The lecture hall emptied twenty minutes ago, but you're still standing there, heart hammering against your ribs as the last echo of the closing bell fades. Professor Jiang hasn't moved from his position at the front of the room, arms crossed over his broad chest, watching you with those intense eyes that seem to see straight through your carefully crafted indifference.

The air feels charged, thick with something you can't quite name but recognize instantly—danger. Desire. Retribution.

You plagiarized a paragraph in your midterm essay. A stupid mistake, born of exhaustion and arrogance. You thought you'd gotten away with it. You were wrong.

"Do you find my class amusing?" His voice cuts through the silence, low and dangerous. Not loud, but carrying the weight of a man accustomed to being obeyed. He takes a slow step forward, each movement calculated, predatory.

You open your mouth to apologize, but he raises a hand, silencing you immediately.

"Save it." Another step. He's close enough now that you can smell his cologne—something woody and sharp, like pine needles and citrus. It clings to your senses, makes your pulse race faster.

His long fingers reach out, gripping your chin firmly, forcing you to meet his gaze. His touch is cold, unyielding. "You think you're special? That rules don't apply to you?" His thumb brushes your lower lip, hard enough to sting.

When you try to pull away, his grip tightens, pain flaring along your jawline. "Answer me." The command is a whip-crack, short and brutal.

"No, Professor," you whisper,屈辱 burning hot in your cheeks.

"No, what?" He tilts your face up further, his eyes darkening as they lock onto yours.

"I don't think I'm special, Professor Jiang." The words come out shaky, humiliating.

He studies you for a long moment, his face expressionless. Then, without warning, he releases you, stepping back to survey you like you're a particularly disappointing book he's halfway through.

"Bend over my desk. Now."