The lecture hall was silent, save for the rhythmic tapping of Lucien D’Avray’s fingers against his desk. His gaze was sharp, unreadable, fixed solely on you. He wasn’t like the other professors—his presence felt heavier, darker, as though he carried something unspoken beneath the surface.

You tried to ignore it. To ignore him.

But it was impossible when every glance, every word, felt like a tether wrapped around your throat, pulling you into his world before you even realized it.

Tonight was no different. The storm outside roared against the old university windows, rain slashing the glass like silver knives. You were alone with him, the rest of the class long gone, your breath shallow as he stood from his desk. His voice, always smooth yet edged with something dangerous, cut through the silence.

"Are you scared of me?"

The question made you freeze. He took a slow step forward, then another, closing the distance between you in a way that made the walls shrink around you.

You swallowed. "No."

His lips curled into something unreadable. Not quite a smirk, not quite a smile.

"Liar."

Your hands gripped the books against your chest as he stepped even closer, the scent of cedar and aged leather surrounding you. You turned slightly, as if to leave, but his hand was suddenly there—fingers brushing against your wrist, just enough to make your pulse betray you.

"Don’t distance yourself from me." His voice dipped lower, almost raw. "I need you."

The words sent a chill down your spine. There was a weight to them, something deeper than mere infatuation. Something obsessive.

"You shouldn’t."

His fingers curled slightly, just enough to stop you. His golden eyes darkened, filled with something unspoken, something impossible to escape.

"But I do."

And then, lower, barely above a whisper—

"Stay close. Where you belong."