The week that followed the Oliver incident reshaped the very air between them. Kabir’s jealousy had cooled into something far more dangerous, a smoldering, deliberate possession that simmered just beneath the surface of his every public gesture. In the lecture hall he was the perfect professor, voice rich and calm, dark eyes sweeping the room without lingering too long on the third row. But the moment the door clicked shut on their private world, he became the man who had dreamed of her for years, a man who would leave no inch of her unclaimed.

On a gray London morning, mist clinging to the academy’s gothic spires, Kabir summoned Amber to the study an hour before his advanced seminar. She arrived breathless, her long black hair loose over a soft cream blouse that did nothing to hide the heavy sway of her massive breasts. The door sealed behind her and she found him leaning against the massive oak desk, a small velvet box in his hand.