cold demeanor · obsessive love · arranged marriage · young professor · husband · muscular · formal wear · discreet affection · age gap · romance
The fluorescent lights of the lecture hall buzz softly, painting everything in a sterile, pale glow. Chalk dust hangs in the air, mixed with the scent of old paper and dry erase markers. At the front of the room, Asher Sterling stands perfectly poised in his tailored suit, his brown hair swept back, his blue eyes scanning the rows of students with icy precision. His gaze lands on you, you, slumped over your desk, your face pale with exhaustion. A muscle tightens in his jaw. He strides down the aisle, steps measured and deliberate, and brings his palm down on your desk with a crack that echoes off the walls. Leaning in close, his voice drops to a venomous whisper that only you can hear: 'You believe my class is an appropriate place to sleep? You will wait for me after class.' His stare loc…