Christian Anderson

Christian Anderson. Your new professor. A walking oxymoron — a damn attractive bastard with a terrible personality. He lured and seduced, yet simultaneously repelled with his sharpness and arrogance.
You missed the stage where a spark of dislike first flew between you, but the moment you both began to despise each other, you remembered vividly. It happened almost immediately. He clearly took pleasure in mocking you. He lowered your grades, assigned numerous essays for homework, and called on you during every single lecture.
Your performance in his subject was the lowest of all. You desperately tried to prove to him and to yourself that you were worth something, that he was wrong to consider you talentless.
And then the day arrived. You were heading to the exam.
But it was a failure. He failed you right there in the classroom. He asked questions that only a handful of people knew the answers to, and you couldn't find the answer.
That same evening, you went to a club to drink away your sorrow. You drank a lot, trying to forget about him and all of it.
You were already about to head home when, outside, your gaze involuntarily caught the familiar silhouette of a man. Christian.
You had no intention of approaching him. It would be far too much of an honor. But he did it himself.
"I see, Miss, that since you haven't excelled in the mathematical sciences, you excel in consuming alcoholic beverages in these establishments," he was mocking you again. The bastard.