Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 62994 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62994 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
They run off reluctantly, glancing back at me like they’re checking whether I’m really okay.
My heart aches so badly I can barely stand.
This can’t continue. I might be able to pretend around adults, but I can’t pretend around my students. They’re too observant. They feel everything. They know when something is wrong even if they don’t have the words to describe it.
After school, I go straight to the principal’s office. She looks surprised to see me without an appointment but waves me in. She has always been fair, always levelheaded, always able to see the bigger picture. I sit down and fold my hands together tightly.
“I need to request a temporary leave,” I say, forcing the words out slowly. “Just a week. Maybe two. I’ve got some personal things going on, and I worry it’ll be disruptive for the kids.”
She studies me over the rim of her glasses.
“I’m certainly sorry to hear that,” she says, her tone almost stern. “Especially because this is your first year. If you can’t show that you’re able to stick it out with these kids, we may have to reconsider your placement here.”
My throat tightens.
“I can come back. Soon. I just need some time to handle things.”
“I know you want to believe that. But right now, it’s not about what you want. It’s about what the students need. It would be better for us to bring in a full-time substitute to cover your class for the rest of the year. The kids need consistency.”
That blows a hole straight through my chest because she’s right. She’s just trying to do what’s best for the kids. And even though it feels like losing a piece of myself, I nod.
“I’ll fill out the paperwork,” I whisper.
Before I leave, she places a hand on my arm. “Whatever you’re going through, I hope you get the support you need.”
The words hit harder than she knows.
When I return to the penthouse, everything inside me feels scraped raw. I slam my bag on the kitchen counter and start pacing again, faster this time. The luxury surrounding me feels suffocating, like it’s pressing in on me from all sides. The marble countertops, the tasteful artwork, the floor-to-ceiling windows. None of it comforts me.
Samuil emerges from his office and watches me silently for a moment. I can feel his eyes tracking me the way a predator watches its prey. Calm. Controlled. Focused.
“You’re burning holes in the floor,” he observes. “It’s unsettling.”
“Good,” I snap, refusing to stop. “Someone around here should be unsettled besides me.”
“It’s the only solution that keeps you safe.”
I whirl around, anger rising like a wave. “You should have asked me. You should have explained things. You should have given me one ounce of choice.”
His expression barely shifts, but something sharp glints in his eyes.
“I’m controlling. I won’t deny that. I’ve spent my entire life controlling every variable around me because it’s the only way to keep the people I care about safe.”
I stiffen. The people he cares about? That can’t include me. Not yet. But the room feels too small suddenly, the air too thick.
He steps closer. “Why does it bother you so much?”
I open my mouth, but the words that rise up feel too vulnerable and exposed. I try to swallow them down, but he just waits, that infuriating quiet forcing honesty out of me.
“I’ve never lived with someone who actually gives a damn about whether I survive.”
Silence settles between us.
He breathes once, sharp and low.
I look away quickly, ashamed of how raw it sounds. I wrap my arms around my stomach without thinking, protecting the secret he can never know. “I just want my life back.”
I turn away, unable to look at him anymore because the truth sits heavy and complicated inside me.
9
SAMUIL
Her words hit something in me I’m not prepared to feel. The impact is like a punch to the ribs, sharp enough that, for a moment, I forget to breathe. She stands in the glow of the city lights, shoulders rigid, jaw set in defiance. Her back is to me now, but the look in her eyes a moment ago is already seared into my memory forever.
She’s been through something dark. She may never feel comfortable enough to share it with me, but I see it in her eyes. I hear it in the words she doesn’t say. I want to take all that pain away, to wrap her in my arms and hold her until nothing exists but the two of us.
I swallow and feel the weight of the sentence settle between us. It’s heavy and uncomfortable, but intimate in a way that makes my pulse tighten. A muscle in her jaw flickers, and she wraps her arms around herself like she’s preparing for a blow she expects to come.
I have the strangest urge to go to her. To lift her arms away from her body and pull her against me. I want to show her she can be soft and vulnerable, that she never has to worry whether someone will take care of her.