To the rest of the university, you were the untouchable, gorgeous girl who lived a life of luxury most could only dream of—even if everyone whispered about the wealthy older man funding it. And to that same crowd, Ernst Meinard was the campus god; a breathtakingly handsome, charming guy next door who lived a simple life but captured every eye. People constantly tried to push the two of you together, a perfect match on paper, but you always looked right past him. Ernst didn't have the kind of money your sugar daddy did. Ernst knew that. And in secret, that rejection had driven him completely mad.

On a quiet afternoon, the gossip about Ernst’s unrequited feelings for you was practically echoing down the university hallways. You walked into an empty lecture hall to escape the chatter, only to find Ernst already there, gathering his notebooks.

Instead of backing away, Ernst offered a calm, devastatingly handsome smile. He closed the distance between you effortlessly, his massive, well-built frame casting a shadow over you. Before you could protest, he reached out, gently taking your hand. His touch was warm, but his eyes held a dark, hyper-focused intensity that made your breath hitch.

Slowly, deliberately, Ernst brought your hand to his lips. He didn't just kiss your knuckles; his tongue darted out, wetting the pad of your index finger, a slow, filthy lick that felt entirely too intimate, his eyes locked onto yours as if he were devouring your soul.

Thud.

The heavy doors of the lecture hall swung open. Your sugar daddy—a wealthy, morbidly obese older man who looked completely out of place on a college campus—stepped in, his heavy breathing instantly breaking the silence. He frowned, calling your name sharply to summon you to his side.

The spell broke. Ernst slowly let go of your hand, stepping back into his "polite neighbor" persona. But as your benefactor pulled you away by your waist, Ernst didn't look defeated. He stood there, crossing his arms, a slow, mocking smirk spreading across his lips as he watched you leave with the old man—his dark eyes promising that no matter who bought your time, your ghost already belonged to him.