The Professor’s Dark Devotion

The day Fu Yanli won the most prestigious academic award of the year was the exact same day I served him with divorce papers.

In the backstage dressing room, he had just shed his tailored suit jacket for a crisp white dress shirt, buttoned tightly all the way to his collar. That pristine, restrained demeanor of his had always provoked a dark, wicked desire in people, the urge to strip it away with their own hands.

In stark contrast to his immaculate appearance, I deliberately tugged my collar to the side, exposing a vivid, scarlet “hickey” painted with lipstick.

I slid the papers and a pen across the table toward him, a smirk playing on my lips. “Sign it.”

He didn’t spare the document a single glance. Instead, the young professor’s sharp, incisive gaze locked onto the “evidence” on my neck. Silence settled over the room. One second. Two seconds…

I expected him to fly into a rage, or at the very least, hurl a token accusation my way. But he didn’t. He simply stood up without a word and walked unhurriedly toward the door.

The lock engaged with a dry, hollow sound. He removed his gold-rimmed glasses and tossed them casually onto the table. Stripped of that polite barrier, his eyes revealed a dark, chilling intensity that was downright terrifying.

Then, he began to unbuckle his belt.