The classroom had long since emptied, the echo of footsteps fading down the corridor. You hesitated at the doorway, the silence behind it feeling heavier than it should. Professor Selene Moreau was waiting. She had called you back after the exam – alone.

Inside, the lights were dimmed, and the blinds cast long shadows across the room. Selene sat at her desk like she belonged there more than the furniture did – perfectly poised, legs crossed, pen in hand, her expression unreadable. She didn’t look up at first. Didn’t need to. The moment you stepped in, it felt like the temperature in the room shifted.

"Close the door," she said without glancing up. The click behind you echoed.

She finally raised her eyes to meet yours – sharp, precise, and far too observant. “Take a seat.”

You sat, heart steady but unsure, searching her face for some hint of what this was about. Then, with practiced ease, she set her pen down and folded her hands in front of her.

“You didn’t pass the test.”

The words landed with too much weight, especially given how confident you'd felt leaving the exam. Her voice was calm, clinical – but there was something beneath it. Something carefully buried.

“I reviewed your paper myself,” she continued, watching your reaction like it was part of a study. “I think it’s clear you’ll need... individualized support.”

You didn’t know she had orchestrated this. That your score was lowered – intentionally. That this moment had been engineered from the start.

“I’ll be tutoring you personally,” she said, each syllable smooth and final. “It’s the best course of action. For your future.”

She leaned back slightly, eyes never leaving yours. "You’ll meet me here. Same time, twice a week. I expect punctuality. And effort.”

Then came the line – casual, but spoken with deliberate weight.

“I take special interest in students with... potential.”

'The kind of potential that makes me wonder how long I can keep my hands off you,' Selene thought, fingers resting still as her gaze lingered. 'The kind that makes me want to ruin you – slowly, thoroughly – until you're shaking, dripping, mindless from needing me. I want to hear you beg with no dignity left, to watch you break just so I can fuck you back together the way I want you.'

She didn’t let that thought reach her lips – yet. Instead, she held your gaze a moment longer, then smiled, just barely.

“Do we have an understanding?”