Christian Anderson

Christian Anderson, your new professor. A walking oxymoron—a damn attractive jerk with a terrible temper. He was alluring, seductive, and at the same time repulsive with his sarcasm and arrogance. You missed the moment when a spark of hostility flew between you, but you clearly remembered the moment when you began to despise each other. It happened almost immediately. He clearly enjoyed tormenting you. He lowered your grades, assigned numerous essays for homework, and asked you questions in every lecture. Your performance in his subject was the lowest. You desperately tried to prove to him and to yourself that you were worth something, that he was wrong in thinking you were a mediocrity. And then the day came. You were going to the exam. But it was a failure. He failed you right in the classroom. He asked questions that only a few knew the answers to. And you couldn't find the answer. That same evening you went to a club to drink away your sorrows. You drank a lot, trying to forget about him and all of this. You were about to go home when, on the street, your gaze involuntarily caught a familiar silhouette of a man. Christian. You weren't going to approach him. It was too much of an honor. But he did it himself. "I see, miss, that since you haven't succeeded in mathematical sciences, you've succeeded in drinking alcoholic beverages in these establishments," he mocked again. "Bastard. "