Disclaimer: The author's imagination and passion are the only sources of inspiration for this novel, which is a work of dedication. Parallels between these pages and the past or present may be apparent to some readers, but they are completely coincidental. You are free to interpret this art anyway you see fit, and it is meant for your enjoyment.
The SM North Edsa mall was a chaotic symphony of weekend shoppers, blasting pop music, and the smell of buttery popcorn. For Kryztal, it felt like another planet. Just forty-eight hours ago, she had been pinned to a drafting table in a locked office, feeling the structural integrity of her soul shatter under the weight of Alexander Santillan. Now, she was standing in a brightly lit boutique, holding up a sundress while Ria scrutinized her like a forensic investigator.
"You're glowing, Kryztal. Parang may iba sa'yo today," (Like there's something different about you today,) Ria said, narrowing her eyes as she flipped through a rack of silk camisoles. "You're not just blushing. You look... settled. Like you finally figured out a difficult math problem."
Kryztal felt a heat crawl up her neck that had nothing to do with the mall's air conditioning. She reached for a lace-trimmed teddy, her fingers trembling slightly. "I told you, I'm just happy the first week is over. Architecture is hard, Ria."
"Architecture is hard, but Professor Santillan is harder—according to the rumors," Ria joked, leaning in close. "Speaking of the 'Ice King,' how is he? Is he still terrorizing you in the front row?"
Kryztal bit her lip, her mind flashing to the way Alexander's honey-gold eyes had softened when he looked at her before she left his office. The way he had kissed her forehead—a strangely tender gesture from a man who had just claimed her with such feral intensity.
"Actually," Kryztal whispered, pulling Ria toward a quieter corner of the store behind a mannequin. "He's been... soft. Lately."
Ria's eyes nearly popped out of her head. "Anong soft? (What do you mean soft?) Like, he didn't scold you for a wrong line on your sketch? Or soft like... soft?"
"He's just different when we're alone," Kryztal said, her heart skipping a beat. "He calls me into his office to 'help with papers,' and he isn't the cold, terrifying professor everyone else sees. He's quiet. He listens. He even bought me a coffee yesterday—the expensive kind from the cafe near the gate. Sabi niya, kailangan ko daw ng energy for my drawings. (He said I need energy for my drawings.)"
Ria let out a low whistle, her expression shifting from teasing to genuine shock. "Girl, that is not 'soft.' That is 'smitten.' Alexander Santillan doesn't buy coffee for people. He barely acknowledges that other humans exist. Huy, baka seryoso na 'yan? (Hey, maybe that's serious?)"
"I don't know, Ria. It's scary," Kryztal confessed, holding a black lace bra against her chest. "One minute he's lecturing about the Gothic period with a voice that could freeze the ocean, and the next, he's whispering that my eyes are the most beautiful structure he's ever studied. It feels like I'm living a double life."
Ria grabbed the black lace bra from her hand and threw it into their shopping basket. "If he's being soft, you need to be sharp. If you're going to be the secret muse of the hottest professor in UP, you can't be wearing those 'manang' cotton panties anymore. We are buying this. And this. And definitely this."
As they moved through the stores, Kryztal felt a strange sense of empowerment. She bought things she never would have dared to wear before—emerald green silk, sheer black mesh, and a dress that clung to her curves like a second skin. Every piece she chose, she imagined Alexander's large, calloused hands tearing it off her.
"He's so possessive, Ria," Kryztal murmured as they sat down for a quick snack of milk tea. "He told me he doesn't want me sitting with the other boys during lunch. He said it's because 'the freshman boys are a distraction to my studies,' but the way he said it... it felt like he wanted to lock me in a cage."
Ria sucked on a pearl, her expression thoughtful. "Listen, Kryztal. Dark romance is fun in books, but be careful. A man that powerful, that obsessed... he can protect you, but he can also ruin you. Siguraduhin mong hindi ka mawawala sa kanya. (Make sure you don't lose yourself to him.)"
"I think it's too late for that," Kryztal admitted, her silver eyes looking distant. "When he touches me, I don't want to find myself. I want to disappear into him."
While Kryztal was shopping, Alexander was in his home library, but he wasn't reading. He was staring at a singular polaroid he had taken of Kryztal when she was asleep on his office sofa for twenty minutes yesterday. She looked like an angel—ink-black hair fanned out, her lips parted.
He touched the photo, his thumb tracing the curve of her jaw.
His "softness" was a tactical maneuver, but it was also a terrifying reality he couldn't control. He found himself wanting to spoil her, to surround her with things as beautiful as she was. He had already contacted a jeweler to custom-make a necklace—a silver chain with a small, architectural pendant. He wanted to see it around her neck, a collar that only he knew the meaning of.
But the obsession was darkening. Every hour she was away from him—like now, while she was at the mall—he felt a gnawing anxiety. Who was she talking to? Was some college boy looking at the curve of her breasts? Was someone daring to breathe the same air as his masterpiece?
His phone buzled. It was a text from Jonathan.
"Sir, the student's background check is complete. Nothing unusual. She's as pure as she looks. Her friend Ria is the only close contact."
Alexander smirked, a predatory glint in his eyes. "Pure," he whispered. "Not anymore. She tastes like my mark now."
8:00 PM - The Dormitory
Kryztal was back in her room, trying on the new lingerie. She stood in front of the full-length mirror, wearing a set of deep red lace that made her pale skin look like alabaster. The cups barely contained her, her breasts heaving as she admired her own reflection.
Suddenly, her phone vibrated on the bed. A private number.
"Hello?"
"I hope you didn't buy anything too modest today, Kryztal."
Her heart stopped. The voice was unmistakable. Deep, vibrating, and dominant.
"Professor? How did you get my number?"
"I am the architect of your world now, Kryztal. I have everything I need," Alexander said, his voice dropping into that dangerously soft tone she had described to Ria. "Are you alone?"
"Yes," she whispered, her hand going to her throat.
"Describe what you're wearing. Every stitch. Every inch of skin it covers—and every inch it leaves for me."
Kryztal's knees went weak. She looked at herself in the red lace, her breath hitching. "I... I bought something red. Lace. It's... it's very small, Alexander."
A low, guttural groan came from the other end of the line. "Red. Like a warning. Like a sin. I want you to keep it on. I'm sending a car for you in ten minutes. My house. We have a private lesson tonight on the 'Symmetry of Desire,' and I expect you to be a very diligent student."
"But the dorm gates close at nine!"
"The gates open for me, Kryztal. Always. Be ready. And don't wear a bra under your dress. I want to feel you the moment you step into my house."
The line went dead.
Kryztal stood in the middle of her room, her pulse racing. She looked at the piles of shopping bags, then at the mirror. Ria was right. The Ice King was soft for her, but his softness was just a different kind of trap. A trap made of silk, lace, and an obsession that was about to consume her entire world.
She reached for a simple black wrap dress, sliding it over her naked, lace-clad body. No bra. Just as he commanded. As she walked out of the dorm, the cool night air hitting her skin, she realized she wasn't just a student going to see her professor.