PROFESSOR SIN

AMARA POV

His hand slid up my thigh, firm and unyielding, dragging heat along my skin.

I sucked in a shaky breath as his broad frame hovered over me, shadow swallowing me whole. Roman Black's mouth was at my ear, his voice low, sinful, the kind that made every nerve in my body bend to him.

"Do you know what you do to me, Amara?"

God, the way his hips pressed down against mine, the way his chest pinned me to the desk, claiming every inch of me like I already belonged to him. My fingers curled tight, desperate to hold on to something real. His scent was leather and mint, intoxicating, and I swore if he moved any closer, I'd dissolve under him.

His thumb stroked my waist, slow, deliberate, leaving fire burn through me. My body arched on instinct, craving more, begging for more. His lips dragged over my neck, rough stubble scraping against tender skin, and I couldn't stop the shiver that ripped through me.

I gasped when he pushed harder into me, that heavy weight grinding against me, my heart slamming against my ribs like it might tear out. My thighs trembled. My pulse stuttered.

The sound slipped out before I could swallow it back.

A moan. Soft. Barely there.

But it was enough.

I jolted back to myself at once. I pressed my legs tightly together.

The desk in front of me. My notebook open. My pen in my hand. The dull scratch of chalk against the board. My chest rose and fell too quickly as reality hit me like a bucket of ice water.

Beside me, the girl with curly hair nudged my elbow, biting back a smirk, her brows raised like she'd just caught me in something scandalous.

Heat rushed in my face. I dropped my gaze to the page, bowing my head as if the words there could open and swallow me whole.

When I dared to lift my eyes again, He was there.

Roman Black.

Standing at the front of the class, sleeves rolled up, voice like whiskey poured neat, smooth and dangerous. His gaze swept across the room like he a bear searching for his prey.

And then it found me.

Something twisted in my stomach. Not butterflies. Something I can't seem to place my hands on . Gosh I'm done for.

I tore my eyes away, pretending to study the syllabus, but my body betrayed me, every nerve locked onto the way his voice wrapped around certain words, low and heavy, like when he said intimacy.

He didn't flirt. He warned. With nothing more than his presence.

By the end of class, I was the last still lingering, shoving papers into my bag. I told myself it was an accident. It wasn't.

"Miss..."

His voice cut through the quiet, low and commanding.

"Blake," I offered, throat dry, pulse hammering.

"Stay a moment."

I did. Because maybe I was stupid. Or reckless. Or just lonely enough to want to hear what he'd say next.

He moved closer. Not touching. But close enough that I could breathe in the mint of his coat. Power radiated off him, slow, heavy, deliberate.

"You've read ahead," he said quietly. "Your eyes gave you away during the discussion. Tell me... did you agree with the ending?"

I swallowed hard. "No."

"Why not?"

My gaze lifted, caught by his. Storm-dark. Controlled. Dangerous.

"Because I don't believe people walk away when they're burning," I whispered.

His jaw flexed, something unspoken flashing through his expression, intrigue, surprise or something darker.

The silence stretched, dangerous, almost suffocating.

"You should go," he said finally, stepping back.

But as I turned, his voice followed, low and rough, not meant for me to hear:

"Curious little thing."

And God help me... I smiled.

******************************

I walked out into the fading light of late afternoon, heart pounding in my throat.

The campus buzzed with life, but I felt strangely apart from it. Like I was on a different planet, orbiting alone.

Then I heard it.

"Oh my God, is that your outfit, Amara?"

Laughter. High-pitched. Cruel.

I stiffened.

A group of girls stood by the fountain ...hair glossy, lips painted, laughter sharp as razors. I knew them. Everyone did. They were the daughters of senators, CEOs, ministers. Girls who smiled sweetly in selfies and spat poison the second the camera clicked off. The elite. The untouchables.

They called themselves Sassy. God knows why.

And in the middle of them, like a rose among thorns, was my sister.

Nina.

Her arms were crossed, an awkward smile curling her lips. "Guys, stop. She's just...you know. Quiet."

One of them snorted. "Quiet? Or invisible?"

Another chimed in. "Or just poor."

The words sliced through me like cold glass.

Nina glanced over and caught my eye. Her smile faltered, not with guilt. With embarrassment.

She always hated being reminded we were sisters.

I shifted my gaze away, willing the sting in my eyes to fade. My fingers tightened on the strap of my bag.

"Are you walking home?" one of the girls called.

They already knew the answer.

Nina stepped forward suddenly, her voice too loud. "You want a ride, Amara?"

It was performative. A spotlight offer. One she knew I'd never take. Not in front of her friends. Not when they were already laughing.

I shook my head without looking back. "I'm fine."

"Suit yourself," someone muttered, smirking.

Behind me, I heard the purr of an engine, Nina's driver pulling up in her sleek, air-conditioned car. She always got picked up. I always walked.

Twins, some used to think.

But we were nothing alike.

She lived in the sun.

I crawled through her shadows.

******************************

The walk home was quiet. But inside me, it wasn't.

Every footstep echoed like a warning, every gust of wind curled around my bare neck like horror. My thoughts drifted back to Professor Black, the way his voice dropped when he spoke to me, like he didn't want anyone else to hear. The way he looked at me, not like a man looks at a girl.

Like a beast recognizing something it wants to devour.

You've read ahead... Your eyes gave you away...

My chest tightened. No one ever noticed that about me. Not even Nina.

But he did.

And that made him dangerous.

I adjusted my backpack, picking up my pace. My legs were starting to ache, and the neighborhood around me began to change, buildings cracked, air colder, windows darker. Home wasn't far now.

Unfortunately.

I crossed the street, hands trembling, my heartbeat rising with each step. My feet slowed, even though I tried to will them forward. The closer I got, the heavier everything became.

My breath sounded loud in my ears. My legs wobbled. My hands trembled against the strap of my bag. My mind screamed at me to turn back.

But I couldn't.

I never could.

Home wasn't a place.

It was a warning.

And tonight, like every other night, I'd have to face it.

****************

The metal gate creaked open. I offered the gateman a small smile as I stepped through.

"Good evening, sir," I mumbled.

He nodded, gaze flicking toward the long driveway behind me.

Luxurious cars lined the front, imported, polished. Among them, Nina's black Benz gleamed under the porch light.

She was already home.

Of course she was.

Our parents were wealthy. Painfully so. But money doesn't buy warmth. Or answers. Or the smallest explanation for why I was treated like furniture in my own house.

I walked slowly toward the entrance, each step feeling like a countdown.

Ten steps.

Nine.

Eight

I gripped the edge of my shirt with one hand, chest tightening.

Six,

Five,

I closed my eyes at the doorstep. Just for a moment. To prepare.

Three.

Two.

I opened the door.

And stepped into hell.

The first words that hit me were sharp, careless, echoing from the hallway:

"The doctor said we have to get the surgery done soon. This can't wait."

Then came a voice even colder.

"And who's going to break the news to Her? Her?"

Her.

I didn't even need to ask who her was.

AMARA POV

The moment I stepped into the living room, the air shifted.

The room fell quiet. Too quiet. And all three heads turned to me at once..Mom, Dad, and Nina. Their eyes fixed on me like I was a puzzle they had already solved. My skin prickled, I felt goosebumps.

I knew that look.

It was the same look they always wore before something terrible was about to be asked of me. Something that had nothing to do with love and everything to do with blood.

"Sweetie, you're back," Mom said, her voice unusually soft.

She walked over and took my hand. "I made your favorite. It's on the table," she added with a smile that didn't reach her eyes.

Behind her, the maids were setting the table like we were some happy, peaceful family. Like I hadn't just walked into a silent war disguised as kindness.

I could feel Dad's eyes on me, cold, quiet, unreadable.

I swallowed hard. My stomach twisted, and not because I was hungry. I sat at the table, picked at the food, and kept glancing at them. Their gaze flickered, their mouths moved in small whispers. Mom forced small smiles. Dad stayed quiet, firm. Nina sat there, eyes lowered like she already knew.

Then Dad spoke.

"She needs a kidney transplant," he said flatly.

His voice was like stone. No warmth. Just fact. Just expectation.

I froze.

Of course.

Of course, it was something like this.

The food in my mouth turned to dust. I stared at them, hoping I had heard wrong. But I hadn't.

This was it. Again.

Tears welled in my eyes, burning. I stood quickly, my chair scraping loudly against the floor. I grabbed my backpack and ran upstairs, the sound of my footsteps too loud in the silent house.

Once in my room, I slammed the door shut and locked it. My chest was tight, my breath coming in sharp, shallow gasps.

This was it. This was my life.

I was the mirror child. That's what I called myself, anyway. Not a daughter. Not a sister. A spare. A copy. A reflection of someone more important.

Nina had always been sick, ever since we were little. And I... I was the backup plan. The donor. The piece of her they kept ready.

Blood? I gave it.

Bone marrow? They took it.

Skin grafts? Yes, they did that too.

Platelet transfusion? Done.

Always me. Always my body.

And never once did I get to say no.

I buried my face in my pillow, squeezing it until my arms ached. The tears came fast, soaking the fabric. My chest heaved as I cried, not just for now but for every single time they did this to me.

When I was seven, Nina had a rare infection. I gave blood, twice in one week. I was too weak to even walk properly afterward, but they said I was "brave."

When I was nine, she needed a marrow match. They told me it would just be "a little sting." I screamed and cried, begged them not to do it, clung to Mom's dress, shaking.

She peeled me off and said, "If you don't do it, your sister could die."

That was always the line. Always.

If you don't, she'll die.

If you don't, it'll be your fault.

If you don't, you're selfish.

I pressed the pillow harder against my face, trying to smother the sound of my own sobs. But they wouldn't stop. The memories were endless. The pain, the guilt they fed me like breakfast. And I... I swallowed it. Every time.

They made me believe Nina's life was more valuable than mine.

And maybe that's how they always saw it. She was the miracle child, the one they prayed for. The precious gem. I was the "lucky coincidence," born as a perfect genetic match. A living donor in the shape of a daughter.

I threw the pillow across the room.

It hit the wall and fell with a soft thud.

I grabbed my teddy bear from the shelf and hugged it tightly. The last gift I got before my childhood disappeared.

"You were six," they said.

"You set the kitchen on fire," they said.

"You fainted. Nina ran in to save you. She breathed in so much smoke that it damaged her lungs."

And just like that, her sickness became my fault. That one moment I don't even remember. They told me I had memory loss. That I owe her this life.

So I started owing.

And never stopped.

I sniffled, rocking back and forth on the floor.

I don't even know who I am anymore. I don't have friends. I don't go out. I can't even have hobbies or plans because at any moment, Nina could fall sick again, and I'd be called in like a machine part. Like a tool.

And now they want my kidney.

My kidney.

My body isn't even fully grown yet, and they want to take a part of it again. And for what?

To save someone who never looked at me as a sister, only as her personal healer.

Nina never thanks me. She never even talks to me unless she's in pain. Then she cries and says she doesn't want to die, and everyone turns to me like I'm supposed to fix it. Like I created the mess.

I'm not a person to them.

I'm a solution.

A living sacrifice.

I curled into a ball on the floor, clutching the bear tighter, my nails digging into its soft fur. My chest felt like it would explode from the weight pressing down on it.

I didn't ask to be born for this.

I didn't ask to be her savior.

I want a life of my own. I want to be loved for who I am, not for what I can give. I want someone to look at me and not see a donor card.

I want out.

A soft knock came at the door.

I didn't answer.

"Amara?" It was Mom's voice.

I stayed quiet.

Another knock.

"We didn't mean to upset you. We just, We're desperate. Your sister I'"

I covered my ears.

No. Not this time.

I won't be guilted again. I can't.

If I say yes again, I might never find the strength to say no.

I squeezed my eyes shut, whispering to myself, "This is my body. This is my life."

And for once in my life, I wanted to mean it.

AMARA POV

The morning started like every other, loud, annoying, and unfair.

I sat on the edge of my bed, arms wrapped tightly around my knees, staring at the sunlight bleeding through the curtains. I could already hear her laugh echoing down the hall. Nina. My perfect little sister.

The knock on my door came soft and slow, like always. I didn't answer. Of course, she didn't wait.

"Are you done sulking?" she asked, stepping in with her signature fake concern.

I didn't look up. "Get out."

She gasped. "I was just checking on you, Amara. You've been so moody lately."

I scoffed. "Yeah? Maybe if you and your crew didn't treat me like trash every day, I'd be a little happier."

Nina blinked, her lips trembling just slightly. "I didn't mean.."

I stood up. "Don't pretend with me. You laugh with them. You watch them mock me. And then you sit here and act like a saint."

Her voice rose in defense, "I just want peace in this house.."

"Then stop being a two-faced snake!" I snapped.

Right on cue, our mother appeared at the door, arms crossed, brows pinched with frustration. "What's going on in here?"

Nina turned, face crumpling, tears welling like magic. "She's always yelling at me. I try to be nice, but she's just so mean, Mom"

My mother's eyes shifted to me, colder than ever. "Amara. Again?"

My stomach sank. "She's lying. I didn't..."

"I'm tired of this, Amara," she cut in. "Always so bitter, always bullying your younger sister. What did she ever do to you?"

"I..." My throat burned. "Forget it."

I didn't wait for her to finish. I grabbed my bag and stormed out. I didn't care if I skipped breakfast or if my shoes didn't match. I just had to get out of that house.

As I walked toward the school, cars zoomed by, horns honking. The usual. Then I saw the sleek black Benz rolling past. The window slid down, revealing Nina smiling and waving at me like some damn beauty queen.

Their driver, Mike, nodded politely as she got into the car, her expensive perfume lingering in the air even from that far away. I looked down at my worn sneakers, my secondhand jeans. I was the older sister, but somehow, I was always in her shadow.

I swallowed the bitterness and forced my legs forward.

All that kept me going... was him.

Professor Black.

His name made something burn in me. I didn't know what it was..maybe obsession. Maybe madness. But I needed it. Smile creeping to my cheek with just the thought of him.

He made me feel seen.

So when I got to class and didn't see him, my whole body went cold.

"Where's Professor Black?" I asked a girl next to me.

She shrugged. "Some emergency. Class is canceled."

The words hit me like a punch. My throat tightened, heart pounding with disappointment and rage.

No. No. No.

He was the only good thing in my life.

I couldn't go back home. Not yet. Not with all this inside me. I needed to breathe, to escape, to feel something, anything but this emptiness.

By the time the sun went down, I was back in my tiny room, staring at myself in the mirror. My hands shook as I pulled out the dress I kept hidden in the back of my closet, short, black, tight. Something I'd never worn before.

I didn't care.

I wanted to feel alive tonight.

I smeared on red lipstick, curled my lashes, and left through the window like a thief. The street lights flickered above me as I headed toward the club I'd only ever passed by..Heat.

Inside, the music slammed into my chest like thunder. Lights flashed. Bodies moved. I was one of them now. I was part of something chaotic, wild, free.

I drank something sweet and burning. Then another. I lost count. The music became my heartbeat. I swayed, lifting my hands, closing my elyes. My tiny hips moved to the rhythm, and for the first time, I didn't feel small. I felt... powerful.

A hand slid around my waist. Some guy I didn't know pressed against me from behind, his breath hot near my ear.

I let it happen for a second.

But then

I felt it.

Him.

Before I even saw him, I knew.

The guy behind me was yanked away with force. I turned, breath hitching and there he was.

Professor Black.

No. Not Professor. Not here.

Here, he was something else. Bigger. Darker. Dangerous and most especially Smoking hot.

His hand wrapped around my wrist as he dragged me away from the dance floor, past the sweaty crowd, into a dimly lit corner behind a curtain.

I didn't speak.

Couldn't.

He stood over me, tall and furious, breathing hard. "What the hell are you doing here, Amara?"

My name on his lips made me tremble.

"I..." My voice was barely a whisper.

His eyes flicked down my body, over the clingy dress, my bare thighs, my trembling legs. His hand rose, slow, knuckles brushing the hem of my dress. I shivered.

He didn't touch me yet not really. But I felt him everywhere.

He leaned in, his face inches from mine. His breath hot on my cheek. "You have no idea what you're doing," he growled.

I tilted my head up to look at him....really look at him.

His eyes burned through me.

My lips parted. My legs unsteady.

There was a strange wet heat between them, I felt a drip down there.

What was this feeling?

My heart beat so loud, I was sure he could hear it.

Then I whispered it.

A name I didn't even realize I'd made up for him in my mind.

"PROFESSOR SIN ?"