All Chapters of Professor Lucien : Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

Sofia's Pov For the past two weeks, I’d never cared about Professor Lucien. He was just like every other lecturer.But today feels different.My chest tightens, like it’s bracing for something.The door swings open.The room stills.He walks in like he owns the air itself—Professor Lucien, in his usual crisp black button-down, sleeves rolled just enough to reveal the veins along his forearms.His hair is slightly tousled, like he ran a hand through it in irritation or thought—and somehow, that only makes him look more precise. More intentional.Half the girls in the front row sit up straighter, pens poised, eyes locked on him like he’s the only reason they enrolled in this course.“Good morning,” he says, voice low and smooth as ever. “I trust you all came prepared.”A few eager nods scatter across the room. Some girls don’t even try to hide it—biting their lips, twirling hair, grinning like they’re auditioning for his attention. One even reapplies lip gloss.Has it always been like

Her lips are still parted.She blinks once. Slowly. Then again.Her fingers lift to her mouth, hesitant. Like her brain hasn’t caught up yet. Like she could still undo the kiss. Erase the heat of it.Her breath catches. Skips. Like her lungs forgot how to work.“Oh my God,” she whispers. Not wonder. Not pleasure. Revulsion.The kind that guts you from the inside out.Like I’m the shame she can’t scrub off.I don’t move.My chest won’t move. Not even for air.“Sofia…” I take a step toward her.But the look she gives me stops me cold.Not fear.Horror.She flinches.Steps back like the very air between us has turned poisonous.Her fingers press harder to her lips. “No, no, no…”Her voice is barely a whisper. But her eyes—glazed, distant, like she’s trying to retreat from her own skin—cut straight through me.“Sofia—”“Sofia—”“Why did I come?” she cuts in, eyes wide, unfocused. “Why the hell did I even come?”She lets out a bitter laugh—sharp and self-directed.“I knew you’d pull somet

She dragged her eyes up to meet mine—slow, deliberate—and I stilled. Her knees were on the floor. Palms spread gently beside them, like an offering. Obedient. Composed. Too composed. Like she was waiting to be told. “Come here.” The words slipped out before I could stop them. Low. Rough. A command wrapped in need. She smiled. “Okay… Professor Lucien.” She said it slowly. Like a dare. Like she knew exactly what that name did to me. Then she crawled. One knee forward. Then the other. Her hips swayed just enough to make it unbearable. Deliberate. Controlled. Like she wasn’t obeying. Like I was. Her palms kissed the floor, fingers splayed. Graceful. Feline. Dangerous. “Closer,” I heard myself whisper. She tilted her head, lashes lowered like a curtain over something wicked. “Is this how you imagined it, Professor?” I hadn’t. I wouldn’t. But now I’d never imagine anything else. She inched closer—close enough that I could feel her breath ghosting across my skin. And that

“Would you come out already so we can see the dress?” Mom snaps from outside the changing room. Her voice, clipped and impatient, slices right through the curtain.I sigh, dragging a hand through my hair as I stare at the mirror. What kind of joke is this dress?I turn, trying to see the back. The fabric hugs my chest and hips like it’s trying to expose every flaw. I look… round. Not in the flattering way. The zipper strains a little when I move, and the neckline—God, the choker-style collar feels like it’s trying to strangle me into elegance. This dress isn’t me. Not even close. It’s her idea of who I should be.I shift again and exhale—barely. “She got my measurements wrong,” I mutter.“Sofia!” Mom snaps from outside. “Do I have to come in there and drag you out?”Wouldn’t put it past her.I clench my jaw and breathe—barely. My lungs are being crushed by overpriced fabric, and the collar around my neck feels more like a leash than a fashion choice.Still, I unlock the door and step

“He’s my uncle,” I blurt. Too fast. Too loud.Why do I always blurt out the dumbest things?Why does my brain short-circuit around him?Margaret’s face softens. Like she was holding her breath and I just gave her permission to exhale."Mr. Lucien, wow, I never knew you had a niece."Her voice turns sugar-sweet. Too sweet.The heat climbs up my chest again—the same heat I felt when she first scanned him like a luxury item behind glass.That’s why I said it. That stupid, stupid uncle line.My fingers strangle my bag strap.Then the words slip again—worse than before.“I never said I was his niece.”Margaret gasps. Loud.Her eyes flick between us like she walked in on a scandal.My stomach knots.Did I seriously say that out loud?I don’t need to look to know he’s watching.There’s a sound—low, amused.Laughter. Maybe.No idea. I can’t check. I’m too busy trying not to combust.God, did I just ruin everything?What is wrong with me?“Oh. So you’re not his niece…”“I mean…” I start, hands