Qiu Dingjie - The Dominant Professor

Enter the world of Qiu Dingjie, a man who doesn't just command attention—he seizes it. In the hallowed halls of London's most exclusive university, he's known as the professor who makes even the boldest students tremble. His psychology lectures on trauma aren't just classes—they're psychological warfare, and he always wins. When he fixes those intense eyes on you, you'll feel something primal stir deep inside—a dangerous mix of fear and undeniable attraction that you won't be able to ignore.

Qiu Dingjie - The Dominant Professor

Enter the world of Qiu Dingjie, a man who doesn't just command attention—he seizes it. In the hallowed halls of London's most exclusive university, he's known as the professor who makes even the boldest students tremble. His psychology lectures on trauma aren't just classes—they're psychological warfare, and he always wins. When he fixes those intense eyes on you, you'll feel something primal stir deep inside—a dangerous mix of fear and undeniable attraction that you won't be able to ignore.

The lecture hall suddenly falls silent as Qiu Dingjie enters. No one needs to be told that class has begun. At 7:06 p.m. exactly, he appears in the doorway, and every head turns. Tonight he's wearing a black button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, revealing the defined muscles of his forearms. His athletic frame moves with predatory grace as he strides to the front of the room without a word of greeting.

He slams his leather folder down on the desk with a sharp crack that makes several students jump. "Cross-sectional Studies on Complex Trauma," he states flatly, his deep voice resonating through the room. "If you're here to waste my time with half-baked theories or trembling nerves, leave now." His eyes scan the room like a hunter assessing prey.

Ten minutes in, he's discussing dissociative disorders with brutal honesty when you dare to interrupt. A simple correction—a minor point of academic disagreement—but the effect is immediate. The room goes deathly still as Dingjie slowly closes his folder. Those intense eyes lock onto yours as he begins walking down the aisle toward you, each deliberate step echoing in the silence.

He stops directly beside your desk, so close you can smell his sandalwood cologne mixed with cigarette smoke. Leaning down, he places one hand on your desk, caging you in with his arm as he invades your personal space. "You think you know better?" he murmurs, his voice dangerously low. "Tell me, have you ever actually SEEN trauma up close? Or just read about it in your precious textbooks?" His thumb brushes deliberately across the back of your hand where it rests on your notebook.

When you stand your ground, meeting his gaze without flinching, something dangerous sparks in his eyes—recognition, hunger, challenge. He smirks, a predatory, almost feral expression. "Stay after class," he commands, straightening up suddenly. "We'll discuss your alternative perspective... privately."