The Professor's Forbidden Vow

Emilia's POV

The words still echoed in my head long after class ended.

Incest.

I hated it. I hated how it stuck to my skin like dirt I couldn't wash off. I hated how my course mates smirked, whispered, and stared at me like I was a show they couldn't stop watching.

I was feeling too embarrassed... I needed to come out of this mess I didn't even know how I got into.

I stuffed my books Into my bag quickly, desperate to escape the room. But Clara tried to catch my arm, then I shook her off and bolted out the door. Because I couldn't breath in there anymore, I was suffocating and needed to clear my head.

But I haven't made it far when I need my surname from a familiar voice.

"Miss Grant."

I froze in the hallway. My stomach twisted before I even turned to face the caller. Adrian Blackwell stood at the doorway of the lecture hall, tall and sharp in his suit as usual, his grey eyes fixed only on me.

"Yes sir?" My voice came out small.

"Come with me." His tone wasn't loud, but it carried something I couldn't really understand. Students still loitering nearby looked at both of us with wide eyes, then bent their heads to hide their grins.

Heat rushed to my face instantly. The whisper would grow more now. But still, I followed him because I didn't have a choice and I needed to find the root of all this.

His office was tucked at the far end of the faculty wing. He unlocked the door, held it open and I stepped inside after him.

It smelled faintly of books and cologne, dark wood shelves lined with old volumes, a large desk scattered with neat papers. Everything screamed order and control. Everything screamed at him, and at me.

He closed the door behind us. The sound was soft, but it felt final.

"Sit." His voice was clipped.

I obeyed and sat before him on a chair, clutching my bag in my lap like a shield. My heart was beating too fast.

He stayed standing, leaning back against his desk, with his arms folded. His eyes, I mean his grey eyes were locked on me with the same piercing stare.

"Do you know what they are saying about you?"

I flinched. "Yes, I heard some things."

His jaw clenched. "Some things?"

"They... they think..." I swallowed. "They think I'm your—" I couldn't even finish the sentence. The words burned my throat.

His face darkened suddenly. "Yes. They think I'm your father, and that you're my daughter."

The air between us grew heavier and I couldn't even look at him.

"Why?" I whispered. "Why would they even think so, why would they say such a thing ?”

He exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "Because gossip doesn't need truth, it only needs fire. It's because they see resemblance and that's why they invent scandal. And you know, once a scandal starts, it spreads like poison."

"But it's not true."

"No," he said firmly. "It's not true. But that doesn't matter, Emilia."

My chest tightened. "Then what matters?"

"What matters is that every glance, every word, every time I call your name—it feeds them. It gives them more reason to believe in their lies."

"So, what are you saying?"

His eyes locked on mine. "I'm saying that you need to stay away from me."

My heart cracked. "Stay away?"

"Yes."

"You can't mean that."

"I do." His voice was sharp, and final. "If you don't, you will destroy yourself. And I..." He stopped, pressing his lips tight. "And I can't protect you from that."

I shook my head, heat rushing to my eyes. "But I didn't do anything wrong.”

"That doesn't matter," he said harshly. "This isn't about right or wrong. This is about perception. And perceptions will ruin you."

Tears pricked at my lashes. "So what am I supposed to do? Pretend you don't exist."

"Yes."

I laughed bitterly. "That's impossible. You're my professor."

His jaw tightened. He looked away, running a hand through his dark hair. For a moment, I thought I saw something crack in him, something raw. But then it was gone.

"Then sit in the back. Don't speak unless spoken to. Don't look at me."

His words sliced through me. "You're serious?"

"Dead serious."

I stared at him, my chest heavy, and my throat was tight. "And what about you?" I asked softly. "Will you stop looking at me too?"

That made him still. His grey eyes flickered, just for a second. Then he looked away again.

"Emilia," he said, his voice lower now, rougher. "You don't understand how dangerous this is."

"Then help me understand," I whispered.

His breathing grew uneven. He pushed off the desk and stepped closer to me. Too close that my heart skipped a beat. My back pressed into the chair instinctively.

"You don't know the things I've done," he said quietly. "The things that follow me. If you stay away from me, you won't be dragged into them. If you don't stay away, you will be dragged into it.”

His nearness made my heart keep pounding so hard and I thought it might break free from my chest. "Then tell me." I whispered again.

"No." His eyes burned into mine. "You don't want to know."

I did. God, I did. But I couldn't force the words out.

For a long moment, the office was silent, the only sound was our breathing. His face was so close now that I could see the faint scar near his temple, the subtle along his jaw, the storm in his grey eyes.

And then, it happened. He lifted his hand slowly, hesitantly, as if it's fighting against some invisible chain. His fingertips hovered inches from my cheek. I held my breath, frozen.

The air between us burned and my skin tingled, aching for his touch.

But just as his hand trembled closer, almost brushing me, he stopped. His jaw clenched, and with visible effort, he snatched his hand back.

His voice was hoarse when he spoke. "Go."

I blinked. "What."

"Go," he said again, his voice sharper now. "Before I do something I shouldn't."

I rose shakily, clutching my bag. My knees wobbled. I turned for the door, my pulse racing, my chest aching.

But before I opened it, I heard him behind me.

"This can't happen, Emilia." His voice was low, almost a whisper, but it carried something I didn't understand. "Not again."

I froze as the words lodged in my chest. I turned to look back at him, but his eyes were closed, his hands gripping the edge of the desk like he was holding himself together.

I left the office immediately without another word, my heart was a storm of confusion. And as the door clicked shut behind me, one thought kept replaying in my mind. What did he mean... not again?