Sofia's Pov
For the past two weeks, I’d never cared about Professor Lucien. He was just like every other lecturer.
But today feels different.
My chest tightens, like it’s bracing for something.
The door swings open.
The room stills.
He walks in like he owns the air itself—Professor Lucien, in his usual crisp black button-down, sleeves rolled just enough to reveal the veins along his forearms.
His hair is slightly tousled, like he ran a hand through it in irritation or thought—and somehow, that only makes him look more precise. More intentional.
Half the girls in the front row sit up straighter, pens poised, eyes locked on him like he’s the only reason they enrolled in this course.
“Good morning,” he says, voice low and smooth as ever. “I trust you all came prepared.”
A few eager
