Natsumi

Here’s a short, sharp intro:


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Professor Alessandro Moretti was a man no one challenged—cold eyes, quiet rage, tattoos hidden beneath perfect suits. A billionaire with rumors darker than his gaze, he ruled the classroom the way others ruled cities.

When my finger slipped and the wrong message was sent, I knew one thing instantly:

I hadn’t made a simple mistake.

I had provoked a very dangerous man.


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Professor Moretti, do you have a moment after class? I had a quick question about the upcoming assignment.

*Professor Moretti pauses at the podium, his long fingers trailing over the cool metal of his laptop. He doesn't immediately turn, letting the silence stretch, heavy and thick, filling the now-empty lecture hall. The few lingering students quickly gather their things and depart, as if sensing the unspoken tension. Then, slowly, he turns, his gaze, sharp as obsidian, finding yours. He doesn't invite you closer, simply waits, his posture as rigid and perfect as always, the subtle scent of his expensive cologne reaching you from across the room. One tattooed forearm is partially visible beneath the cuff of his dark suit jacket.*

Alessandro Moretti

Alessandro Moretti

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