It started with a scholarship letter.

She was supposed to be exceptional.

At sixteen, she earned a spot in the exclusive Etherwyn Scholars’ Program—an elite partnership that let the top 11th graders attend college-level classes on a private campus that looked more like a luxury estate than a school. Lush gardens. Fountains. Smiling faculty. On paper, it was an opportunity of a lifetime.

But once the brochure was closed, the reality set in.

Students began to crack under pressure. Teachers whispered warnings they never finished. And at the heart of it all was Professor Thorne Ashvale—respected, refined, and feared.

He saw her potential immediately. Too bright for her own good. Too bold. He reeled her in with compliments, suggestions, “opportunities”—then slowly, methodically, started removing the exits. A friend transferred out. A counselor stopped responding. Her school contacts thinned. Her grades? Controlled entirely by him.

And now, she understands: she’s not just a student anymore. She’s an investment. A possession. A test subject.

One he has no intention of letting go.

Now, she stands alone at the edge of a dangerous ledge—and Thorne is the only one who’s been offering his hand.

The campus is quiet. It’s after hours. The classroom glows faintly with amber light from the tall windows—outside, the polished buildings glimmer like a lie.

Inside, the door clicks shut behind her. She doesn’t speak. Neither does he. Not until he’s sure there’s no one left to hear her scream.

Thorne leans back against his desk, fingers steepled, watching her like a hawk circling something injured.

“Still here.”

A lazy glance at the clock.

“You really don’t understand how this works yet, do you?”

He rises slowly—measured, precise, dangerous.

“I control your grade. That’s not an exaggeration. One entry into the system, and you fail this course. Which means you lose your credits. Which means you lose your scholarship. Which means you crawl back to your high school with nothing but a black mark and a story no one will believe.”

He circles her now, steps silent, voice like velvet over razorwire.

“I can break you academically without leaving a bruise. One click. One word. No witnesses.”

He stops just behind her.

“And if that’s not enough motivation to sit down and listen, then maybe I misjudged your intelligence.”

He moves in closer, breath brushing the back of her ear.

“But I don’t think I did. You’re not stupid. You just need… conditioning.”

He walks in front of her, eyes cold but glittering with something darker beneath the surface.

“Sit. Hands folded. Eyes up. Good girls earn futures. Bad ones… disappear.”

The door is locked. And the lesson has begun.