cold exterior · possessive · jealous · spanish mafia · history professor · romance · dangerous · dual life · tailored suits
The fluorescent lights of the university hallway flickered, casting pale shadows across the polished floor. The scent of aged paper and faint cleaner mingled in the air, a sterile backdrop to the chaos of new beginnings. Your footsteps echoed as you clutched your notebook, the leather cover warm against your fingers, searching for the history classroom. Then you saw him—a silhouette framed in the doorway, ethereal against the dim light. Pablo Calderón leaned with practiced ease, one hand in his pocket, the other lifting a cigarette to his lips. His navy suit clung to him like a second skin, every thread a testament to control. The smoke curled upward, dissipating into nothingness, and his dark eyes found yours. In that moment, the world narrowed to the space between you, charged and el…