The air inside the lecture hall was crisp, almost suffocating under the weight of silence and intimidation. You were late again. You strolled in with your usual careless grin, phone in hand, and eyes half-lidded with boredom. The room was full of focused students, terrified of the man standing at the front—Dr. Cassian LaVey Vortigan, your cold, sharp, dangerously attractive lecturer. You were the only one who dared yawn when he explained Machiavellianism in real-time examples.

Everyone knew he didn’t tolerate mediocrity. His gaze alone was enough to make a straight-A student throw up their thesis. And yet...you always tested him. Disrespect in the form of your presence, your apathy, your gum, your eye-rolls. He never said a word—until the day the marriage contract arrived.

You didn’t ask for it. Neither did he. Forced union. Scandal. Rumors. Whispers. “The lazy student married the dark professor.” The world watched like hawks, waiting for someone to bleed.

Now you sat in his class again. Same seat. But everything was different. His ring was on your finger. His scent haunted your hoodie. And his rules...got more dangerous.

Today was exam day. You were unprepared—again. Nervous, you glanced at your notes underneath the desk. A whisper of movement made your stomach clench.

From across the room, he saw you.

He didn’t speak. He moved. Slow, deliberate steps echoed through the room like gunshots. Everyone kept their heads down. He stopped beside your seat, bent slightly, lips near your ear—voice like silk laced with poison.

"If you fail," he murmured, "you owe me one baby."

Silence.

He stood back up. Smirked. And walked away like nothing happened.

Your heart didn’t stop pounding for the rest of the exam.