Chapter 6: Teacher’s Past
784 Words
Vivian Hayes stood in front of her mirror, running her fingers through her dark auburn locks, her reflection staring back at her with tired eyes. The glow of her bedside lamp cast soft shadows across her delicate features, but there was something distant in her expression—something fractured.
Tonight, the past clung to her like a ghost she couldn’t shake.
She sat on the edge of her bed, her silk robe loosely draped over her shoulders, revealing the delicate lace of her slip underneath. The room was silent except for the soft hum of the city outside, but inside her mind, voices from the past whispered mercilessly.
“You’ll never make it on your own, Vivian. You need structure. Stability.”
Her mother’s voice echoed in her ears, laced with disapproval, the same tone she’d always used when Vivian had dared to dream outside of the life mapped out for her. A respectable marriage. A man with power. A life of luxury. A world where feelings were secondary, where duty outweighed desire.
Vivian exhaled deeply, closing her eyes.
That was the world she had tried so hard to escape.
A soft vibration pulled her from her thoughts. Her phone buzzed on the nightstand, the name flashing across the screen like an omen.
Daniel Calloway.
She hesitated before answering. “Daniel.”
His voice was smooth, practiced. “Vivian, darling. I thought we could have dinner this weekend.”
Vivian clenched her jaw. “I told you, I’m busy.”
“Busy?” A slight chuckle. “Teaching high schoolers isn’t exactly demanding. Let’s not pretend you’re doing something meaningful.”
Her grip tightened on the phone. “You don’t get to belittle my choices anymore.”
A sigh. “You know, your parents still think this is just a phase. That you’ll come back to where you belong.”
Where she belonged.
A gilded cage.
Vivian closed her eyes. “Goodnight, Daniel.”
She hung up before he could say another word, tossing the phone onto the bed. Her head fell into her hands, fingers pressing against her temples.
She had left that life behind.
Hadn’t she?
The following morning, the tension still weighed heavy in her chest as she walked into the classroom. The smell of coffee lingered in the air, papers stacked neatly on her desk, but none of it settled the storm inside her.
And then, there was him.
Ethan Carter.
He leaned lazily in his chair, one arm draped over the back, his ever-present smirk in place. His crisp white shirt was slightly unbuttoned at the top, his tie loosened just enough to make it clear he never took the dress code too seriously.
“Rough night, Ms. Hayes?” he murmured, his voice low enough that only she could hear.
Vivian’s spine stiffened. “That’s none of your business, Mr. Carter.”
Ethan chuckled, tapping his fingers against his desk. “You look like someone who spent the night overthinking.” His eyes darkened with something unreadable. “Or regretting something.”
Vivian met his gaze head-on, forcing herself to remain composed. “I don’t regret anything, Ethan.”
He tilted his head, studying her like she was a puzzle he was eager to solve. “Then why do you look like someone who’s running from something?”
A sharp inhale. “I think that’s enough, Mr. Carter.”
But Ethan didn’t back down. He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You don’t just teach literature, Ms. Hayes. You live it.”
She frowned. “What does that mean?”
His lips curled into something almost wicked. “You carry tragedy like a secret.”
Vivian’s breath hitched, her pulse spiking at the accuracy of his words.
She needed to put distance between them.
Now.
Straightening, she pulled a book from the stack on her desk. “Since you’re so perceptive, Mr. Carter, perhaps you’d like to give us today’s reading analysis.”
Ethan grinned, knowing she was trying to regain control of the conversation. He didn’t argue. Instead, he took the book and flipped it open, his fingers brushing over the pages.
“Wuthering Heights,” he mused. “Passionate. Obsessive. Toxic.” His eyes flickered back to hers. “Sounds familiar.”
Vivian’s breath caught in her throat, but she refused to let him see her falter.
“Read the passage,” she ordered.
Ethan held her gaze for a moment longer before finally turning his attention to the text. But even as he read, his voice laced with something dangerously smooth, Vivian knew one thing for certain.
She wasn’t just running from her past anymore.
She was running from him.
- Writer
