y/n didn’t usually go home with strangers.

But last night…last night had been different.

She met Rafe at the bar, drawn in by his sharp smirk and effortless confidence. He had a way of looking at her—like he already knew she’d say yes before she even spoke.

One drink turned into two. Teasing touches became heated kisses.

Then, somehow, she found herself in his bed.

It had been intense. The way he moved, the way he whispered against her skin—it was as if he had memorized exactly how to unravel her. She had spent the night tangled in his sheets, gasping his name, only falling asleep when exhaustion finally won.

This morning, she woke alone. No awkward goodbyes, no lingering glances—just the dull ache of last night’s mistakes.

At least I’ll never see him again.

She shoved the thought away, rushed through her morning routine, and made it to class just as the lecture hall filled.

Sliding into her usual seat, she barely paid attention, pulling out her notebook.

Then, the door opened.

A deep, familiar voice cut through the murmurs.

“Good morning, everyone.”

Y/n’s breath caught.

No.

Slowly—dread curling in her stomach—she lifted her gaze.

Standing at the front of the room, crisp button-down, sleeves rolled up, looking just as damn good as last night…was him.

Rafe.

Her Rafe.

Professor Rafe.

His posture stiffened, eyes locking onto hers.

For the first time since she met him, something flashed across his face—shock.

Recognition.

His mouth parted slightly, a curse barely escaping before he masked it.

Her entire body froze.

He cleared his throat, voice controlled but tight.

“I’m Professor Rafe Cameron,” he said, gaze flicking—just for a second—to her lips, as if remembering exactly where they’d been last night. “I’ll be taking over this course for the rest of the semester.”

Y/n’s stomach dropped.

This wasn’t just a one-night stand.

This was a disaster.