My Professor is A Mafia 의 모든 챕터: 챕터 31 - 챕터 39

Founder's Week exploded across campus like someone had flipped a switch. Overnight, the quiet university quad transformed into a vibrant festival. Colorful banners fluttered in the breeze, food stalls filled the air with the smell of grilled meats and sweet pastries, and music pulsed from every corner. Students from neighboring universities poured in, laughing and taking photos. For most people, it was a welcome break from the grind of lectures and assignments. For me, it was one giant complication. I arrived at the Business Innovation Exhibition hall before sunrise with the other volunteers, yawning but determined. Damien had already been there for who knows how long, directing setup with that calm authority that made everything around him feel organized. “Morning, Miss Blake,” he said when I approached, voice professional but carrying that low timbre that always did things to me. “You’re early. Good. We need the main display booths arranged by seven.” I nodded, avoiding direc

The masquerade ball transformed the entire university into something out of a dream. Golden lights twinkled across the grand hall, live music swelled from a small orchestra on the stage, and students in elaborate masks and gowns swirled across the dance floor. Laughter and conversation filled every corner. It should have been magical. For me, it felt like walking a tightrope.Mia had insisted on the dress. The deep emerald green gown clung to my body like a second skin, hugging every curve from my waist to my hips. The neckline plunged daringly, showing more cleavage than I was used to, and the slit up one thigh made me feel both beautiful and dangerously exposed. A silver mask covered the upper half of my face, but I still felt like everyone was staring. “You look insane,” Mia whispered excitedly as we entered, squeezing my arm. “Tonight you’re not the stressed scholarship girl. You’re mysterious and untouchable.” Zara, dressed sharply in a tailored black suit with a half-mask,

I stood outside Professor Damien Vale’s office at exactly 6:58 p.m., heart slamming so hard against my ribs I was sure the entire faculty building could hear it. My palms were damp. I had changed three times before leaving the dorm, finally settling on jeans and a plain black long-sleeve top that covered everything. There was no short skirts or deep necklines. Nothing he could accuse me of. I knocked once. “Come in.” His voice was colder than I had ever heard it. I stepped inside and closed the door behind me. The office felt smaller than usual. The blinds were half-drawn, the desk lamp casting a pool of warm light that somehow made the shadows around us darker. Damien sat behind his desk in a black button-down with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, watching me like a predator that had finally trapped something it had been hunting for weeks. He didn’t invite me to sit. He just stared. I cleared my throat. “Professor, about the email…” “Sit.” The single word was sharp enough t

The evenings had started blending into one long, aching stretch of tension. By the fourth night I walked into Damien’s office with my heart already racing, my body already half-aware of what was coming. I had stopped wearing anything remotely revealing. Tonight it was a simple white blouse buttoned all the way up and dark jeans, armor. It didn’t help. He was already seated when I entered, sleeves rolled, expression unreadable. He didn’t look up from the papers in front of him. “Sit. Same as always.”I sat. Opened my folder, tried to work.For the first forty minutes he barely spoke. He only watched. Every time I shifted, every time I crossed my legs or adjusted my posture, I felt his attention sharpen like a blade. The silence was worse than the accusations. It left too much room for the memory of his voice forcing confessions out of me, for the way my body had reacted to every cruel, precise reminder of what I had done. I was mid-sentence on a market analysis when I heard the soft

The pressure had been building for days, each evening session tighter than the last, each deliberate touch under the desk leaving me more frayed and desperate. By the time I walked into his office that night, wearing the short black skirt and low-cut top he had required, I was already on edge. My body felt too hot, too aware. Every shift of fabric against my skin reminded me of his hands. Damien was seated behind the desk as usual, calm, controlled, watching me with those dark, unreadable eyes. He didn’t speak at first. He simply pointed to the chair.I sat and opened the folder, I tried to work.His hand found my thigh within minutes, fingers gripping hard enough to bruise, then dragging slowly upward until they brushed the damp edge of my underwear. He stopped there, as always, and left me aching. “Still so responsive,” he murmured. “ What does that say about you, Ava?”Something inside me finally snapped.I shoved the chair back so hard it scraped loudly against the floor. Paper