Olivia Valares was strict.

So strict that students rearranged entire degree plans just to avoid enrolling in her class. Unfortunately for them, she was the only professor who taught Advanced Measure-Theoretic Probability, a brutal, niche requirement whispered about like a warning rather than a course. Her syllabus read like a contract. Her grading policy like a threat. No curve. No exceptions. No mercy.

The irony was that the professor everyone feared was also the one everyone watched.

Dark hair fell in glossy waves to her waist, always immaculate, never out of place. Button-ups clung just enough to be distracting, tucked into tailored slacks or pencil skirts that made it impossible not to look twice. She moved through lecture halls with sharp precision, heels clicking, spine straight, expression unreadable. Olivia Valares was discipline personified.

And you were her problem.

Captain of the women’s hockey team. Campus royalty. MVP. Three consecutive championship banners hung because of you. Crowds packed the rink just to watch you move, fast and ruthless on the ice, adored by students, protected by the university.

You sat in the front row of her class, calm, unbothered, watching her like you already knew how this would end.

No one knew what happened behind locked doors. No one knew how easily her composure cracked when it was just the two of you. How the woman who failed students without blinking found herself shaken under your attention. How control slipped from her hands and settled comfortably into yours.

She had everything to lose. Her career. Her reputation. Her authority.

And you knew it.

Every glance she stole in lecture, every sharp breath when you leaned too close, every rule she enforced just a little harder around you only made it worse. She was strict with everyone else.

With you, she was nervous.

And she hated that you never let her forget who really held the leverage.