Chapter 1
If someone asked me,
“What’s the most ridiculous thing that’s ever happened to you?”
I’d say,
“I turned into a cat.”
Not just any cat—
I became Harvey Lawrence’s cat.
Yes, that Harvey Lawrence.
The sharp-tongued, infamously hot criminal law professor.
A man so intimidating that students talk about him like he’s some urban legend.
And me? Alia Morrison—society princess, fashion darling, permanent A+ collector—
Forced to become his fluffy little pet.
Why? Simple.
A drunk wish.
24 Hours Earlier.
I was curled up on the couch, watching Netflix with a can of blueberry sparkling water in hand, fully prepared to enjoy a chill afternoon—
when my phone dinged.
[System Alert: You have missed three weeks of “Intro to Criminal Law.” Further absences will result in automatic failure.]
I nearly sprayed blueberry soda onto the ceiling.
Wait. Criminal Law?
When the hell did I sign up for that nightmare course?!
A flashback hit me like a truck—Hawaiian sun, beach, cocktails, me lounging poolside in a bikini, lazily tapping through the course registration page…
Oh.
I was supposed to choose Contemporary Art 101.
I must’ve tapped the wrong button.
“Do you even know who teaches that course?” my roommate Mandy asked, sipping juice and peeking over the back of the couch.
I shook my head. A sense of doom settled in my gut.
She looked like she’d just watched a horror movie.
“Harvey Lawrence.”
I almost dropped my phone.
That Harvey Lawrence?
The one who’s basically beauty and frost personified?
The one who’ll deny your excuse and then casually teach you how to write a resignation letter?
The one who’ll deduct an entire paragraph’s worth of points for one misplaced comma?!
My GPA flashed before my eyes.
I sobered instantly.
“…I need a plan.”
There was no way I’d let my perfect record die in the hands of some cold-hearted professor with cheekbones sharp enough to slice glass.
4 PM – Outside Professor Lawrence’s Office.
The door was slightly ajar.
I peeked in and saw a wall of books arranged like military artillery.
The desk was so clean it looked prepped for an autopsy.
The only touch of life?
A lonely cactus on the windowsill.
“What do you want?”
The voice was deep. Cool. Dangerous.
I looked up—and met the face.
Even hotter than the rumors.
Dark eyes. Sharp jawline.
Rolled-up shirt sleeves revealing lean, toned forearms.
He looked like he walked straight off the pages of GQ.
If he didn’t open his mouth, I might’ve licked the air.
“Professor,” I gave him my best polished smile as I stepped into his office.
“I’m Alia Morrison. I wanted to discuss my attendance—”
He raised an eyebrow, his gaze colder than an open freezer.
“I didn’t mean to skip class. There’s just been… stuff at home.”
“Stuff at home?” he said with a scoff.
“Let me guess. Trying on outfits? Rehearsing party speeches? Or perfecting your legalese captions for Instagram?”
I choked on my words.
“Professor, I’m genuinely trying here. Criminal law just isn’t my strong suit—”
“You don’t even show up, and you want leniency?”
He leaned back against his desk, fingers tapping slowly on the surface like a gavel.
His voice dropped, low and final:
“Who do you think you are?”
It hit like a slap.
My cheeks burned.
Who was I?
I was Alia Morrison. Raised on praise, wrapped in privilege.
No one had ever spoken to me like that.
But I swallowed it. For the GPA.
“I just hoped you’d understand—”
“Understand that a pretty face gets you special treatment?”
He gave me a cutting smile.
“Sorry. That’s not part of my syllabus.”
I flushed with anger and humiliation.
I gritted my teeth. “You—”
“Listen, Morrison,” he cut me off.
“You have two options:
One—attend class, do the work, pass the exam.
Two—get ready to fail.”
And just like that, he returned to flipping through case law, dismissing me like a used tissue.
I stormed back to the dorm, threw a pillow at the couch, and yelled,
“He really said that to me!”
Mandy slurped her noodles. “It’s Harvey Lawrence. He roasts people without blinking.”
“He’s going to regret it,” I growled.
“What’s the plan?”
I held up my wine glass like a warrior lifting a sword.
“Step one: drink. Step two: erase that human refrigerator from my mind.”
Later That Night – Mist Bar
Alcohol is emotion’s favorite hype man.
By cocktail number three, I was fully in rant mode.
“Harvey Lawrence is exactly the kind of guy you want narrating cremation instructions. Cold as hell.”
Mandy was doubled over laughing.
“At this rate, you’re gonna end up applying for his house number.”
I slumped over the bar, vision swimming.
That’s when I noticed a weird statue in the corner.
Chubby belly. Creepy grin.
Kinda cursed-looking.
“What’s that?” I asked, pointing.
The bartender chuckled. “Legend says it grants wishes. The price… varies.”
I raised my glass, dead serious. “I’m not afraid of the price.”
I stared into the statue’s weird little face and slurred:
“I wish… that ice block professor would fall madly in love with me.”
“Like, obsessed. Head-over-heels. Treat-me-like-royalty kind of love.”
The air shifted.
Then—
A lazy whisper brushed my ear:
“Wish received. From now on, you will approach him in the form he loves most.”
“Starting tonight at 9 PM… you will become his cat.”
I blinked.
Looked around.
Still the same bar. Same dim lights. Same pounding bass.
No magical transformation in sight.
I snorted.
“Okay. Time to go home. Definitely drunk-dreaming.”
Next Night – 9 PM
I was lying in bed, watching a rom-com, about to put on a face mask.
Then—bam.
Dizzy. Floating.
Everything spun.
I looked down—
My hand was gone.
Replaced by… a fuzzy paw.
I froze.
Tiny legs. Soft fur. White coat. And—
A tail. Flicking on its own.
“Meow?”
My very first, completely authentic, cat noise.
And just then—
The door creaked open.
A tall, painfully familiar figure stepped into the room.
Harvey Lawrence.
He saw me… and his whole face softened.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice like silk.
“Did you eat all your dinner today?”
He bent down and picked me up gently, like I was made of starlight.
And I, now fully cat-ified, completely froze.
Internally screaming:
WHAT THE ACTUAL HELL?! I REALLY TURNED INTO HIS CAT?!
