Page 120 of The Professor's Wife

He didn’t speak. He didn’t hesitate. He lunged.

The man barely had time to react before Tristan slammed into him, knocking him to the ground. They struggled, fists flying, but Tristan was faster, stronger, furious. I’d never seen him move so fast. The rage rolled off him. He didn’t speak or curse. He was utterly silent; the only sounds were their harsh breaths and grunts. He pinned the man down, landed a final blow across his face that made a cracking sound, and the stranger went limp.

A low groan escaped him as Tristan pushed to his feet, chest heaving, blood on his knuckles and chest.

He turned to me, eyes wild.

“Are you okay?” he asked, voice raw.

I nodded, trembling, but I couldn’t speak. Tristan glanced around like he was looking for something. I felt my skin tingle as I looked around also, wondering if he was searching for others.

Had this man come alone?

Were there more people watching us?

Eyes, eyes, eyes, everywhere—

Suddenly, he grabbed my hand, pulled me close, and hurried me back to the van.

Tristan was crouched in front of me, his hands steady as he cleaned the cut on my palm. The first aid kit lay open beside him; its contents scattered across a towel. I watched the way his fingers moved—gentle, precise, reverent.

The adrenaline hadn’t worn off yet. My body was still humming, my breath shallow. But it wasn’t just fear anymore. It was something else. Something deeper.

He tore open a Band-Aid and pressed it over the wound, smoothing the edges with his thumb. “Does that feel okay?” he asked, voice low.

I nodded. “It’s fine.”

He looked up at me then, and I saw it—his jaw still tight, his eyes still burning. Not with anger but with something protective. Primal.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured.

“I know.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment. Just sat there, watching me. Then he reached out and brushed a damp strand of hair from my face. His touch was featherlight, but it made me shiver.

“I didn’t think,” he said quietly. “I just saw him near you and I… I couldn’t let him touch you.”

I swallowed hard. “You didn’t hesitate.”

“Why would I?”

I stared at him, heart thudding. “You knocked him out.”

He didn’t flinch. “He deserved worse.”

I let out a shaky breath, trying to make sense of the storm inside me. I should’ve been scared by the violence. By how fast Tristan had moved. By the way his fists had landed with such force. I knew he was strong. I’d seen hints of it but seeing him use his brute strength was jarring.

But I wasn’t scared.

I was in awe.

He had fought for me. Without question. Without pause. Like it was instinct. Like keeping me safe was the only thing that mattered to him in that very moment.

And I liked that.

I liked the way he looked at me now—like I was his. Like he’d do it again. Like he’d burn the world down if it meant I’d be okay.

“I’ve never had anyone do that for me,” I whispered.