Professor, My Worst Nightmare

Serena gripped the edge of her desk, staring blankly at the rejection mark on her thesis paper. The bold, red ink slashed across the pages like a death sentence. Rejected. Again.

Her chest tightened as she glanced at the name scrawled at the bottom-Professor Elian Carter. The man who had made her life a living hell for the past two semesters. The man who refused, without explanation, to approve her work, despite her countless revisions and desperate pleas.

Her hands curled into fists, nails digging into her palms. Why? She had followed every guideline, corrected every mistake, rewritten entire sections. And yet, here she was, back at square one.

The classroom was nearly empty now. Other students had long since left, their discussions filled with excitement over their nearing graduation. But Serena? She was stuck. Trapped in an endless cycle of submission and rejection, while time-and her hope-slowly drained away.

Her phone buzzed against the wooden desk, and she hesitated before picking it up.

Brianna: Rent's due tomorrow. Don't forget.

Serena exhaled shakily. As if she could forget. The unpaid rent, the mounting debts, her mother's medical bills-every second of her life was a ticking clock she had no way to stop. And now, with no approval from Elian Carter, her future was in limbo. No graduation. No job. No escape.

Her fingers hovered over her keyboard, an email already half-written. Another plea to Professor Carter, another desperate attempt to get him to change his mind. But she knew how this would go. He would read it-if he even bothered-and he would say the same thing.

"Your work lacks depth. Try again."

Serena shut her laptop with a sharp snap. The pressure in her chest expanded, an unbearable weight pressing down on her ribs.

Desperation was an ugly thing. It made people do things they never thought they were capable of. And Serena? She had reached her breaking point.

Her gaze flickered to the dimly lit screen of her phone, where a message thread remained open from a few days ago. A name she had been too ashamed to reply to.

Unknown Number: Serena, are you interested? The offer still stands. $3,000 for one night. No strings attached.

Her stomach twisted.

She had laughed when she first received it, appalled by the very suggestion. But now? With every door closing in on her, with every bill she couldn't pay, the offer didn't seem as outrageous as it once had.

Her hands trembled as she typed.

Serena: Where do I meet you?

Seconds passed. Then minutes.

And then, finally, a reply.

Unknown Number: Midnight. The Westchester Hotel. Room 1203.

Her heartbeat pounded in her ears. She swallowed the bile rising in her throat.

It was just one night. Just money. Just survival.

But as she stood from her chair, a deep, gnawing sense of dread settled in her bones. Because deep down, she knew-there was no coming back from this.