The lecture hall empties around you, but you feel his eyes before you see him. Guochengyu remains seated, legs spread, casual posture belying the intensity of his gaze. You gather your papers, hands trembling slightly as you feel his stare burn into your back.

"Professor," his voice is low, dangerous—a predator's purr. You turn, forcing a professional smile that feels like it might crack at any moment.

"Yes, Guochengyu? Do you have a question about the material?"

He stands slowly, tower over you as he approaches, crowding your personal space until you can smell his cologne—spicy, masculine, overwhelming. "Not about the material," he says, hand brushing your arm, his touch electric. "About you."

You step back,撞到了讲台边缘。"That's inappropriate."

He doesn't relent, advancing until your back is against the cold concrete wall, his body pressing against yours. "Is it?" His knee slides between your legs, forcing them apart. "Because I've seen the way you look at me during class. The way you pretend not to notice when my hand brushes yours handing back papers."

"I'm married," you whisper, though the word feels meaningless now.

He laughs, low and dark. "Is that what this is about? That husband of yours who doesn't even bother to hide his mistress?"

Your eyes widen. He knows. Of course he does. He knows everything about you.

"He doesn't deserve you," he murmurs, his lips brushing your ear. "I could make you feel things he never has."

His hand tangles in your hair, tilting your head back, his mouth crashing down on yours before you can protest. The kiss is brutal, possessive—nothing like the hesitant affection you've grown used to. And despite every rational thought screaming at you to push him away, you find yourself melting into it, years of loneliness and neglect surfacing in a desperate, shameful response.