If you forget where we were in the previous chapter, reread it. 🥲😭😭😅 lol

***

The morning sun spilled golden light across the sleek dashboard of Alaric’s car, but Iris barely noticed the beauty outside the window.

Because she was dying inside.

Her heart pounded, nerves tightening her chest as they drove in silence toward the university. The hum of the car filled the space between them, but her thoughts were anything but quiet.

"Be my girlfriend—the girl I’ll burn the world for."

The words pulsed in her head like a song on loop, refusing to leave her alone since she woke up from that dream. That damn dream.

Her cheeks flamed at just the memory of his breath on her ear, the possessive weight in his voice, the closeness of his lips hovering just above hers. It had felt so real. Too real. She could still feel the phantom warmth of his hand resting at her waist, his fingers grazing her jaw, the slow, deliberate whisper that made her legs weak.

“I’ll give it to you.”

Iris swallowed hard, sneaking a glance at him from the corner of her eye.

Alaric sat behind the wheel, focused on the road, one hand loosely gripping the steering wheel while the other rested on the gear shift. Calm. Completely unreadable. As if nothing unusual had happened. As if he wasn’t the cause of the storm raging inside her chest.

God, he’s so calm. How can he be so calm?

She darted her eyes back to the window before he noticed. You’re being ridiculous, Iris. It was just a dream. A stupid dream.

But her face was burning, her palms damp against her skirt.

Her body kept replaying the moment, over and over. His whisper. His eyes. That subtle dark hunger in his voice that made her shiver even while asleep.

Her lips tingled at the memory of his almost-kiss.

Stop it, stop it, stop it…

The silence inside the car felt oppressive, like it knew her secret, like it was laughing at her pathetic attempt to act normal. She wanted to sink into her seat and vanish.

The worst part?

Every time she tried to compose herself, another memory would hit her harder.

“You crave that kind of love, don’t you? The kind that ruins you beautifully.”

Her thighs clenched involuntarily. She inhaled sharply and shifted in her seat, trying to cool herself down.

Alaric’s eyes flicked toward her briefly. “Are you okay?”

Iris froze, her breath catching. “Y-Yeah! Of course!” she blurted, voice higher than usual.

Smooth, Iris. Real smooth.

He raised an eyebrow slightly but said nothing, returning his attention to the road.

Kill me now. She buried her burning face into her hand for a moment.

The silence stretched again, but it felt different now. Thicker. Heavier. Like her stupid awkwardness had somehow changed the air between them.

The heat inside the car suddenly felt unbearable.

“Um...” She fidgeted with the hem of her dress, trying to act casual. “It’s… getting kinda warm in here, isn’t it?”

Alaric glanced at her again, his lips twitching, almost like he was suppressing a smile. “Is it?”

“Yes! Definitely. I mean, the sun’s really bright this morning.” She fumbled for the window controls and quickly rolled hers down, welcoming the rush of cooler air. She let out a relieved sigh and closed her eyes for a second.

Pull it together, Iris. He doesn’t know what’s going on in your head. He doesn’t know about the dream.

But a terrifying part of her wondered: what if he did?

Her stomach twisted. She dared another glance at him. His profile was as perfect as always — sharp jawline, soft curls brushing against his forehead, those dark, unreadable eyes focused on the road ahead.

The very same man who, in her dream, had whispered:

“Tell me I’m wrong, Iris. Tell me you don’t dream of it.”

She nearly choked on her breath.

Her fingers curled into small fists on her lap. Why is my brain doing this to me? She had known it was a dream, and yet… her body still reacted like it was real. Every stolen glance at him set her skin on fire.

You’re his student,  learning from him . That’s it. He’s just being nice. Just focus on class. Focus on your art. Stop being stupid.

And yet, she couldn’t stop noticing every small thing he did.

The way his fingers drummed lightly against the steering wheel. The way his throat moved when he swallowed. The faint veins running up his hand.

Why does everything about him look so— she bit her inner lip —intense?

Her gaze shifted again — completely involuntary at this point — only to find his eyes on her this time.

Iris’s stomach plummeted.

She must’ve been staring too long.

Alaric’s lips curved into that infuriating, knowing smile — subtle, but enough to make her pulse jump.

“Something on your mind?” he asked, voice deceptively light.

Her mouth opened, but no words came out. “N-No! Nothing. Just… spacing out.”

“Mm.” He hummed, not looking fully convinced, but mercifully didn’t push further.

Iris mentally screamed. You’re embarrassing yourself, Iris.

As they reached a red light, the car slowed to a stop, and for a brief moment, the sun illuminated the inside of the car perfectly, casting warm golden lines across his features. He glanced sideways again, studying her this time, eyes lingering a little longer.

“Are you sure you’re not… flustered about something?” he asked softly, voice dipping just a fraction.

Her heart flipped.

No. No, don’t do this to me right now.

“I— I’m fine,” she said too quickly, her voice cracking halfway through.

He chuckled under his breath.

The light turned green, and the car moved forward again, but the atmosphere between them had shifted. The silence felt heavier now, like charged static filling every inch of the small space.

Iris squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. He doesn’t know. He can’t know. It’s just a coincidence.

And yet...

Part of her wondered  If he somehow could sense the storm inside her.

She shifted again, crossing her legs tightly, her hands gripping her bag on her lap like a lifeline.

“God, why is it so hot in here?” she mumbled without thinking.

This time, Alaric actually laughed—a deep, low chuckle that made her toes curl in her shoes.

“You’re free to turn the air up,” he offered, voice still laced with amusement.

She scrambled to adjust the AC, thankful for something to do with her hands.

As the cool air rushed through the vents, her blush only deepened. But at least it helped distract her from the hammering in her chest.

Alaric’s voice broke through her flustered thoughts once again. “You know...” he said slowly, “you’ve been unusually quiet today.”

Iris stared out the window, avoiding his gaze like her life depended on it. “Just... tired, I guess.”

He hummed again, but there was something playful in the way he dragged the silence after.

And then, softly: “Strange. You don’t look tired.”

Her entire face burned, heat flooding her ears. She gritted her teeth and scolded herself silently. Don’t read into it. Don’t.

“Th-thanks,” she managed awkwardly.

********

The car glided smoothly along the road, the morning light filtering through the windshield, painting soft amber streaks across Alaric’s hands as they rested on the steering wheel. The world outside moved in a blur, but inside the car, the silence thickened with every passing second.

Alaric’s gaze flicked momentarily toward Iris before returning to the road. She sat beside him, quiet—too quiet. The usual nervous energy that clung to her seemed heavier today. Her fingers fidgeted with the fabric of her skirt, and every few moments, she would shift in her seat, stealing small glances at him when she thought he wasn’t looking.

But he saw everything.

Every breath, every blush, every twitch of her hands. And the way her face heated under the soft morning sun — her cheeks flushed a sweet pink, as though stained by some secret thought she couldn’t shake.

She dreamt of me, didn’t she?

He almost smiled at the thought.

The way she kept fumbling with her dress, how her eyes darted away whenever he turned even slightly toward her—it wasn’t just normal nervousness. It was something more. Something intimate. She wasn’t just distracted — she was flustered.

His eyes dipped lower for a brief moment, catching sight of her legs. Her knee bounced restlessly, her foot tapping a soft, irregular rhythm against the car mat.

Definitely dreamt of me.

The corner of his lips tugged upward into a small, knowing smirk. A dangerous kind of satisfaction bloomed inside his chest. The idea of Iris—sweet, careful Iris—tossing in her bed, tormented by fantasies of him whispered to the darkest corners of his mind.

If only she knew how badly I want to pull her into my world.

The urge clawed at him. To see her crumble inside his darkness. To witness her soft hands dipped in paint, her eyes dilated with the same hunger that lived inside him. She didn’t belong in the light. She belonged in the chaos. In the obsession. In the room where the art wasn’t created with calm—but with ruin.

But she was still hovering at the edge, too afraid to step in.

He needed to move her closer. Bit by bit.

His knuckles drummed lightly on the steering wheel, as if keeping beat with her tapping feet. It almost amused him, watching her pretend everything was fine while her whole body betrayed her.

“Are you okay?” he finally asked, his voice calm and even.

“Yes!” Her response came too quickly, too high-pitched.

His smirk deepened. Caught you, little one.

He let the silence settle again, observing her from the corner of his eye. She turned her face to the window as if hiding would help conceal the burning red blooming across her cheeks.

Adorable.

His mind drifted. He couldn’t keep delaying this much longer. He needed her closer—not just emotionally, but physically. He wanted to share space with her as they created art. To have her breathe in his world, to feel his presence pressing against her creativity, forcing her to let go of control. To let the madness consume her piece by piece, just as it had consumed him years ago.

But how? How does one pull an innocent into their shadows without scaring them away?

She needed to feel safe enough to fall.

His voice broke the silence again. “What about your painting, Iris? When are you going to show it to your teacher?”

“Um...” She fumbled with her words, blinking like she was pulled out of her tangled thoughts. “Coming week, I guess.”

“So it’s selected already?” he asked, as if he didn’t already know. “Are you going to submit one of your older works?”

“No,” she shook her head. “I think I’ll make a new one.”

Good, he thought. Fresh canvas. A chance to pull her closer.

“Don’t hesitate to ask for help if you need it,” he offered casually.

“O-okay.”

But as she answered, she blushed even harder, her fingers now nervously twisting the ends of her hair. She turned her face away again to hide.

Alaric couldn’t help but chuckle softly under his breath. You’re far too easy to read, Iris.

There was something intoxicating about watching her struggle against her own reactions. The little war inside her was on full display, and he was more than happy to sit back and enjoy every second of it.

He debated for a moment, but the urge won.

“Wanna come with me to an event?” he asked, voice light as though it were nothing more than a passing invitation.

She blinked, turning toward him with a slight frown. “What event?”

“A new gallery is opening,” he explained. “Exclusive show.”

“As your student?” she asked, cautious.

“As my partner,” he replied simply.

Her lips parted slightly in surprise, eyes wide. The word partner hung in the air between them like a heavy, unspoken promise.

Her reaction pleased him deeply.

She stumbled for words. “I-I just... it’s sudden.”

Alaric chuckled again, loving how easily he could throw her off balance. He couldn’t resist adding, “What happened? Am I too old for you?”

The teasing lilt in his voice made her face glow brighter than before. She looked absolutely mortified.

“No! It’s not that! I just—it was sudden, that’s all,” she rushed to explain.

He let her flail a little longer before offering her an easy way out. “Take your time to decide. We have two days, but tell me soon, okay? Otherwise...” he paused, letting the threat hang playfully in the air, “I’ll find someone else to take.”

He saw it instantly.

The flash of jealousy that flickered across her face.

Her brows knitted ever so slightly, her bottom lip tucked between her teeth—a small but telling reaction.

Ah, there it is, he thought with wicked satisfaction. You don’t want anyone else going with me, do you?

“I’ll go,” she blurted.

He almost laughed but held it back, keeping his expression calm.

“I will go,” she repeated, firmer this time, as though trying to reclaim some dignity.

And then she looked away sharply, her gaze fixed on some random point outside the window, avoiding his eyes entirely.

Alaric let a long moment pass, simply savoring the victory.

You want me closer, little one. Even if you don’t understand it yet.

The rest of the drive continued in silence, but the air inside the car was heavy with unsaid things, humming with tension. Every stolen glance she dared to throw his way only added fuel to his growing hunger.

When they finally pulled into the university parking lot, Iris exhaled sharply, as if she’d been holding her breath the entire time.

But Alaric wasn’t quite done.

He killed the engine, turned slightly toward her, and let his voice drop into a softer, darker register. “I’m looking forward to seeing what you’ll wear.”

She visibly stiffened at the implication, her blush returning instantly.

Without another word, he opened his door and stepped out, leaving her stunned in her seat once again.

As they walked ahead, he allowed himself the private smile he had been holding back.

She’s already halfway inside my world.

He could see it now: the painting room, the closed doors, the smell of oil paint and turpentine mixing with her scent. Her delicate hands stained in shades of crimson, charcoal black, and midnight blue while his presence loomed over her like a shadow.

Not simply observing—but guiding.

Soon, Iris.

He would feed her innocence to the fire of obsession until she couldn’t tell where she ended and where his madness began.

********

The lecture hall was unusually warm that morning.

Or maybe it was just Iris.

She sat in her usual seat—second row, near the windows—but her body felt strange. Her skin tingled under her light sweater, her hands fidgeted with her pen, and her heart, well, her heart had been doing somersaults since she stepped inside.

Her eyes lifted, unable to help themselves, searching for the figure that had occupied her every thought since yesterday.

Alaric.

There he was. Standing near the front, leaning casually against the desk as Professor Greenfield lectured about classical forms. His dark buttoned-up shirt contrasted with his pale skin, his long fingers loosely crossed over his chest, his expression unreadable—but those eyes. Sharp. Focused. Watching.

Or at least she felt like they were watching her.

Her stomach twisted.

Why am I like this? she scolded herself, biting the inside of her cheek. Get it together, Iris. You're here to learn.

But no matter how many times she repeated it, her thoughts would slip.

They always slipped back to that moment in his car.

The air had been suffocating in the most delicious way. Trapped inside his expensive black car, sitting just inches away from him, her senses had betrayed her.

The moment his deep voice had said:
"As my partner."

Everything inside her had flipped.

Not as a student. Not as his mentee. Not even as a casual friend.

Partner.

Partner.

The word replayed like a broken record inside her head, driving her insane. The way his lips curled slightly as he said it. The amused glint in his eyes when she stumbled over her words. The way he had teased:

"Am I too old for you?"

God, she wanted to melt right there.

The way her face had heated. The awkward fumbling. And then... his light laugh when she finally whispered, "I’ll go."

And now here she was, in class, unable to breathe right. Her brain refused to focus on art history or classical compositions. The words bounced off her like rain on glass.

All she saw was him.

All she heard was his voice.

"Be my partner."

Her cheeks flushed again, and she quickly dropped her gaze to her notebook, pretending to take notes.

Except her hand had been writing nothing but messy swirls and loops for the past ten minutes.

She peeked up again.

Alaric hadn’t moved. But now—he was glancing across the room. Slowly. Deliberately. His gaze swept over several students before landing—

On her.

Iris’s breath hitched.

For a moment, neither of them looked away. A charged second that made her stomach twist, her chest tighten.

Then, ever so subtly, one side of his mouth curved upward. Barely a smile, more of an acknowledgment.

He knows, she thought, panic rushing through her veins. He knows how flustered I am.

She immediately looked away, heat rushing up her neck.

Calm down. Stop blushing. You look ridiculous.

She could feel her pulse thumping at the base of her throat. She tried inhaling deeply, tried counting backwards.

Ten... nine... eight...

It didn’t help.

The memory of him teasing her—the slight rasp in his voice, the confident way he had leaned toward her—looped endlessly in her head.

"Take your time to decide, we have two days..."
"I’ll find someone else if you say no."

The way he said that—like he was daring her. Testing her.

And when she accepted? The flicker of amusement in his eyes… almost like he enjoyed seeing her struggle. Seeing her fight her own feelings.

She squeezed her eyes shut briefly.

God, I'm hopeless.

Professor Greenfield’s voice pulled her back for a moment.

"...and if you consider the structure of Renaissance proportions, you'll notice how the framework itself creates—"

Focus, Iris. Please focus.

She scribbled a few random words in her notebook just to look like she was participating, but her mind immediately shifted again.

A new thought crept in this time.

What if he invites someone else if I hadn't said yes?

The sudden jealousy she hadn't wanted to admit returned full force. The thought of him showing up with another woman—standing beside him, smiling for pictures, perhaps even touching his arm casually—made her blood boil.

Her jaw tensed as she glared down at her notebook.

I said yes, she reminded herself. I’m going as his partner.

Still, the insecurity gnawed at her. That horrible feeling that she was just one of many girls who probably drooled over him. He was Alaric Rowen after all—the rising star of modern expressionism. A man whose talent had earned global recognition .

And you? You're just one of his admirers and lucky enough to be his student  ,  a friend maybe .

The familiar spiral of self-doubt threatened to take over, but then her mind offered her a dangerous comfort:

"But he asked you."

"As my partner."

The blush returned. She squirmed slightly in her seat.

The lecture continued.

The professor turned to the projection screen, clicking to another slide, talking about chiaroscuro and Caravaggio.

But Iris barely heard a word.

Her mind was too full of Alaric.

His voice.

His eyes.

His smirk.

The way his fingertips had rested lightly on the steering wheel as he waited for her answer.

He’s older... more experienced... more dangerous.

A strange flutter erupted in her chest.

But God, I want to be closer. I want him to choose me. To pull me in further.

Her pen slipped from her sweaty fingers and clattered softly on her desk. She gasped and quickly grabbed it, praying no one noticed how jittery she was.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught movement.

Her heart jumped.

Alaric was shifting his weight again, his arms uncrossing now, his hand stroking his chin thoughtfully. His gaze had settled on her again.

She tried not to look. She really tried.

But the pull was too strong.

She glanced up.

Their eyes locked again.

Oh God, stop staring at me like that, she screamed inside her head.

But Alaric didn’t flinch.

Instead, his thumb ghosted along his jawline in slow, deliberate motion while his eyes traced over her face. He was reading her. Studying her.

She looked away sharply.

Her face burned. Her stomach was twisting into knots.

I’m going to die.

She forced her gaze back on the whiteboard, though nothing registered. The professor’s voice was just background noise now.

Her mind was spinning.

Be my partner...

The words were like fire crawling under her skin.

And then, it happened.

Her distraction finally caught up with her.

She didn’t realize the professor had turned to her until she saw a flash of something flying through the air—

thwack!

The whiteboard marker landed with a light bounce on her desk.

She jumped slightly in surprise.

"Miss Iris," Professor Greenfield said, raising an eyebrow, "focus."

Her cheeks flared red hot.

"S-sorry, sir," she stammered, voice small and high-pitched.

The whole class chuckled lightly, but mercifully, the professor returned to the board without further scolding.

Iris wanted to bury herself inside her notebook.

Her hands gripped her pen tightly, knuckles white.

Stupid. So stupid. Focus!

But the warmth wouldn’t leave her cheeks.

And the worst part? She could sense Alaric watching the whole thing unfold.

She dared not glance his way again.

Her heart thudded painfully against her ribs.

What must he be thinking?

She squeezed her eyes shut for a brief moment, desperate to calm her hammering pulse.

And then, softly, secretly, the words slipped from her lips in a whisper only she could hear:

"I’m more than ready to be your partner, Alaric."

Her blush deepened, and her chest ached as she swallowed down the truth she couldn't say aloud.

The truth that scared her.

The truth that thrilled her.

The truth that tied her closer to him every passing day.

The truth that she always wanted this to be this close to him . I

******

The hallway outside Iris’s classroom buzzed softly with the low hum of students. But he stood still, leaning casually against the wall, eyes fixed on the girl sitting inside.

Iris.

Her fingers nervously tapped against her notebook. Even from this distance, he could see it—the soft pink flush on her cheeks, the parted lips, the restless feet under the desk.

She wasn’t focused on class at all.

A small chuckle left Alex’s lips.
"She’s in love," he murmured, voice low and amused. "No doubt."

she was thinking about.
Alaric.
Of course it must be  him.

His eyes darkened briefly at the name in his mind — the man who had murdered his uncle and turned the scene into one of his wicked masterpieces. The man hiding behind the title of the genius painter, while beneath it all was something far more dangerous.

And yet, Iris—sweet, naive Iris—was utterly lost in him.

"What about him?" Alex whispered, voice like a low breeze. "Does he even love her?"

The click of shoes broke his thoughts.

"Boy, what are you doing here?" the professor asked.

Alex offered a calm, polite smile. "Waiting for you, sir."

The professor gestured him inside. "Come, I’ll introduce you."

Inside, Iris’s head lifted slightly as the door opened.

Their eyes met.

She blinked—momentary recognition flashed,

Good.

"This is Alex," the professor introduced. "He’s an exchange student. Treat him well."

Alex stood tall, charming smile in place. His eyes swept the class but returned to Iris quickly, like a hawk circling prey.

"Nice to meet you all," he said, voice calm. "It would be a pleasure of mine to become friends—and along with you all."
His gaze dropped intentionally to Iris for an extra second.
"Especially you."

Iris shifted slightly, a bit flustered by the direct attention. But before she could react, the professor clapped again.

"Alex, sit in the back for now."

"Of course, sir."

As Alex moved toward the back, his path led him right past Iris. The faintest hint of her perfume tickled his senses. She didn't look up—still lost, still far away in some secret place in her mind.

He sat down a few seats behind her, just far enough not to be suspicious.

The class resumed, but Alex wasn’t listening. His gaze locked fully on Iris’s back—her delicate neck, the way her shoulders tensed slightly as if holding in a secret storm.

Her foot tapped nervously. Her fingers fidgeted with the edge of her sleeve. Her breathing grew uneven.

You're blushing again, sweetheart. Still thinking of him, aren’t you?

Alex’s smirk grew sharper.

It would be fun to steal this attention, he thought, his fingers tapping lightly against the desk.
Very fun.

He leaned forward slightly. She hadn’t even noticed him sitting behind her—completely unaware.

You're so lost in him that you don’t see anyone else. But soon… you will.

Her lips parted faintly. Eyes distant. Breath shallow.

And then he heard it. A soft whisper under her breath:

"I'm more than ready to be your partner, Alaric…"

The words sent a thrill down Alex’s spine.

Before she could gather herself, the professor’s marker suddenly flew across the room, bouncing loudly on Iris’s desk.

"Miss Iris! Focus, please!"

Startled, she snapped upright. "S-Sorry, sir!" she stammered, face burning crimson as her classmates chuckled softly.

Alex leaned back, folding his arms, his smirk never fading.

She’s so far gone for him. This will be very entertaining to watch.

He tilted his head, watching her closely.

The game begins now.