was his youthfulness. Compared to the prehistoric dinosaurs that usually taught at our campus, he seemed relatively young, probably in his early thirties.

There was an air of confidence about him that demanded attention. But my gaze immediately zeroed in on his ill-fitted blazer. The cheap, wrinkled material was an insult to fashion, and a flicker of disdain momentarily distracted me from analyzing his other features.

When he finally spoke, the refined, almost melodic baritone voice was utterly incongruous with his rumpled appearance. "Good morning, class. I'm Professor Preston Hahn, and I'll be taking over for Dr. McMillan as the new head of the psychology department. I'm excited to take this journey with all of you," he announced with a charming smile.

The pretentious word choice was grating. A journey? Was this idiot under the delusion we were going somewhere? With an inward eye roll, I realized he was attempting to pander to the freshman girls who would easily eat up his philosophical meaninglessness with lusty giggles.

As Professor Hahn began an activity, I found myself torn between participating and submerging in my own thoughts. Teresa nudged me, pulling me back from my reverie.

"Are you going to join us, or are you going to stay in la-la land?" Teresa whispered, a smirk on her face. I shot her a mock glare and faked a big yawn, covering my mouth with my hand. She chuckled and shook her head, familiar with my antics whenever I was preoccupied with something else.

The class began with an elementary inkblot activity that felt rudimentary even for an intro psych course. Hahn asked students to analyze the ambiguous images, and with each response, he replied with unsettlingly precise personal details - as if he could read their very thoughts. Murmurs and laughter rippled through the lecture hall as everyone realized this seemingly innocuous man might actually be clairvoyant.

With furrowed brows, I regarded him carefully. While undoubtedly intelligent, there was something more calculatedly unnerving about the way he tore into the intimate thoughts of each student. Like a skilled puppeteer scrutinizing his strings. Eventually, he announced we needed to pair up and continue the exercise ourselves.

My gaze immediately went to Allistair, the familiar golden caramel locks of my beloved reminding me we were not on the best terms. Our eyes met for the briefest moment before he turned away, instantly focused on partnering with someone else. I felt the usual vice around my heart at being so quickly dismissed, but stubbornly squashed the pang of longing. Onwards and upwards.

With no other choice, I reluctantly allowed Tamara to be my partner, feigning concentration to avoid engaging her in any banal chit-chat. The activity mercifully ended, and Professor Hahn concluded with another attempt at existential wisdom:

"For your assignment, explore the following: How do you know your mind isn't deceiving you about what's real versus unreal?"

I barely stifled an exaggerated eye roll as his piercing dark eyes scanned the room before landing squarely on me. That intense, laser-focused stare was unnerving in a way I couldn't quite put my manicured finger on.

Almost as if he could strip away every facade and mask I carefully curated over the years. An involuntary shiver ran through me at the preposterous thought of feeling bare naked under his scrutiny.

The rational side of my brain dismissed the visceral reaction as utterly absurd. Since when was I, Tahlia Clarisse Steelman - heiress to a vast empire - intimidated by some lame, poorly dressed psychology quack? The twinge of unease was an insult to my pristine self-confidence.

Just like that, the lecture ended, and students began gathering their belongings. I hurried to collect my Celine backpack, suddenly desperate to escape the piercing eyes that seemed to strip me bare. Every well-practiced deflection was utterly useless against the weight of that dissecting stare.

Outside the lecture hall, Teresa and Tamara immediately launched into chatter about their evening plans. Frat parties and the latest toxic boyfriend dramas filled the air around me. But I was only partially listening, still ruminating on the confusing emotions stirred by the enigmatic Dr. Hahn and bristling over the dismissive way Allistair had already moved on from me that morning.

I barely registered when we reached the central fountain until a familiar head of golden caramel hair brought me crashing back to reality. There stood Allistair, hands tucked casually in his pockets, seemingly content to wait on me. A soft, involuntary smile pulled at my lips at the sight of his handsome face. No matter how many times we disagreed or I overreacted, this kind-hearted man somehow always managed to stay by my side.

Guilt washed over me for the dramatic outburst the previous night over his defense of that remedial little nobody. "Hey, I need to talk to Allistair. I'll catch up with you guys later," I told the girls with a dismissive wave before walking over to meet him at the fountain's edge.

"Al, can we talk?"

He turned towards me, warm eyes filled with tender patience. "Of course, Tally. What's on your mind?"

I took a deep, steadying breath. The words caught in my throat for just a moment before finally tumbling out in a blasphemously vulnerable rush. "Well...I've been thinking about what you said yesterday, and I guess...I may have overreacted a little."

The understatement dripped with sarcasm as I dramatically rolled my eyes. "Perhaps I could have handled the situation with that...girl...a bit better." A little shiver escapes my body.

Better, as is in I should have definitely gauge her eyes out with my heels and hang them at the entrance as warning for everyone else to see. But then again, I am a very reasonable person.

A teasing smile played at the corners of my lips to soften the biting remark, but Allistair simply chuckled and pulled me into a warm embrace. His strong arms surrounded me as I leaned into the comforting familiarity of his firm chest.

"I'm just glad you're at least considering what I said, Tally," he murmured affectionately against the top of my head. "I know it doesn't always come easy for you."

I playfully pushed back against his sturdy form in a pantomime of protest. "Don't get too smug, mister."

Rising up on my tiptoes, I pulled his face down to mine until our lips met in a soft, lingering kiss. We separated, and I nuzzled back into the reassuring sanctuary of his arms.

"Tally, I love your lights as much as your darks, and you can be quite intimidating when you're upset."

"Well, don't mess with my shoes, and you won't find out how much more intimidating I can be," I retorted, a big grin splashed over my face.

Our playful banter dissolved into another heated liplock, all previous tensions momentarily forgotten. This was why I loved him so fiercely. My ferocious inferno of passion was accepted and embraced, rather than doused until only embers remained.

All too soon, we separated slightly, and I nestled my head in the crook of his neck, breathing in the crisp, clean scent that was uniquely Allistair. "I love you," I whispered.

He responded by dotting a trail of tender, featherlight kisses across my forehead before rumbling, "What else is bothering you, darling? I can tell when something's weighing on that gorgeous mind."

My features twisted slightly, reminded of the other peculiar events from that morning. "It's that new professor..."

Allistair's brows furrowed in confusion. "Professor Hahn? What about him?"

"There's just something...off about him. I can't quite put my finger on it, but he gives me an unsettling feeling."

My boyfriend pulled back enough to regard me with a bemused expression, his handsome face creased with skepticism. "Off? What do you mean? He's a bit eccentric, sure, but isn't that kind of par for the course with psychology professors?"

I shook my head adamantly. "No, it's more than just being an oddball. At first, it was just the blazer — I mean, could he not afford to iron or buy something that actually fits? It was an absolute insult to fashion."

Allistair laughed at my typical diva tangent, but I pressed on insistently.

"But then during the lecture...doesn't it bother you the way he so effortlessly stripped away everyone's thoughts? It was like a Hannibal Lecter parlor trick."

My hand unconsciously rubbed my arm, and I shivered involuntarily as I recalled the memory. Allistair's features softened with concern when our eyes met again. If I was being honest what bothered me was that I just felt like he could somehow sense every secret and desire rattling beneath the Steelman exterior I've spent years meticulously crafting.

A calming hand came up to rest comfortingly on my shoulder, squeezing in a steadying gesture. "Tally, I think you might be reading a bit too much into all this. Sure, he's an eccentric academic who likes to show off his analytical skills. But at the end of the day, Professor Hahn is just a professor."

He stroked a hand through his caramel blond locks and let out a soft huff of laughter. "And let's be honest, babe, if it were up to you, anyone wearing a designer knock-off would deserve the death penalty."

I opened my mouth to protest the impolite interpretation, but swiftly snapped it closed when I realized he wasn't exactly wrong. In the end, I settled for an indignant little sniff and swatted his chest with the back of my hand in faux outrage. "Well, I suppose you may have a point," I conceded half-heartedly. "But that doesn't change the unease..." I trailed off.

Allistair let out a long sigh. "Hey, if it's that important to you, then we will stay vigilant just in case your hunch is right, okay?"

I nodded slightly.

Looking back, I wish I had cherished these moments more, committed them to memory. But how can you expect a storm when there are no dark clouds in the sky? How was I supposed to know that Allistair, who had been my rock, my lifeline, my light, my soulmate, would one day stand on the opposite side of the war room, unable to see eye to eye. Our love forever altered, our once unshakeable connection tethered by secrets we could never have foreseen.

Author's Note: What do you think of the new Professor? Any predictions? Let me know all about it in the comments!

Your feedback helps me understand how you're feeling as readers and what I can do to make the story even better for you. Plus I really enjoy connecting with you guys.🤩👍

Love, DQ.