Page 39 of Teacher's Pet

Walking away felt impossible.

So I didn’t. I just hid.

Laying low, pretending to live a clean life, teaching, of all things, felt like the perfect disguise. No one in my family would’ve expected me to actually use my degree.

And honestly?

I was never a fan of kids anyway.

Three years.

That’s how long it’s been since I last heard from anyone in my family.

No calls. No messages. No warnings.

It’s like I never existed.

Noah Ackerman suits me better anyway. Feels like a clean break from the weight ofNoah Antonov, from the legacy I was meant to inherit. Leaving it all to Jake was the only way to stop myself from spiraling down the same blood-soaked path our father did.

Still, I can’t ignore the one habit I did inherit.

The taste for whiskey when my mind turns against me.

The bottle in my bag is proof of that.

"Mr. Ackerman?"

I freeze, apartment keys clenched between my teeth as I wrestle with the stubborn lock. The voice slithers into my ears, grating and unwelcome.

I know that fucking voice.

Slowly, I turn, already bracing for the sight of the last person I wanted to see.

Walker Gilmore.

Of all the goddamn people.

Dropping my keys into my palm, I stare him down, every ounce of patience I have unraveling at the sight of his smug, arrogant face.

"Walker," I say, voice tight, jaw clenched. "What the hell are you doing here?"

My tone is light, almost amused, but in my head?

I’m already picturing his hands clawing at mine, his throat constricting under my grip as he struggles to breathe.

He had the audacity to touch her.

To touchherinmyclassroom.

To treat her like she was his to please.

And that?

That’s something I can’t fucking let go.

Fighting every goddamn urge to think about Ana’s drunken, in-depth description of sucking this asshole’s dick, the images claw at the edges of my mind. Forcing a neutral smile onto my face, I keep my rage on a tight leash.

"I live here," Walker scoffs, arms crossed like he owns the place. "Off-campus housing."

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