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MY STRICT PROFESSOR IS A DEVIL I
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2026-02-04 22:16:49My legs tremble in the heels with every step I take up the stairs. I curl my fingers around my knee-length flare dress. My chest rises tightly, stretching the fitted upper part that’s held in place by a front zipper before it spreads out from my waist downward.
I sneak a glance through the corner of my vision, watching the lively atmosphere in the bar below.
Bodies are pressed together in the center of the room, dancing and rocking against each other. The DJ’s music hits loudly in the air, blocking out every other sound. You can barely hear yourself in here.
My eyes flicker back up the stairs, my reason for being here. My insides scream at me to turn back, to leave, that this is wrong, but I ignore it.
It’s just my anxiety talking. The same feeling I felt when my professor sent me the location for our meetup after I challenged him in his office.
I had gathered the courage and gone into his office just after his lecture, but he didn’t say a word, despite my questions, asking him why he keeps failing me, what I should do to avoid failing the course again, because I knew my answers were correct.
He just looked at me. Stared at me for so long that I thought I had something on my face.
Defeated, I left his office, only for a letter to appear in my dorm room later.
“You want to know why you keep failing?
Meet me at Lotus Bar, eight p.m.
VIP Lounge Five.”
I was shocked. Dumbfounded.
The last place I’d thought of was here, a bar on the outskirts of the city. And late at night too.
He’s too strict, too cold, and too diligent to invite me to this kind of place, but I want to believe it’s definitely not what I’m thinking, not what my mind is coming up with.
He doesn’t flirt. He’s no charmer. Lots of girls have been heartbroken by him because he rejects them, so what would he want with an average girl like me when he has beauty and belles trailing after him?
But I can’t refuse, not when I’m willing to do everything to make sure I don’t fail his course again. Coming back to resit a course when my mates have passed out is disgraceful.
I’ve done everything. Attended extra classes just to avoid failing again, but it’s all the same. And the annoying thing is that my answers are always correct. Yet he still fails me, giving one tiny reason or another.
Two good sessions, and he keeps failing me. I can’t allow a third one.
God, I’m starting to hate the man.
I’m crushing on him, yes. All the girls are.
Professor Sebastian.
Prof. Seb.
Young, tall, lean, fit.
Glassy blue eyes. Neatly styled blonde hair. Sharp jawline. Long, lean fingers.
Most girls’ fantasy.
And mine too.
But I’m not so sure anymore. If he doesn’t have a solution for me, and he fails me again, makes me repeat his course, then I’m going to hate him forever.
I exhale. I quicken my pace and hurry up the stairs. The wristwatch on my wrist says it’s almost eight. The last thing I want is to be penalized for being late, because he’s very big on punctuality.
The loud wails of music fade off as I climb higher up the stairs. My heart begins to race as I get closer to the floor.
There’s no going back.
This is important. Very important. And I’m doing it.
Yes.
I stop at the top of the stairs and scan the room numbers until my eyes finally stop at five. The hallway is dark, pitch darkness and silence, almost like it’s soundproofed. The only light comes from the room numbers, glowing in white above each door.
Cold sweat frames my back. My heart picks up speed, but I straighten. I swallow, remove my hands from my dress, and smooth it down.
I need his guidance. And I’m getting it today.
I stride forward, my eyes fixed on the door until I stand in front of it. I don’t give myself time to think. I knock.
“Come in,” a voice whispers sharply.
Cold and piercing. Just like him.
I twist the lock and push the door open.
Dark.
The only reflection comes from the neon wall décor, glowing with the word ‘Dark’.
The room is warm and silent. I can almost hear my breathing.
Why is everything here dark? Is it the theme of the place or something?
I move farther inside the room, seeing only what the glow allows.
On my left, toward the inner part of the room, he’s sitting on a couch, the only couch in the room, placed against the wall. He’s wearing his usual black suit, looking as hot and stunning as ever.
I wonder if he wears anything other than suits.
Black pants, tie, and jacket. White shirt. His jacket lies beside him on the couch, neatly folded. A few buttons on his shirt are undone, leaving his chest open to my eyes.
He isn’t looking at me. His eyes are fixed on the glass of wine in his hand. His posture is erect. A small table with a wine bottle sits in front of him.
The door clicks shut behind me.
I don’t move. I stand there, waiting for him to say something, because I’m starting to think he isn’t aware of my presence, even after ordering me inside.
“Strip.”
The word comes low. Smooth. Heavy.
My brows rise. My body freezes.
I must have heard wrong. Or maybe he isn’t aware it’s me. Yes, he isn’t aware.
“It’s Rose, Prof. Seb,” I whisper, forcing an awkward laugh.
His head snaps up so fast that I draw in a sharp breath.
His blue eyes pierce straight into my soul, and I swallow. Heat floods my body. My legs quiver, but I try to force a smile again.
It can’t be what I’m thinking.
No. It can’t be Professor Seb.
The man doesn’t even curse. I’ve never heard him swear before.
What the hell is going on?
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