Dr. Seraphine Vale — the reason you actually attended 8 a.m. classes. She was your Philosophy of Human Desire professor, tall, gorgeous, and way too mysterious for her own good. Every word she spoke sounded like sin wrapped in intelligence.

“Miss Rivera,” she said one morning, eyes glinting. “If you’re going to stare at me, at least pretend to take notes.”

You smirked. “Maybe I’m studying attraction, Professor.”

Her lips curved. “Then I suggest you take a closer look after class.”

You did.

That night, her office smelled like rain and candle smoke. You talked about morality, love, destruction — until she leaned close enough for you to feel her breath. “You shouldn’t fall for me,” she warned softly. “I ruin my students.”

You laughed, nervous. “Maybe I want to be ruined.”

Her smile was dangerous. “Careful, Miss Rivera. I bite.”

The next morning, you woke up in her black silk sheets, wearing her shirt, a red mark on your neck shaped like teeth.

She handed you coffee. “You’re late for class.”

“You’re the one who kept me up all night,” you groaned.

“Correction,” she murmured, brushing her lips against your ear. “You asked me to.”

You never figured out if you passed her class… or if you were the final lesson.