Chapter 2
Jane's POV
Looking back now, it was all meticulously planned.
Two weeks after Sarah's funeral, I showed up at Morrison's office door clutching her belongings—a psychology textbook she had treasured. The evening was quiet, with the psychology department building nearly empty except for the distant sound of a janitor mopping floors.
I made sure I looked both vulnerable and alluring—eyes puffy from crying, body slightly trembling, a white sweater clinging to my curves, the neckline deliberately low to reveal my collarbone and the pale skin of my chest.
When Morrison's office door opened, I was "accidentally" leaning against the doorframe, as if I could barely stand on my own.
"Jane?" His voice was full of concern, but I caught that moment when his gaze lingered on my chest.
I looked up at him, eyes brimming with tears. This man, Sarah's murderer, was now eyeing me with those greedy eyes of his.
"Professor Morrison..." My voice trembled, "Sarah's gone... She always said you were the person she trusted most. I just... don't know who to turn to anymore."
His expression instantly grew complex, and I caught the flicker of desire and calculation in his eyes. He stepped forward, placing both hands on my shoulders, his fingertips "accidentally" grazing my collarbone.
"Jane, don't torture yourself like this," his voice deepened. "Sarah's death has been devastating for all of us."
Perfect. He had taken the bait.
I deliberately leaned closer, my full breasts pressing against his chest. "Professor, I can't sleep at night... Only thoughts of you give me any comfort."
Morrison's breathing noticeably intensified, his hands involuntarily tightening on my shoulders. "Come in and sit down. You shouldn't be alone right now."
Morrison's office was warm, with flames dancing in the fireplace and shelves lined with psychology texts. It looked like a sage's sanctuary—who would guess what sins had occurred here?
"I've been wanting to do something for you," Morrison said, pouring me a cup of hot tea. "Sarah's death... it's made me realize we haven't been providing enough support for our students."
I took the cup, deliberately letting my hand tremble so tea spilled onto the back of my hand. "I'm sorry, I—"
"It's all right." He immediately pulled out tissues to wipe my hand, his touch gentle. "Jane, I'd like to offer you some counseling. The pain of losing a close friend isn't something you should bear alone."
There it was. He'd suggested it himself. I was celebrating inside, but outwardly I showed nothing but tearful gratitude.
"You'd help me?" I clasped his hand, eyes welling with tears. "I feel like you're the only one who can understand my pain. Sarah always said you were the only person who truly understood her."
Morrison's gaze grew even softer, but I could sense a hidden hunger behind it. Yes, he liked being needed, adored, playing the savior. This was his weakness—and my opportunity.
During the next few "counseling" sessions, my performance was flawless. I showed vulnerability at just the right moments, cried at strategic points, and gazed at him with adoring eyes, making him feel like a hero.
By the third session, I decided to raise the stakes.
Morrison's expression grew somber. He stood up and walked to the window, his back to me for a long while.
"Sarah and I..." he sighed, finally speaking, "we did have a special relationship, but it was over. Her death made me realize I need to protect those who are still here."
Special relationship? I laughed coldly inside. Bull. FREAKING. Shit.
I stood up and slowly walked to his side. "Professor, would you protect me?" I choked out, eyes filling with tears. "With Sarah gone, I feel so alone."
"I need you," I said, gently caressing his chest, feeling his rapid heartbeat. "Only you can help me forget this pain."
Morrison's hand trembled as he stroked my cheek, then slowly moved down to my neck. "Jane... you're so young, we shouldn't..."
But his body was saying the opposite. I could feel his hard desire pressing against me, could see the last line of reason crumbling in his eyes.
"But I want you." I pressed against him, my fingers sliding across his belt. "Please don't reject me."
This time, he surrendered completely. His hands grabbed my waist roughly, his lips crushing down on mine in a kiss full of aggression and possession. I pretended to be shy, but my body pressed eagerly against his, feeling his response.
That night, the office was lit only by the flickering firelight. As Morrison eagerly sucked on my nipples, as he roughly entered my body, I knew my performance had succeeded. I suppressed my disgust, pretended innocence, yet guided his every move, letting him believe he was in control.
"Jane... you drive me crazy," he panted in my ear, his movements becoming more intense.
"Oh God..." I moaned, working hard to fake an orgasm while inwardly sneering. This self-important fool had no idea he'd already stepped into my trap.
The next morning, when a janitor caught me leaving Morrison's office, rumors began spreading like wildfire.
"Did you see Jane coming out of Professor Morrison's office this morning?"
"Oh my God, they must have..."
"That girl knows EXACTLY what she's doing."
When Morrison found me, I was "crying" in a corner of the library.
"Everyone's calling me a bad person," I clutched his arm, my eyes full of hurt. "They're saying I seduced you while Sarah's body was barely cold... I was just so sad, I didn't mean anything by it!"
Morrison's expression grew determined and possessive. "Enough. I won't let you suffer this kind of humiliation."
"Jane," he took my hand, "be my girlfriend. Let me have the right to protect you openly."
I feigned surprise and shyness. "James... are you sure?"
"I've never been more certain of anything," he gazed at me, his eyes full of possession.
"Then... yes, I will," I said softly.