Obsessed ang Teacher ko Sa’kin

Chapter 1

Liyro's POV

My classroom is a sanctuary of logic. At St. Jude Academy, my MBA lectures are legendary for being brutal, precise, and devoid of any human "fluff." I teach my students that the market has no heart, and neither should they. I am the Ice Professor, the man who grades based on data, not potential.

Every semester is the same. A sea of faces in expensive suits, sons and daughters of tycoons, all eager to impress the Ferrer heir.

Until she walked in. Late.

It was a Monday morning, exactly 8:00 AM. I hate tardiness. It's a sign of a disorganized mind. I was about to lock the door when a hand caught the frame.

"Sorry! Patawad po, Professor! The LRT broke down," hingal na sabi ng babaeng pumasok.

She wasn't wearing a suit.

She was in a simple, slightly oversized vintage sweater and denim jeans. Her hair was a mess of dark curls, held together by a single paintbrush used as a hair stick. She didn't look like an MBA student; she looked like an artist who had wandered into the wrong building.

"Name?" I asked, my voice cutting through the humid morning air like a blade.

"Elara. Elara Santos, Sir," she replied, trying to catch her breath. Her eyes—brown, deep, and defiant—met mine. She didn't look down. She didn't apologize again. She just stood there, waiting for my judgment.

"Sit down, Ms. Santos. Ten points off your participation grade for the day. Don't let it happen again," I said, turning back to the whiteboard.

But as I started writing the formula for Market Equilibrium, my hand faltered. I could feel her presence in the third row. She wasn't taking notes on a laptop like everyone else. She was sketching in a weathered moleskine, her eyes moving from my face to her paper.

Liyro's POV

Throughout the lecture, I found myself performing. I wasn't just teaching; I was trying to capture her attention. I used more complex analogies, more aggressive theories. I wanted to see her look up and be intimidated.

She never was.

At the end of the class, everyone scrambled to leave, but Elara stayed behind to pack her charcoals and pencils. I stood at my podium, pretending to check my emails, but I was watching her every move

.

"Ms. Santos," I called out.

She looked up, pushing a stray curl behind her ear. "Yes, Professor Ferrer?"

"This is a Business course, not an Fine Arts elective. If you spend my lectures sketching instead of analyzing the case studies, you will fail. I don't care how 'creative' you think you are."

Lumapit siya sa desk ko. She didn't look intimidated. Instead, she turned her sketchbook around and pushed it toward me.

It wasn't a sketch of the room. It was a visual map of my lecture. She had transformed my boring supply-and-demand curves into a tree—roots representing production costs, branches as market reach, and withered leaves as inflation. It was the most brilliant interpretation of my work I had ever seen.

"I analyze better with my hands than with a keyboard, Professor," she said softly. "Ang logic niyo ay maganda, pero masyadong malamig. Business is about people, not just numbers. People have colors."

I was speechless. She was a glitch. Isang error sa system ko na hindi ko kayang i-delete.

"Just... don't be late again," I muttered, looking away.

Liyro's POV

The obsession didn't happen overnight. It was a slow, agonizing crawl.

I started checking her student files. Nalaman ko na she's on a full scholarship. She works part-time at a local gallery to pay for her paints. She lives in a small apartment in Cubao. I knew her grades, her address, her blood type. I was auditing her life without her even knowing.

I told myself it was "academic concern." But then, I saw him.

One afternoon, I was looking out from my office window when I saw Elara at the campus gate. She was smiling—the kind of smile she never gave me in class. A guy on a beat-up motorcycle was waiting for her. Julián.

He looked like a typical "bad boy" artist. Tattered shirt, messy hair, and a carefree laugh. He handed her a helmet, and she hugged him from behind before they zoomed away into the Manila traffic.

I felt a surge of rage so intense, it made my hands shake. Passion. Love. Ang mga bagay na sinasabi ko sa klase na walang puwang sa tagumpay.

Why him? Bakit ang isang taong walang maibibigay kundi isang upuan sa likod ng luma at maingay na motor? I could give her the world. I could give her a gallery in Paris. I could give her security.

Liyro's POV

That night, I went home to the White Mansion, but I felt like a stranger in my own skin. I sat at my desk and opened my secret folder. My fingers flew across the keys, the 'Ice Professor' transforming into the 'Possessive Predator.'

"He graded her papers with a pen that wanted to mark her skin instead of her errors. He watched her from the podium, imagining the moment he could strip away that vintage sweater and replace it with silk that smelled of him. She belonged in a frame, but she chose to live in the dirt with a man who could never understand her value. He would destroy the artist. He would burn the motorcycle. He would make her understand that only a Ferrer could truly provide the canvas for her life..."

This is my hobby. My dark, erotic escape.

My parents, Alyssa and Lucas, see their eldest son working on "research." My siblings see a man who is too busy for a girlfriend. They have no idea that their 'Saint Liyro' is currently writing a 500-word prose about how he wants to trap one of his students in a gilded cage until she forgets the name of the man she loves.

I am a Professor. I am a CEO.

But most of all, I am a man who is about to fail a student—not because of her grades, but because I want her to be desperate enough to come to me for help.