The Secret Life of My Husband, The Professor ✔️

02| Second Chances

Wahaj's POV

"Professor, I know you already told us to not disturb you but could you look through this paper for me," There was only one student who could say this sentence and get away with it. Rosie Chamberlain, the headmaster daughter who is continuing her PhD studies.

Professor Yilmaz nodded as he continues to flip said red pen back and forth between his long fingers as he waits to find a mistake to point out, but I was sure even if he found one, he would either dismiss it or not even see it since the headmaster probably looked at her paper before she would hand it.

"This looks good," The Professor says.

As expected. I thought.

"Thank you," She replied before she could leave, he spoke, "but it would help if you wrote it all on your own next time and I will grade it accordingly,"

"I di-" He cuts her off. "We can discuss this later," He said. "In your mother's chamber, I presume,"

She looked furious as she was about to exit his office. That is why Professor Yilmaz is considered different because he wouldn't give a grade for someone based on her looks or her relatives unlike most Professor here who want to keep their job by kissing up to the headmaster and what helped Rosie was the fact that she inherited her mother's long flowing blonde locks and blue eyes that would seduce any professor into giving her extra time and to go easier on her with grading, but most people believe that Professor Yilmaz isn't even interested in girls that is why he would never fall for it.

When the door slams meaning that Rosie has left the room, I'm so on edge that I flinch in the chair. I inhale deeply and hold it for a second, willing my galloping heart to slow down.

He leant his forearms on the table, and I couldn't take my eyes off the long, lean lines, the way the muscles of his forearm ripple and flex with the motion of his fingers.

I let out the breath slowly and open my eyes, feeling calmer. Rare confidence comes over me, and I meet his eyes, willing myself to hold his stare.

Professor Yilmaz drops the pen on top of the stack of papers and leans back in his chair, legs spread wide, hands resting on his long thighs. The way his black pants cling to the hard muscle is sinful, and I avert my eyes before they can travel higher. The silence stretches out between us as he tilts his head at me, studying me, considering his words.

"Miss Muhmmad, I'm sure you know why I asked you to meet me in my office."

"I..." I'm so nervous my throat is dry, and it comes out a whisper. I clear my throat before speaking up. "I think so, Professor."

He looks at me intensely, and I try not to blanch under his stare. The intense green of his eyes is disarming; he has no idea of the effect he has on people.

"I'd like you to tell me," he says, rising from the chair and walking slowly to the side of the table. His proximity is making me more nervous by the second. I can smell his cologne, a spicy, woodsy scent that intoxicates me.