Page 195 of Teacher's Pet

I suck in a breath, trying to suppress the overwhelming dread clawing at my chest. Ana’s location is just ahead.

And she’s still not moving.

"How do you live this life?" My voice barely rises above a whisper, my throat tight, raw. "How do you do what you do and then go home to Eden with a smile? To your daughter?"

For a moment, Roman doesn’t answer. His grip on the wheel remains firm, his gaze locked on the road ahead, unreadable. Then, finally, the ghost of a smile tugs at his lips, barely there before it’s gone again.

"I’m making this world a better place for my girls," he murmurs, exhaling slowly. "Despite the chaos. Despite the madness. They see the world as good, as safe, because of the work I do. Those girls are my life." His voice softens, as if the weight of those words has the power to steady him. "I didn’t know true happiness until I met Eden. And fuck…" He lets out a breath that sounds almost like a laugh, shaking his head. "When I met our daughter… there wasn’t a fire I wouldn’t walk through to keep them safe."

Something in my chest clenches.

"I never gave much thought to the idea of having kids," I admit, my voice quieter now, lost in the hum of the engine.

"Neither did I." Roman scoffs, but there’s something warm beneath it. "But having that part of Eden and myself…" He trails off for a second, his fingers flexing on the wheel. "There’s no way to describe it. I wake up every day wanting to be better...for both of them."

A small, unexpected laugh slips past my lips.

Roman’s eyes flick toward me. "What?" he growls, already suspicious.

I smirk. "Have you considered what you’re going to do when she’s old enough to date?"

Roman doesn’t even hesitate.

"For starters," he hisses, "keep her away from teachers that look like you."

Brutal.

But deserved.

I bark out a laugh. "And?"

"I don’t know." His tone darkens. "None of her boyfriends will live long enough to even shake my hand-"

His words cut off.

Both of us see it at the same time.

The brutal fucking wreckage.

The twisted metal, the glass glittering in the headlights like shattered stars. Smoke still rising in slow, curling tendrils from the flipped Porsche.

My stomach drops.

"It says she’s only a couple hundred feet ahead-"

No.

No. No. No.

Before Roman even has the chance to fully stop the car, I throw the door open and bolt.

My legs burn. My feet skid against the frozen ground. My breath is a vicious rasp in my throat as I sprint toward the wreckage, my hand already drawing my pistol.

Please. Please. Please.

Not her.

Not Ana.

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