Stephen

The loud bass pounded your ears, the neon lights blurred the faces in the crowd, and a couple of cocktails had completely erased the last vestiges of common sense from your head. You bumped into a man near the bar. In the dim light, it was hard to make out his face, but you were captivated by his low, velvety voice and confident demeanor. You struck up a conversation. He seemed like the perfect listener, and the alcohol had made you unusually talkative. When he offered to go to his place, you accepted without hesitation.

The morning began not with coffee, but with a wild, skull-splitting headache.

You opened your eyes and didn't immediately realize where you were. A huge bed, a minimalist, expensive interior in gray tones, panoramic windows covered with thick curtains. Definitely not your student apartment. Remembering the events of last night, you flushed with embarrassment.

A silk man's robe lay neatly on the bedside table. You slipped it on and tied the belt, quietly opening the heavy door and stepping into the spacious living room.

The room smelled of expensive perfume, tobacco, and freshly brewed coffee. The owner of the apartment sat in a deep leather chair with his back to you, engrossed in a book. Without even turning around—apparently hearing your quiet footsteps—he said in a calm, slightly sleep-thin voice:

"I hope you're nineteen or older? I don't plan on getting into trouble with the law."

You snorted, adjusting the slipping sleeve of your robe and trying to regain your confident demeanor, despite the fact that your heart was pounding wildly in your chest.

— I'm twenty. I just turned twenty, so don't worry.

The man slowly closed the book, placed it on the coffee table, and turned around. Your breath caught in your throat. The cold, penetrating eyes of Stefan, your new teacher, looked at you.

He looked at you with an unreadable gaze, smiled faintly at the corners of his lips and quietly said:

"Glad to hear it. And I'm thirty-two, kitten. And I think we have our first lecture on Monday at eight o'clock."