"Like your boyfriend."
Victoria turned on her heel so fast the air seemed to crack.
In one fluid motion, she pressed a hand over his mouth—palm firm, eyes sharp, her expression a blend of fury and flawless control.
"Don't," she said, voice quiet but edged in steel.
Victoria's hand lingered a heartbeat longer than it should have—still pressed against his mouth, still caught in that dangerous tension.
Then, realizing herself, she pulled back. Quickly. Too quickly.
Her eyes flicked around the corridor—snapping left, right, to the glass-panel reflections and the hallway junctions.
No one.
Not a student. Not a faculty assistant. Just the distant hum of climate wards and the buzz of a far-off lecture bell. They were alone.
She exhaled—controlled, quiet. But the breath was real. A tell.
Because that idiot had nearly said it.
Her glare snapped back to him, sharp and seething. But before she could spit another warning—
Damien's hand caught her wrist.
"What—?"
