Page 126 of Teacher's Pet

Mrs. Briar’s face softens, but the sharpness in her gaze never fades.

“Do you think he loves you?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

The words slice through me like a blade.

Memories flood in. Every moment, every touch, every shared breath.

“After tonight, Ana, if you think what I did to you was love, then you’re as fucked up as me.”

Noah Ackerman does not love.

Noah Ackerman cannot love.

“No,” I bite out. My hands shake as I grip my desk harder, as if grounding myself against the truth will make it hurt less. “Noah doesn’t love me. We only just met-”

“Then end it,” Mrs. Briar pleads, stepping closer. “End it before one of you is scorned because of your actions. I read your portfolio, Ana. You are brilliant... a girl who doesn’t need this to hinder her future.”

My lips curl in something bitter, something sharp.

“Hinder my education?” I scoff, heat rising in my throat. “That is the least of my fucking problems.”

I snap.

The words spill before I can stop them, the dam breaking, the flood unstoppable.

“My father is dying,” my voice cracks, but I don’t stop, “lying in a bed thinking I’m here, making something of myself, when in reality, I’m fucking terrified to leave my dorm. Because I know Cole and Walker are just waiting for me to screw up-”

Mrs. Briar stills, her expression shifting.

“Cole and Walker-”

“I’m not done.”

The words rip from my throat, raw and furious, cutting her off before she can finish.

“Ever since Cole sank his claws into me, my life has been his to dictate.” My breath is ragged, my hands trembling with anger. “Every decision, every move I make, it’s all been his. And then, for one fucking moment, I found something that reminded me I still have control. That I am more than a screw-up, more than something to be owned. And now you’re asking me to throw away the one goddamn comfort I have-”

“There is comfort, Anastasia,” Mrs. Briar interrupts, voice softer, but no less firm. “And then there is recklessness.” She takes a slow breath, shaking her head. “If Noah truly cared for you, he would resign. He would find a way to make this work-”

I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. Only cold, bitter rage.

“Did Roman?” I shoot back, voice sharp as glass, knowing exactly where to cut. “When you started banging your priest, did he leave his job?”

Her face stiffens.

“Roman and I were much more complicated than that,” she says, her tone clipped. “My parents-”

“There’s always an excuse,” I hiss, slamming my hand down on my desk. The impact rattles the room, the force of my anger breaking free. “But you’re not my goddamn mother. And I don’t need you inserting yourself where you don’t belong.”

Rage drips from every word.

Mrs. Briar inhales sharply, the quiet stir of students gathering behind the closed door pulling her back.

She steps away, gaze flicking toward the chalkboard.

“Maybe you’re right,” she murmurs, fingers curling around a piece of chalk.

I sink back in my chair, chest rising and falling with each ragged breath, taking the small victory where I can.

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