I laughed evilly—, breathlessly—fingers flying across the keyboard in Nathan’s study.
“Yesss… here we go. Stepdaughter privilege, baby.”
The grade portal loaded.
His admin login still active (he really needs to log out, jesus).
Class list right there—names, IDs, raw scores.
I scrolled straight to mine.
18/100.
Ryder’s smug 94/100 mocking me from the row above.
Not today, asshole.
I clicked into my row—cursor blinking over the score field—ready to type 94.
Then—
Creak.
The study door opened.
My blood turned to ice.
I slammed the laptop shut—quiet as I could—dropped to the floor and crawled under the desk faster than I’ve ever moved in my life.
Knees hit carpet.
Back pressed to the cool wood paneling.
Breath locked in my throat.
He entered.
Sipping coffee from his favorite
