Chapter 192
Lily POV
I bowed my head slightly, feeling the heat of embarrassment creep up my neck as I met his steady gaze. “I’m truly sorry, sir” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “It was not my intention p>
“Not your intention?” he scoffed. “Do you know since I told you about the private tutoring, once it’s 1:30 pm, my consciousness automatically reminds me that we’re meeting in thirty minutes. Then I put a stop to everything I was supposed to do that would take more than thirty minutes p>
“I’m sorry I muttered.
“Stop saying you’re sorry, Miss Stone, because you’re not. Maybe I am the enthusiastic one here. I am too eager to see you pass or something else because I have never done this for any student. I’ve had students in more dire conditions, still I choose to tutor you p>
“That’s not what it seems sir. I promise, I remembered that I was meeting with you, I even read the material you gave me cover for cover and answered the assessment guide at the end of each topic p>
I riffled through the table, searching for the material. When I finally found it, I immediately, crossed over to his table and dropped it in front of him. Then I pulled up a chair and sat beside him.
“I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me sir and I don’t take this for granted. I just have a lot going on p>
“Excuses?” he interrupted me arching a brow. “Really? What will it take for you to actually own up to your shit and take responsibility p>
I was taken aback. “I take responsibility for my wrong doings p>
“Do you? Or you try to bring up excuses, avoiding the situation p>
“I don’t do that, sir,” I shook my head, confused. “I would know if I did p>
He leaned back on his chair, studying me for a brief second. “You seemed so engrossed in what you were doing and organization is indeed crucial for academic success p>
“Still, it is not an excuse to forget an important meeting with you,” I lowered my head contritely. “I’m so sorry p>
He nodded and I felt his gaze shift. When I looked up, his eyes were focused on my neck. Despite Emma’s careful makeup application and the high collar of my sweater, I suddenly felt exposed, as if he could see through all my careful concealment.
“The injury,” he said quietly, his tone was neutral “Has it healed properly p>
My hand flew instinctively to my collar, adjusting it higher despite knowing it was already perfectly positioned. “I’ll be fine,” I said quickly, nodding enthusiastically. “It’s nothing serious p>
“Of course,” he replied, though something in his tone suggested he found my response less than convincing. “These things usually heal quickly enough p>
The casual way he dismissed my injury should have been reassuring, but instead, it made me more nervous. There was something in his expression—a knowing quality that made me wonder exactly how much he saw yesterday.
“How did you get it?” he asked suddenly, his voice still conversational but with an undertone that made the question feel more significant than simple curiosity.
I stared at him, completely taken aback by his directness. Why was he being so chatty today? Yesterday, he had been all business—professional, cold, and focused solely on my academic failures. Now he was asking personal questions with the casual interest of someone making small talk, but his eyes held an intensity that suggested nothing about this conversation was casual.
“I I began, then stopped, realizing I had no prepared answer for this question. I couldn’t exactly explain that my mate had tried to strangle me while under the influence of a curse.
In desperation, I tried to change the topic. “I’m sorry,” I said suddenly, “but I just realized I don’t actually know your name. I mean, I know you’re a Professor, standing in for Professor Morrison, obviously, but I trailed off, feeling foolish for the awkward transition but hoping he would take the bait.
His eyebrows rose slightly, and for a moment, I thought he might press his original question. But then his expression shifted to something that might have been amusement.
“Nathan,” he said finally. “Nathan Morrison. Though I prefer to maintain formal boundaries with my students, so Professor Morrison will continue to suffice p>
“You’re Professor Morrison’s brother?” I asked perplexed.
“His son,” he said quietly, holding my gaze. “James Morrison is my father p>
“That would explain why you’re so young. You look more like a student than an actual professor even though you try to dress old and I trailed off realizing I was now the strange one.
“I’m…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to go off like that p>
He chuckled, leaning towards me, our faces were inches apart. “I didn’t know you’ve been paying close attention to me p>
I wanted to stand, but I felt like that would be awkward, so I turned my face away. “Not really, it’s a silent observation and since I didn’t come at the beginning of your lectures, I always wondered at your name. Plus, with the private tutoring sessions, I thought it might be appropriate to know p>
“That is if I would keep doing that,” he said quietly.
As I turned to talk to him about that, I felt someone slide next to me.
“Hey!” the person whispered.
When I turned it was the boy from the morning. The one who had collided into me. His sandy brown hair was still slightly damp and his arms were laden with what appeared to be photocopied notes.
His friend from this morning—the shorter boy with dark hair and glasses—tstood behind him, looking slightly out of breath as if they’d been hurrying through the library.
“Oh, hey,” I said, surprised by his appearance but grateful for the interruption. “What are you doing here p>
“I told you this morning I’d make copies of my notes for you,” he said, setting down a stack of papers on the edge of the table. “I felt so terrible about ruining your materials when I crashed into you. These are from Professor Nathan’s general lectures—all the key points and reading assignments from the past few weeks p>