My Mouth Before 15

I have no clue why Dr. Vaughn wants to see me.

I’ve never taken a class with her. Hell, I’ve never even had a real conversation with the woman beyond polite hallway pleasantries. The most interaction we’ve had was her nodding when I held a door open for her last month.

Yet here I am, trailing behind her down the English department hallway like a lamb being led to slaughter, my stomach churning with anxiety.

“Dr. Vaughn?” I venture as we walk. “Can I ask what this is about?”

She doesn’t turn around. Doesn’t slow down. Just keeps walking with that precise, measured pace that makes me feel like I’m in trouble for something I can’t even identify.

“We’ll discuss it in my office,” she says, her voice carrying that particular academic authority that brooks no argument.

My fingers tighten around my bag strap. The silence stretches between us, thick and intentional, like she’s letting my unease marinate before whatever comes next.

How does she even know my full name? I’m not in any of her classes. I’ve never submitted work to any journals she might review. The more I think about it, the more wrong this feels.

Her office door bears a nameplate in elegant script: “Dr. Lisette Vaughn, Professor of Feminist Literature.” She pushes it open and steps aside, gesturing for me to enter first.

“After you, Miss Hale.” The formality sends a chill down my spine.

I step inside and immediately understand why Dr. Vaughn has a reputation for being intimidating. Her office doesn’t look like the typical professorial disaster zone of stacked papers and coffee-stained furniture. This is a power space.

Deep burgundy walls lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. A mahogany desk that probably costs more than my tuition.

Two velvet armchairs that look like they belong in a Victorian mansion. Fresh white peonies in a crystal vase. The whole room smells like bergamot and expensive perfume with undertones of leather and old books.

It’s the office of someone who doesn’t just teach literature—she embodies it.

“Please, sit.” She gestures to one of the velvet chairs.

I perch on the edge, my back straight, every nerve ending on high alert. Dr. Vaughn settles behind her desk with the fluid grace of someone who’s never questioned her place in any room she enters.

Her red hair is pulled back in a perfect chignon, not a strand out of place. Her pale gray eyes, magnified slightly by thin-rimmed glasses, study me with surgical precision.

She folds her hands on the desk and leans forward slightly.

“So, Sophie Hale,” she begins, my name rolling off her tongue like she’s been practicing it. “Tell me about your plans after graduation.”

I blink, thrown off balance by the seemingly innocent question. “I… I’m sorry?”

“Your future. Your career aspirations. What drives you academically?”

“I…” I clear my throat, trying to find solid ground. “I still have over a year to figure that out. But I’m leaning toward something in literature. Maybe editing, or publishing. Possibly teaching eventually.”

“Teaching.” She nods slowly, like she’s filing that information away. “Following in the footsteps of your mentors?”

There’s something in her tone—a subtle sharpness that makes my stomach clench.

“I just think I’d be good at it,” I say carefully.

“I’m sure you would. You strike me as someone who learns quickly. Someone who… adapts to different teaching styles.”

Her pause is deliberate. Loaded. “Tell me, what do you think makes an effective teacher?”

My palms are sweating. “Someone who challenges their students. Who pushes them to think beyond their comfort zones.”

“And boundaries, Miss Hale? How important are those in the educational process?”

The question hits like a slap. My cheeks flush hot.

“Very important,” I manage.

“Are they?” She tilts her head, studying me like I’m a particularly interesting specimen. “Because in my experience, the most transformative learning happens when boundaries are… tested. When students discover parts of themselves they didn’t know existed.”

My heart is hammering so hard I’m sure she can hear it.

“Dr. Vaughn, I’m not sure I understand what we’re discussing.”

She smiles—a slow, knowing curve of her lips that doesn’t reach her eyes.

“I think you understand perfectly, Sophie. You’re a bright girl. Ambitious. You have real potential.” She leans back in her chair, her gaze never leaving mine. “That’s why I’d hate to see you compromise that potential for the wrong reasons.”

“What reasons?”

“The kind that come disguised as mentorship. As special attention. As opportunities that feel exclusive and intoxicating.” Her voice remains perfectly calm, but each word lands like a precision strike. “Young women like you—intelligent, driven, perhaps a little hungry for validation—can be particularly susceptible to certain… influences.”

My mouth goes dry. She’s not talking about anything specific, but somehow every word feels like a direct hit. “I’m not sure what you’re implying—”

“I’m not implying anything, dear. I’m stating facts.” She stands, moving to the window overlooking the quad. “Power dynamics in academic settings can be complicated. Especially when they involve professors who have… particular approaches to student engagement.”

The room feels like it’s shrinking around me.

“Dr. Vaughn, if you have something specific to say—”

“Just this.” She turns back to me, her expression serious. “Don’t let anyone convince you that surrendering your agency is part of your education. Don’t mistake control for care, or dominance for devotion. And don’t sacrifice your future for someone else’s games.”

The words hit me like ice water. She knows. I don’t know how, I don’t know what she’s seen or heard, but she fucking knows.

“I would never—”

A knock at the door cuts me off. Before either of us can respond, it opens. Lewis steps in, and the air in the room changes instantly. Becomes charged. Dangerous.

He’s still in his lecture clothes—charcoal suit, crisp white shirt, tie slightly loosened in that way that should be casual but somehow makes him look more intimidating.

His dark eyes immediately find mine, and I feel exposed, like he can see straight through to every secret I’ve been carrying.

“Ms. Hale.” His voice is perfectly controlled, but there’s an edge underneath. “Do you have a class with Dr. Vaughn?”

“No, sir.” My voice comes out smaller than intended.

His gaze shifts to Dr. Vaughn, and something passes between them—a silent communication that makes me feel like I’m watching a chess match where I don’t understand the rules.

“Then what brings you to her office?”

Dr. Vaughn answers before I can. “Just discussing Miss Hale’s academic future. She’s expressed interest in teaching, and I wanted to share some… perspectives on the profession.”

“How thoughtful.” Lewis’s tone suggests it’s anything but. “And what perspective were you sharing?”

“The importance of maintaining professional boundaries. The dangers of compromising one’s principles for short-term gratification.” Dr. Vaughn’s smile is razor-sharp. “I’m sure you agree that protecting our students is paramount.”

“Absolutely.” His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. “Though I find direct communication is often more effective than… metaphorical warnings.”

The tension in the room is thick enough to cut with a knife. I’m sitting here watching two professors have what feels like a battle disguised as polite conversation, and I’m apparently the subject they’re fighting over.

“Well,” Lewis says, his eyes back on me, “I’m sure Miss Hale appreciates your… concern, Lisette. But she has a class to prepare for.” He checks his watch. “My office hours start in ten minutes, and I believe Miss Hale and I have some work to discuss.”

It’s not a question. It’s a command wrapped in professional courtesy. Dr. Vaughn’s expression doesn’t change, but something flickers in her eyes.

“Of course. Thank you for your time, Sophie. Remember what we discussed.”

I stand on unsteady legs, grabbing my bag with hands that won’t stop shaking. “Thank you, Dr. Vaughn.”

I move toward the door, hyperaware of Professor Lewis’s presence beside me. As I pass him, I catch that familiar scent—amber, spice, and something darker that makes my knees weak.

“Ms. Hale,” Dr. Vaughn calls as I reach the door. “My door is always open if you need someone to talk to. About anything.”

I nod without turning around and step into the hallway. Adrian follows, closing the door behind us with a soft click.

We stand there for a moment in the empty hallway, and I can feel him watching me.

“Interesting conversation?” he asks quietly.

“I’m not sure what it was,” I admit.

“I am.” His voice is low, controlled, but there’s something burning underneath. “Walk with me, Sophie. We need to talk.”

As we head down the hallway, one thought keeps circling in my head:

What the hell have I gotten myself into?