Professor And The Madman Book Novels & Stories

He asked coldly. "I don't think fifty shades is a classic book and I've never heard of a fruit called Madison, but then again, I could be wrong." His eyes narrowed even further. "How old are you?" "Twenty, with my own bank account and fully potty trained." "Maddie!" Cam hissed at me, "what the hell do you think you're doing?" I ignored him, refusing to break eye contact with Kristoff. I wasn't about to go from being bullied by my professor to being bullied by my boss. A girl had to draw the line somewhere and this was where I did mine.

I slowly and carefully gathered my books, taking my time so I wouldn't have to walk too close to him. But he was already at the front desk, putting papers in order with his big, veined hands. I had to walk right past. "Professor," I mumbled, looking down at the floor. My heart was pounding so hard I was sure he could hear it. He didn't answer right away.

' he thought, now he see why his brother was distracted after seeing her. Finally snapping out of his daze, he went round the table to behind his desk, picking up a piece of paper, he skimmed through it. After a minute, he looked back at the Students and began talking. His loud, cold voice immediately gaining their attention. "My name is Victor King, I will be your professor for this year." he paused for few seconds before continuing. "You may only call me Mr King, or Professor. I will not tolerate any shenanigans in my hall and make sure to pay attention when I am teaching, I will not be repeating myself."

“I met with Professor Anderson Pym to discuss my study plans. He was the only professor who responded to dozens of emails I sent to several different professors. How about you? Who is your mentor?” “Wait, you emailed them? Didn't they email you?” Scott chuckled dryly as he chewed his crunchy pie crust. “Never in history has a professor emailed a student to offer to be their mentor. They are super busy. They never even memorize the names and faces of each student.” "But I think the professors will email us after seeing the study plan we submitted on the campus website. I got an email from Professor Simmon Kendrick about two months ago.” “Who? Professor Kendrick? Are you kidding me?”

“Don’t.” I wish she could talk to me about it, but we’re in the classroom, and the professor might arrive at any time. But, just as I anticipated, a loud, clearing throat resounds across the classroom. Everyone shuts their mouths, followed by a deadly silence. Our attention gets drawn to the front, where a sophisticated, sexy, and attractive young professor in a black shirt and pants stands by the grand piano. He now has a pair of black-framed glasses on. The most awaited man has finally arrived.

"Come, anchor your frame here for a moment. Mbok shall procure a glass of water to stabilize you." I desperately regulated my erratic breathing while awaiting Mbok Parti’s return. My internal network was practically vibrating with an unbearable impatience to decode the solution. Yet conversely, a parallel wave of acute horror paralyzed my system. What catastrophic wreckage would manifest if my dark hypotheses proved to be entirely valid? I possessed zero psychological capacity to visualize a scenario where the ruthless professor who had repeatedly violated the sanctity of my flesh sat enthroned upon a matrimonial stage alongside my own closest companion. "Here you are, Non. Consume this imme

“It’s a modern drug, and it’s very famous. You wouldn’t know it, of course. Do you ever go to clubs?” “No,” he shakes his head. “No time.” “I knew it.” “You think I’m the most boring, most serious and horrible person in the world.” He says matter-of-factly. I let out a dramatic gasp. “I would never think or say that about my favourite professor.” His face lights up, and his lips twitch. “Do you mind telling me what I did for you to hate me? You can't possibly hate me because I responded to your email with 'lazy and entitled.'”

Regan could only shake his head slowly while a faint, wry smile touched his lips as he rounded the car to the driver's seat. No wonder Alexzandrei Constantine was known as a madman. It was a title worn not with shame, but with a certain perverse pride. Regan had seen it for years. He had seen the effortless charm that could disarm a roomful of sharks, the disarming gentle look in his eyes that made people trust him implicitly. It was a masterpiece of a facade, a beautiful, polished veneer that hid the rot beneath.

I have no idea who any of these people are. “All right,” the Professor says, marching to the door and slamming it shut, twisting the lock and striding back for the front of the room, all business. “Welcome to the Espionage Track. I’m Dr. Neumann, I will be your advisor and your professor of Chemistry.” We all sit up a little straighter then, I think anxious and eager to impress. He smirks a little at us, not unkindly, and then launches into a speech about what we’ll be expected to do here. My eyes go wider and wider as he speaks, detailing the incredible amount of information that we’ll be expected to learn in a very short amount of time. I jump when he takes a textbook from below the desk a

That was when I noticed it—something dark near the edge of the field, half submerged where the pond crept in like a lazy boundary that no one respected. A book. And beside it—thin-framed glasses. Her glasses. I walked toward it without thinking. The closer I got, the louder my wolf stirred, pacing in my head like it had been locked up too long. I bent down and picked up the book first. On My Professor’s Bed. I read the title out loud, my voice low, almost disbelieving. That didn’t match her at all. Not her nerdy appearance.Not the way she avoided eye contact. Not the way she flinched when anyone raised their voice. That title belonged to a reckless girl. A bold one. Not someone who apologize