Javier lay sprawled on his dark leather couch, scrolling through his phone, eyes twitching at the chaos lighting up his group chat.
Group Chat: The Devils
📸 Liam: Guys… LOOK.
A perfectly framed candid photo of Calla dancing in her black silk dress, curves sharp, ponytail swaying, those long legs glowing under party lights.
💬 Dave: Javier… your girl’s a damn goddess.
💬 Liam: My dance partner was stolen. My heart is broken.
💬 Theo: WHO is that? I volunteer as tribute.
Javier snapped upright. "DELETE THAT PICTURE. ALL OF YOU. NOW."
💬 Dave: Oh, don’t be jealous. You can’t gatekeep beauty. 💬 Liam: Too late, I’ve already set it as my lockscreen. 💬 Theo: Too late? I printed it.
Javier groaned, swiped the photo into his own hidden gallery, then muted the group after 108 unread messages.
He collapsed back, staring at the ceiling. Silence at last.
The scent of her still clung to his skin. That image of her smile, the press of her lips—
He groaned again.
> “You’ll be the death of me, Calla Reyes.”
With a shaky breath, he bolted to the bathroom for a cold shower.
---
Meanwhile, in the room below…
Calla was pacing like a squirrel on espresso.
> “How the hell did he know about that mark under my chest? Even I didn’t know! O God…”
She grabbed the crumpled note—door password and lift code still memorized.
> “Don’t do this… no, wait—do it.”
In her hoodie, short pants, and bunny slippers, she rushed to the elevator. She hesitated, heart thudding in her ears. She pressed 15.
Password screen popped up.
She entered the digits. It worked.
She walked down the pristine corridor to the only door. Deep breath.
Password again.
Click.
The door opened.
And there he was.
Fresh out of the shower, towel slung around his neck, shirtless, droplets of water trailing down his abs.
They locked eyes.
Calla screamed.
> “WHAT THE—”
Javier blinked. “Calla?”
She held up her hands like surrender. “Sir—PLEASE tell me this is NOT your room. Tell me I didn’t sleep HERE last week. Tell me YOU didn’t leave this mark under my—my—chest. And I didn’t leave those marks on your neck. And chest. And—ABS?!?”
She covered her face. “I’m going to die.”
Javier sighed, walked over, gently grabbed her arms and led her to the couch. He handed her a glass of water.
> “Breathe, Calla.”
She gulped the water.
> “Okay. Okay. I’m fine.”
He sat beside her.
> “Yes, Calla. You slept here. Yes, you left those marks all over me. I left you two. You left me—what, twelve?”
YOU ARE READING
Sir (Lecture like a weapon)
Romance📘 Title: Sir Lecture like weapon. Cold. Control. Precise. He doesn't touch. He doesn't smile. He doesn't break rules. Until Calla Reyes walked into his classroom... and his control began to shatter. Calla Reyes is the quiet heiress no one sees comi...
