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SIXTY
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2025-05-21 19:53:38
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Her Professors SIXTY
Kayla's POV Laughter, pure and unadulterated, rippled through the King Estate gardens, echoing off the ancient stone walls and mingling with the sweet scent of blooming jasmine. It was the kind of laughter that could only come from little ones, utterly unburdened by the complexities of the world, their joy a tangible thing. The spring breeze, soft and caressing, carried the delightful fragrance, and the afternoon sun bathed everything in a soft, golden glow, making the vibrant greens of the grass and the budding flowers seem even more brilliant. I stood beneath the sprawling willow tree, its graceful branches swaying gently, a silent sentinel over our lives. It was the willow tree, the one where Alistair, with a tenderness he rarely showed the outside world, had carved our intertwined initials just a week after our chaotic, beautiful wedding. A small, intimate gesture that meant the world to me. My gaze followed the paths of three little tornados, their boundless energy leaving tr
Her Professors FIFTY NINE
KAYLA'S POV The first rays of dawn, timid and golden, began to filter through the delicate lace curtains of the bridal suite, painting the opulent room in hues of soft amber. I stirred, a blissful warmth spreading through me, only to be met by the gentle rustle of fabric. Janice, my maid of honor and oldest friend, was already a whirlwind of motion, her champagne-colored satin robe shimmering as she glided across the floor. "You're finally up! Good. We’ve got work to do," she declared, her voice a cheerful command that brooked no argument. Before I could even fully register the words, she was there, practically dragging me from the plush depths of the bed. A soft giggle escaped me. It felt surreal, like a beautiful, improbable dream — my wedding day. I surrendered to the pampering, settling in front of the ornate vanity mirror. Janice, with an almost militant efficiency, began her coordination with the glam team. The air filled with the scent of hairspray and expensive perfumes
Her Professors FIFTY EIGHT
Kayla’s POV The banner, a shimmering testament to a dream realized, fluttered gently in the crisp morning breeze. “The Haven: School of Music & Healing,” read the gold letters, glowing under the early morning sun. I stood by the front steps of the newly opened building, a vibrant bouquet clutched in my hand, blinking back tears that threatened to blur the beautiful scene before me. Children, their eyes wide with a mixture of awe and curiosity, filtered in with their parents. They gazed at the gleaming glass-panel walls, the inviting soft outdoor stage, the cozy rooms filled with instruments, books, and soundproof corners designed for composing and quiet reflection. This wasn’t just a school; it was a safe place. A sanctuary. A home. A dream, meticulously crafted and finally, gloriously, made real. “Hey, Principal Kayla,” Elliot’s voice called from behind me, pulling me from my reverie and making me laugh. I turned to see him, effortlessly casual in a white linen shirt with sleeves r
Her Professors FIFTY SEVEN
Kayla’s POVThe silver necklace felt cool against my fingertips, a delicate weight in the velvet box. Beside it, the crystal bottle of perfume shimmered, catching the soft light filtering through the window. Every detail of this evening had been orchestrated, a silent symphony played out by unseen hands. The gown, a liquid cascade of silver silk, lay draped across the bed, whispering promises of elegance. The shoes, barely-there straps and modest heels, waited patiently beside it. Even the fragrance, a soft bloom of white florals, had arrived without a note, a phantom touch.Just a single text from Victor had punctuated the afternoon’s quiet anticipation:Victor: Be ready by seven. We’ve got a surprise planned. Wear what’s on the bed.A surprise. The word held a universe of possibilities when it came to Alistair, Victor, and Elliot. Their surprises were legendary, woven into the fabric of our unconventional lives: a starlit dinner perched precariously on a skyscraper’s edge, a clandes
Her Professors FIFTY SIX
Two years later. The campus still held the same familiar charm: red-brick buildings bathed in the golden afternoon sun, trees rustling with the gentle early summer breeze, their leaves a vibrant green. Yet, something profound had shifted. Kayla was different. She moved with a quiet confidence now, her steps steady, her head held high, a subtle yet undeniable strength emanating from her. It was her final year, and in just a few short weeks, she would walk across the grand convocation stage, a degree in music composition clutched in her hand, a testament to her journey. Her calendar, once a source of quiet dread, was now a neatly organized tapestry of thesis meetings, final performances, and the intricate preparations for her graduation recitals. But unlike the anxious, overwhelmed girl who had first arrived, she didn’t feel consumed. She was focused. Grounded. Ready. There was a calm determination in her eyes, a quiet thrill of anticipation for what lay ahead. Janice, now her roomm
Her Professors FIFTY FIVE
The days in the dorm fell into a comforting rhythm, a stark contrast to the unpredictable life Kayla had so recently left behind. Classes, hours at the piano, and quiet evenings blended seamlessly, each moment a gentle stroke in the painting of her new, normal college experience. Dorm life, though a world unto itself, offered a newfound freedom, a space where she could simply be. Even shy and far from the buzzing social center of campus, this felt like the dream she’d always quietly held. And through it all, Janice was her anchor, a steady presence offering a helping hand, a listening ear, and a well-timed word of encouragement when the familiar anxieties threatened to creep in. One sunny afternoon, as they emerged from their Harmony class, the last notes of a fugue still echoing in their minds, Janice playfully nudged Kayla. "Hey, you’ve been looking way less stressed lately," she observed, a warm smile gracing her lips. "Must be that piano magic working wonders." Kayla chuckled so
Her Professors FIFTY FOUR
The dawn spilled over the city, a quiet, golden tide washing across the jagged teeth of the skyline and illuminating the lingering, smoke-tinged clouds. The Kings’ safe house, usually a hub of tightly coiled energy, felt unnervingly still. The compound, Toby’s twisted empire, was nothing but a memory of rubble and ash. His men were scattered, defeated, or dead. Yet, despite the undeniable victory, a profound quietude settled within Kayla. The peace she’d imagined, the triumph she’d yearned for, felt strangely hollow. She stood alone on the rooftop, the fresh clothes a stark contrast to the grime of battle, a cup of untouched coffee warming her hands. The physical bruises on her arms were fading, the angry purple blooms softening to dull yellow. But beneath the surface, something still pulsed with a raw, insistent ache—old wounds that refused to scab over, a deeper bruising of the soul. Footsteps approached, quiet but deliberate. Victor. He stopped beside her, his presence a comfo
Her Professors FIFTY THREE
The air itself seemed to crackle, thick with the acrid scent of burning timber and something else—something primal and raw. Toby stepped onto the rooftop, the city a swirling, chaotic tapestry beneath him. His mask lay discarded, a forgotten skin, revealing a face honed by dark ambition. A grim smile touched his lips as he surveyed the pandemonium below: the staccato rhythm of gunfire, the frantic dance of flashing emergency lights, and the morbid ballet of smoke coiling skyward, a stark, black ribbon of war.“Did you see her face?” he murmured, his voice a low, possessive whisper. His fingers brushed over the photograph he clutched—Kayla. Even in unconsciousness, her spirit had burned bright, unyielding. Still fierce, still his.“She remembers me,” he breathed, a chilling satisfaction in his tone. “Even if it’s only in fear.”A rustle behind him. A man, gaunt and visibly shaken, emerged from the deeper shadows. “Sir… we lost two men. The Kings were faster than we thought.”Toby didn’
Her Professors FIFTY TWO
The black SUV sliced through the oppressive silence of the night, its headlights carving stark paths across the broken pavement and rusted skeletons of fences. Inside, a different kind of darkness hung heavy. Kayla was a silent sentinel in the backseat, flanked by the formidable presences of Victor and Alistair. Elliot drove, a grim set to his jaw, while Leo rode shotgun, a silent sentinel of tension. The air in the car was thick, a palpable hum of unspoken anxieties and electric anticipation. They were on a collision course with an abandoned safe house, a ghost of a place Toby had once used to broadcast his twisted messages. Veronica’s meticulous tracing of heat signatures from the recent explosion had led them to this sector—a desolate, forgotten corner of the city, perfect for disappearances. Kayla hadn't uttered more than a handful of words since witnessing the chilling warehouse video. The images had seared themselves into her mind, and she'd stared at the screen long after it
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