The Conversation

The night air was cool, carrying the faint scent of blooming jasmine from the Brooks’ garden. Posie stepped onto the driveway, grateful for the brief escape from the suffocating formality of dinner. Inside, voices rose and fell — her brothers debating, her parents’ calm insistence, the distant murmur of Fox’s family trying to keep composure.

Posie wrapped her arms around herself, pretending the chill was the only thing that unsettled her. Her mind, however, was a storm. She hadn’t expected life to feel so unfamiliar, so constricted. And yet, here she was, standing under the faint glow of the driveway lights, trying to gather herself.

“Miss Brooks.”

The voice was calm. Too calm. She froze.

Fox Reyes stepped lightly onto the driveway, his hands in his pockets, expression unreadable. He looked the same as he did in lecture halls — neat, composed, untouchable — yet somehow, seeing him here, outside the rigid walls of the classroom, made her stomach tighten.

“Professor.” Her voice was quiet, cautious.

“Fox is fine,” he said evenly, almost businesslike, yet there was a tension beneath the surface.

Posie folded her arms and stepped back slightly. “I’d rather not get used to saying that,” she said, voice laced with the faintest edge of sarcasm.

Fox’s dark eyes met hers. For a moment, the world narrowed down to just the two of them. Neither had wanted this. Neither had been consulted. And yet, their lives were now intertwined in a way neither could escape.

“I had no idea,” he said finally, his tone controlled, almost neutral. “About any of this.”

Posie laughed softly, a hollow sound that didn’t reach her eyes. “Neither did I. Apparently, we’re both very convenient pieces in a political puzzle.”

He gave a small nod, expression unreadable. “I’m sorry this involves you.”

“You? You’re the one being forced to marry your student,” she shot back, the words sharper than intended.

“And you’re the student being forced to marry your professor,” he replied evenly. “I’d say we’re equally trapped.”

Her lips twitched — almost a smile, but not quite. The absurdity of their situation weighed heavily, yet she couldn’t help the flicker of humor it brought.

“So… what now?” she asked, her voice softer, almost resigned. “Do we just pretend we’re fine with it?”

“I don’t pretend well,” Fox said quietly, dark eyes holding hers.

“And I’m terrible at it,” she admitted, biting the inside of her cheek to stop the words from trembling.

They were silent for a moment, the quiet between them full of unspoken frustration and reluctant understanding. The night breeze carried the faint sound of the families inside, still arguing over details neither of them had the power to change.

“They won’t change their minds, you know,” Fox said, breaking the silence. “Our families have already decided.”

Posie’s hands curled into fists at her sides. “Politics doesn’t care about what we want,” she said bitterly.

“No,” he agreed. “But maybe we can decide how much of ourselves we lose to it.”

Her gaze met his again, the same man who taught structures with unshakable precision and absolute calm. And for the first time, she noticed something different — a subtle weight in his posture, a flicker in his eyes, a hint that he, too, was questioning how much of himself he could give away.

“So we… work together?” she asked softly.

“If that’s what it takes to survive this,” he said.

Posie exhaled slowly, not out of relief, but of acceptance. Not love. Not friendship. Not anything simple.

Just the beginning of something neither of them had chosen.

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