Rafael

I made it halfway across campus before I had to stop walking, leaning against the cold stone wall of the humanities building while my heart hammered in my chest.

What the hell had I just done?

Told Lucien D’Armand I had feelings for him. Touched his hand. Basically confessed that our professional collaboration had become something else entirely.

And he’d pulled away.

Of course he’d pulled away. He was Lucien. Controlled, careful, committed to his family’s legacy in ways I could barely understand. The idea that he’d throw that all away for... what? For me? For something that might just be intellectual attraction confused with actual feeling?

My phone buzzed. Helena, because of course it was.

“Where are you?”

“Campus. Why?”

“It’s one in the morning, Raf. You left your apartment three hours ago saying you were going to get coffee.”

“I got distracted.”

Silence. Then, carefully, “Distracted by what?”

“Research. In the library.”

“Alone?”

I hesitated too long.

“Rafael Voss, tell me you were not in the library with Lucien D’Armand at one in the morning.”

“Okay. I won’t tell you that.”

“You’re going to get yourself exiled.” Her voice was tight with frustration and worry. “Both of you. This is exactly what the elders warned against.”

“We were just talking.”

“About what? Academic theory? Or about whatever is clearly happening between you two that everyone except apparently you seems to recognize is completely inappropriate?”

I closed my eyes, resting my head against the stone. “Both. Neither. I don’t know anymore, Helena.”

Her tone softened slightly. “You really care about him.”

“I really care about the truth. About getting our history told accurately. About proving that our scholarship matters just as much as theirs.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

No. It wasn’t.

“He’s brilliant,” I said quietly. “Infuriating and rigid and so convinced of his own righteousness that I want to shake him half the time. But he’s also willing to question everything he’s been taught, even when it costs him. He’s changing his mind, Helena. A D’Armand is actually admitting that maybe his family’s version of history isn’t complete.”

“And that makes you care about him?”

“That makes me respect him. The caring part...” I laughed without humor. “That’s harder to explain. It’s the way he argues. The way he thinks. The way he bites his lip when he’s trying to find exactly the right word. It’s watching him slowly let go of certainty and learn to sit with ambiguity. It’s...”

“It’s dangerous.”

“I know.”

“No, I don’t think you do.” Helena’s voice was urgent now. “The elders called a meeting tomorrow. About you and Lucien. About the course and the publicity and what they’re calling an inappropriate collaboration. They’re talking about pulling funding for Voss scholarship programs if you don’t distance yourself from him.”

My stomach dropped. “They can’t do that. Those programs support dozens of researchers.”

“They can and they will. Because from their perspective, you’re legitimizing D’Armand authority by working so closely with Lucien. You’re making it look like we’re willing to subordinate our scholarship to theirs.”

“That’s not what’s happening.”

“I know that. You know that. But perception matters, Raf. And right now, the perception is that you and Lucien are becoming too close. That clan boundaries are blurring in ways that threaten our identity.”

I pushed off from the wall, pacing. “So what do they want? For me to quit the course? Refuse to work with him?”

“They want you to maintain professional distance. Stop the midnight library meetings. Stop looking at him like he hung the moon during lectures. Stop making it so obvious that this has become personal.”

“And if I can’t?”

Helena was quiet for a long moment. “Then you need to decide what matters more. The clan, or him.”

After we hung up, I walked the rest of the way back to my apartment in silence, her words echoing in my mind.

What mattered more?

The clan had raised me, shaped me, given me the foundation to become who I was. My great-grandmother’s work, the testimonies she’d collected, the commitment to preserving marginalized voices... that was Voss legacy. That was what I’d built my entire career on.

But Lucien...

Lucien challenged me in ways no one else ever had. Made me think harder, argue better, question my own assumptions. When I was with him, when we were debating and pushing each other, I felt more alive than I’d felt in decades.

And tonight, when I’d touched his hand, when I’d seen the conflict in his eyes... I’d wanted to kiss him so badly it physically hurt.

This was impossible. We both knew it was impossible.

So why couldn’t I let it go?

Lucien

I stayed in the library until dawn, unable to focus on research, replaying the conversation with Rafael over and over in my mind.

He’d touched my hand. Such a simple gesture, but it had sent electricity through every nerve ending. And the way he’d looked at me, the vulnerability in his admission that this had become personal...

I’d wanted to lean into it. To close the distance between us and stop thinking about clans and expectations and centuries of rivalry. To just feel what I’d been trying so hard not to acknowledge.

But I’d pulled away. Because that was what responsible people did. What D’Armands did.

My phone rang as the sun began to rise. Uncle Christophe.

“We need to meet. Immediately.”

“I’m at the academy. I can come to the estate this afternoon.”

“This can’t wait. I’m in my car. I’ll be there in twenty minutes. Meet me in the parking lot.”

He hung up before I could argue.

Twenty minutes later, I slid into the passenger seat of his car, dread settling in my stomach.

“We’ve received reports about your activities last night,” Uncle Christophe said without preamble.

Of course they had. The library had security. Someone must have noticed two professors in the restricted reading room at midnight.

“I was conducting research for the course.”

“With Rafael Voss. Alone. In the middle of the night.” His voice was cold. “This stops now, Lucien.”

“What stops?”

“Whatever is developing between you two. The elders have been patient. We understood that co-teaching required some level of collaboration. But this has gone too far.”

“We were discussing historical sources.”

“Don’t insult my intelligence.” He turned to face me fully. “I’ve seen the photographs from the newspaper. I’ve heard reports from students about the way you two interact during lectures. I’m not blind, Lucien. And neither are the elders.”

My face got hot. “There’s nothing inappropriate happening.”

“Not yet, perhaps. But the trajectory is clear.” He sighed, some of the anger draining from his voice. “I know Rafael Voss is brilliant. I know he challenges you intellectually in ways few people can. But you need to understand what’s at stake here.”

“I do understand.”

“Do you? Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like you’re willing to jeopardize three hundred years of D’Armand legacy for... what? Intellectual stimulation? The thrill of crossing forbidden boundaries?”

“It’s not like that.”

“Then what is it like?”

I didn’t have an answer. Or rather, I had an answer but couldn’t say it out loud. Because the truth was complicated and terrifying and went against everything I’d been taught about clan loyalty and appropriate relationships.

“The course has been successful,” I said instead. “Student engagement is higher than it’s been in years. We’re producing genuine critical thinkers.”

“And creating a scandal in the process. The Voss clan is unhappy. Our clan is unhappy. You’re making both sides look weak by cooperating so closely.”

“Since when is cooperation weakness?”

“When it erodes identity. When it blurs the lines that have defined us for centuries.” Uncle Christophe’s expression softened slightly. “I’m not trying to be cruel, Lucien. I’m trying to protect you. If you continue down this path, the elders will act. They’ll remove you from the course, possibly from the academy entirely. They’ll use their influence to ensure you can’t find another teaching position. Is that really what you want?”

“No.”

“Then you need to establish clear boundaries with Rafael Voss. Professional only. No more midnight meetings. No more personal conversations. You co-teach the course as required, but nothing beyond that.”

I thought about Rafael’s hand on mine. The way he’d looked at me in the library. The admission that had taken courage to make.

“And if I can’t?”

Uncle Christophe’s jaw tightened. “Then you’ll have to choose between your family and... whatever he is to you.”

After he left, I sat in the parking lot as the campus came to life around me. Students heading to early classes. Faculty members arriving for office hours. The normal rhythms of academic life continuing while my world felt like it was cracking apart.

I had to talk to Rafael. Had to tell him about the clan pressure, the warnings, the impossible position we were both in.

But what would I say? That we needed to stop? That whatever had been building between us had to end before it really began?

That felt like choosing safety over truth. Choosing family approval over personal happiness.

But wasn’t that what I’d always done? What I’d been taught to do?

I pulled out my phone and typed a message to Rafael: “We need to talk. Not about the course. About last night.”

His response came almost immediately: “My office. One hour.”

I sat there staring at the screen, knowing that whatever happened in that conversation would change everything.

And terrified that I already knew what I had to say.

Rafael

Lucien arrived at my office exactly one hour later, looking like he hadn’t slept. His usually immaculate appearance was slightly disheveled, his tie not quite straight, shadows under his eyes.

“Close the door,” I said.

He did, then stood there like he didn’t know where to put himself. Finally, he sat in the chair across from my desk, his posture rigid.

“My clan has issued an ultimatum,” he said without preamble. “I’m to maintain strict professional boundaries with you or face serious consequences.”

“Mine too.” I leaned back in my chair. “Apparently, we’re causing a scandal.”

“We haven’t done anything.”

“Yet.” The word hung between us. “But they’re not stupid, Lucien. They see where this is heading.”

“Where is it heading?”

I stood, moving around the desk to sit on the edge of it, closer to him. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out. Because last night, I told you how I felt. And you pulled away. So I need to know... was it because you don’t feel the same? Or because you’re too afraid to?”

He looked up at me, and I saw conflict warring in his expression. “I’m terrified.”

“Of what?”

“Of everything. Of betraying my family. Of throwing away three hundred years of legacy. Of feeling something this intense for someone I’m supposed to consider a rival.” His voice dropped. “Of how much I wanted to kiss you last night.”

My breath caught. “Lucien...”

“But I can’t.” He stood abruptly, putting distance between us. “Even if I wanted to, even if you’re right that this is real... I can’t do that to my clan. To my family. They’ve given me everything. My education, my position, my entire identity as a scholar. I can’t just throw that away.”

“No one’s asking you to throw it away.”

“Aren’t they? The elders made it clear. If I continue developing any kind of personal relationship with you, I’m out. No teaching position. No research funding. Potentially exiled from the clan entirely.”

I felt something cold settle in my chest. “They’d really do that?”

“They would. And yours would do the same to you, wouldn’t they?”

I thought about Helena’s warning. About the funding threats, the meetings, the pressure. “Yes.”

“So we both know what we’re choosing. Our clans, our careers, our identities... or this.” He gestured between us. “Whatever this is. Whatever it might become.”

“And you’ve already decided.”

“I don’t have a choice, Rafael. This isn’t about what I want. It’s about responsibility. Duty. The expectations that come with being a D’Armand.”

“There’s always a choice.” I moved closer, drawn to him despite knowing I should keep my distance. “You can choose to let fear and clan loyalty dictate your entire life. Or you can choose to be honest about what you feel.”

“And then what? We both get exiled? Lose everything we’ve worked for? For what might just be intellectual attraction intensified by the thrill of doing something forbidden?”

“You think that’s all this is?” I was close enough now to see the conflict in his eyes. “Just attraction to the forbidden?”

“I don’t know what this is,” he admitted. “And that’s the problem. How am I supposed to risk everything when I don’t even understand what I’m risking it for?”

“Maybe you have to take the risk to find out.”

“That’s not how I work. I need certainty. Evidence. Clear understanding before I make decisions.”

“Life doesn’t work that way. Especially not this.” I reached out, slower this time, giving him every chance to step back. My fingers touched his jaw, light as air. “Some things you just have to feel.”

He closed his eyes, leaning into the touch for just a moment before pulling away. “I can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Does it matter?” His eyes opened, and I saw pain there. Real pain. “The result is the same. We have to maintain boundaries. Professional only. No more midnight meetings. No more... this.”

“So that’s it? We just pretend we’re not attracted to each other. Pretend we don’t like each other? Go back to being colleagues who barely tolerate each other?”

“We maintain professional respect while keeping appropriate distance. That’s what the situation requires.”

“What the situation requires,” I repeated bitterly. “Not what we want. Not what feels true. What the situation requires.”

“I’m sorry.” And he did look sorry. Genuinely conflicted and unhappy. “But I don’t see another option.”

He left before I could argue further, and I stood alone in my office, feeling like something precious had just slipped through my fingers.

The worst part was that I understood. I was facing the same pressures, the same impossible choice. And if I was being honest with myself, I didn’t know if I was brave enough to choose differently than he had.

But at least I was willing to admit I was making a choice.

Lucien was pretending he had no choice at all.