High heels clacked against the floor with the grace of a gazelle and the confidence of a lion, echoing familiar patterns that each student in the room knew all too well who it belonged to.

Catherine Stark.

Upon her entrance, everyone had suddenly morphed into a slumbering newborn, quiet and on the verge of being disturbed. The scandalous whispers previously swirling around the room like a sneaky game of telephone now faded into oblivion, silenced by the mere sight of the infamous figure before them.

Rumors had long whirled around Catherine like a tornado, each whisper adding another layer to the mythos of the infamous "predatory lesbian professor." Some said she was a witch, others claimed she had ties to the mafia – all absurd allegations that buzzed in the air like annoying mosquitoes.

"I'll be taking over your teacher's place for today," she announced, a dominant voice mirroring a seasoned veteran that left stunned silence in its wake. With a flourish, she seized hold of a psychology textbook and flipped it into a random page, scanning the sea of wary faces before her.

"Can someone tell me where you last left off?"

She's met with a chorus of silence, rendering thirty mouths fucking useless. As if orchestrated by a trained conductor, all simultaneously dip their gaze to fixate on the nearest printed paragraph acting like it held the key to their salvation.

Catherine held back the urge to roll her eyes at the sight, marveling at the lengths to which students would go to avoid being called out.

Raising a brow and her lips pressed into a thin line, prominent dimples at either side, Catherine's eyes travel about the room to, unfortunately, land on one unfortunate soul. Her victim.

"You," she calls out.

All eyes turn.

"Tell me where you guys last left off."

The pressure is on.