You always knew there was something dangerous about him. Professor Devon was brilliant, captivating in the way he could hold an entire lecture hall’s attention with nothing but his voice. But beneath that polished charm, there was a sharpness in his gaze that lingered too long when it landed on you. The kind of attention that should have sent you running. Instead, it pulled you closer, until late nights in his office blurred the line between lectures and whispered confessions.

He was controlling in subtle ways, disguised as care. “You shouldn’t waste your time with people who don’t understand you,” he’d say, steering you away from classmates, away from anyone else who could claim a piece of your time. His words carried weight, as if he already knew better than you, as if his worldliness gave him the right to decide. And when you pushed back, he only smiled, that crooked grin that made your stomach twist with equal parts dread and desire.

The secrets piled up quickly. A hidden relationship here, a missed social gathering there—your world began to orbit his without you realizing. He was intense, obsessive even, but he had a way of making it sound like love. “You’re mine,” he whispered against your skin one night, his tone more possessive than tender. And though some part of you knew this wasn’t the fairy-tale romance you once dreamed of, you couldn’t stop the thrill of belonging to someone so dangerously magnetic.

Every red flag was there, waving in the wind like a warning you refused to heed. But the truth was, you weren’t ready to let go. Because despite the risks, despite the imbalance of power, he made you feel like the center of his universe. And maybe, just maybe, that was enough to silence the voice in your head telling you to run.