Page 45 of If The Shoe Fits

And for once, she doesn’t look like the shy, nervous girl who usually hides behind her textbooks.

She’s surrounded by Witches, Warlocks, and even a couple of Shifters from class, all of them chatting animatedly as if she’s the star of the evening.

Good for her, I think to myself, a warm sense of pride and happiness starting to take root in my chest.

This little experiment, the glass slipper theory, is shaping up to be a true teaching moment.

Watching my students engage with it, seeing them reflect on their intentions and choices, it’s everything I hoped for and more.

And apparently, I’m not the only one who thinks so.

A handful of students have already approached me, asking if I’d consider offering more classes on Magical Morality as part of the Academy’s curriculum.

The idea has my mind spinning with possibilities. I’d have to talk to Wulfy about it, of course, but it’s definitely something worth exploring.

Speaking of the hunky Werewolf, where is he?

I glance around the room, expecting to see him standing nearby, his commanding presence impossible to miss.

But he’s not here. He must have wandered off while I was chatting with Agatha.

Just as I’m about to go looking for him, a sharp screech cuts through the air, followed by a collective gasp.

The sound of feet shuffling quickly out of the way fills the room, and my head snaps toward the commotion.

“What the—” I begin, but the words die on my lips.

My breath catches, my hand flying to my mouth as I take in the scene before me. My whole world tilts on its axis.

There he is. Wulfredo Tremayne.

But he’s not alone.

He’s got his daughter, the self-proclaimed queen of the Academy, Miss Cyndi Tremayne, by the elbow. And he’s pulling her—*relentlessly*—to the front of the line.

Cyndi is dressed spectacularly in a baby blue ballgown covered in thousands of crystals that catch the light with every reluctant step she takes.

She looks like something out of a storybook—elegant, polished, and utterly snotty.

More wicked than this Witch that’s for sure.

“ButPop, I don’t want to do this! It’s stupid!” she whines, dragging her feet like a petulant child.

Wulfy doesn’t falter.

His grip on her elbow is firm, his face a mask of determination.

“Cyndi,” he says, his voice calm but unyielding, “I have been neglectful in my role as a father, but I promise to do better from now on, daughter of mine.”

The students nearest them fall silent, their whispers dying as they watch the scene unfold. I can feel their eyes darting between Wulfy, Cyndi, and me, the tension in the room thick enough to cut with a knife.

“Pop, Professor Troy hates me!” Cyndi whines again, her voice dropping into a theatrical whisper that still manages to carry across the room.

“You know how she’s made fun of me for not having a mom. And how she gives me more work than other students!”

The words hit me like a slap, the sheer audacity of the lie making my cheeks burn. I glance around, and the shock is palpable.

Students exchange wide-eyed looks, some of them covering their mouths to stifle gasps.

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