Chapter Four - What Happens After the Bell

She turned into the classroom, and all the lights came on, the sound of them buzzing louder than her footfalls on the tiles—click-click-click—a steady beat that was neither random nor reassuring, and she didn't trust it. Her black dress pants, which were basically yoga pants, clung to her hips more closely than she usually allowed, the tiniest of rebellions she had yet to acknowledge. It wasn't a particularly special day — at least not on the surface — but underneath the fitted cardigan, the satin camisole sighed beneath her fingertips. It was soft in a sound-on-purpose way. Luxurious. Almost indecent. She convinced herself that it was stability she was after and not the high of attention. Not heat. The fabric spoke differently still, sliding over her curves as if they had whispered it a secret that only she knew of.

It was the Mollye one she hadn’t worn the year before. The one she had sworn wasn’t for anyone. Especially not for him.

She had more hair than ever, in gentle waves down her shoulders. That had taken her a good 20 minutes and two changes of heart. First down and then half-up. Down, because it was making her feel a shade younger. A little undone. Down, because she would like to be seen.

She stalked over to the whiteboard and checked her watch. Early. On purpose.

She needed to beat him here.

She needed to own the space.

Own herself.

Not coming to class, as she'd spent the last half of the afternoon Googling the ins and outs of remote-controlled toys and the ethics of dubious consent, between teachers and students who weren't even technically minors.

It’s not like she’d read his note four times.

Not that she’d opened the Snapchat app once and looked at his username.

“Ms. Hayes?” She looked up, surprised, at the greeting.

She turned, startled. Troy, her most dependable chatterbox, was somewhere near the front row, chewing on the end of a pencil like he couldn’t decide whether he might lean forward to ask a question or lunge to leave the room.

“Oh. Troy,” she added, straightening the waistband of her pants with her free hand. “Didn’t see you come in.”

He smiled at her socially, then cocked his head in thought.

“You look different tonight.”

She blinked. “What do you mean?”

“I mean—you look nice. Like, serious. But in a cool way. Cool law student librarian combo look, maybe?” He cringed immediately. “That sounded better in my head, okay?” he laughed.

Her voice was dry, but her heart was beating a little quicker.

“I’m going to take that as a compliment,” she replied, walking toward the desk.

“Oh, good,” he answered, settling himself gaily into his place. “It was meant to be one.”

Then the door clicked again.

Lena didn’t need to look up.

She sensed it — the shift in the room, as if someone had opened a window and let the pressure lift.

Jace.

He entered as he always did — slowly, purposefully, not a single apology for the way he occupied the room. He wore a black T-shirt that hugged his torso, and his eyes scanned the class before landing on her.

The angle of his mouth didn’t loosen too much. But there was something in his eyes… Something deliberate.

“Evening,” he told the room, as if it were just another Tuesday.

“Good evening," Lena said, her voice as smooth as she could manage, half a breath slower than her pulse. "Take your seats, everyone. Tonight, let's do a new reflection free-write. No peer review. No format. Only your thoughts on the week's reading."

She delivered the prompts with businesslike calm, at least, on the outside. But as she bent over Jace’s desk to give him his, her sleeve had dragged enough that you could catch a glimpse of the sleek skin of her wrist and the barely there edge of her camisole underneath.

He didn’t look at it.

Not directly.

But his pencil paused. A fraction of a second. Then resumed.

Her pulse skipped.

Lena sat, unconsciously wrapping her hand around a red pen she would not need. She didn’t grade in class, generally speaking. But she had to do something with her hands. Something to anchor her.

Because she couldn’t shake the black velvet box, still sitting in her glove compartment, from her mind. She couldn’t stop obsessing over what it meant that she hadn’t thrown it in the trash. Wouldn’t be able to help thinking — against every instinct, every protest — about what it would feel like to do what he’d dared her to do.

She had not checked the app this morning.

But her phone buzzed.

A phantom buzz, she thought — until she looked down and … there it was.

Snapchat: New message from jface8989

Her thumb hung over the phone as she stared at the alert. She could ignore it. She could delete the app.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she swiveled the screen down a touch, allowing her to read the preview without opening the door.

Did you follow directions?

No emoji. No exclamation. A silent dare, glanced between the lines in black-and-white type.

She didn’t reply.

Not yet.

Reflexively, more than thought, her thighs tightened involuntarily below the desk. Her body remembered, even as she continued to try to forget.

Students started to inch forward, sliding their papers into the basket for submission. What most wrote was short. A few lines, a slack paragraph, a bit of wandering metaphor. Nothing of substance.

Except for him.

Jace turned in last. He rose slowly, holding the paper, and made his way towards the centre of the room. He’d looked her up and down when he’d watched her eyes lift to his.

“I just saw the cardigan on you,” he said, in a soft voice.

Her stomach tightened. “I’m still wearing it.”

“Not all the way.” His eyes shifted downward for a fraction of a second. “Two buttons came undone.”

She glanced down — and yep, the edge of her camisole was visible. Barely. But enough.

Her hands found each other, more slowly than they should have done.

“You’re the only one paying that much attention,” she grumbled.

“Not true,” he said, straightening. “But I’d be the only one who would say something.”

Her glare was automatic. “Take your seat, Mr. Maddox.”

He beamed — and not in a cocky way this time. Just amused. “Yes, ma’am.”

He then returned to his seat.

Like nothing had happened.

The classroom was empty an hour later.

The scraping of chairs. The zipping of backpacks. A few lazy waves goodbye. Then pure and utter silence — the kind that hung in the air like an aftertaste.

Lena lingered by the board; for a minute, she did not have a dry-erase marker in hand, redoing the Mollye crooked line twice. She didn’t have to ask if he’d hung back. She felt it. The static in the room shifted, coiled as he approached — a charge before a storm again.

“You’re here late again,” she said, not turning around.

“You didn’t ask me to stay this time,” he replied.

Her hand froze mid-wipe. “Then why are you here?”

He didn’t answer right away.

A pause. Then, calm and sure: “Because I wanted to test if you could follow instructions.”

She turned around slowly. Her arms were crossed — defense position, she knew — and she made no effort to uncross them.

“I didn’t give it to you,” she said.

Jace didn’t even blink. His control held, broken only by a flicker in the back of his eyes — disappointment, maybe — gone before it could be discerned.

“Why not?” he asked.

“Because I’m not insane.”

He advanced a few steps, leisurely, stopping at what felt like a safe distance. “It would’ve been private. Silent. Just us.”

She exhaled through her nose. “That’s not how privacy works in a room full of people.”

His eyes locked onto hers. “Not how you do things, you mean.”

The air felt close around them.

She swallowed. “I’m really not trying to make this worse.”

“You are not helping,” he said, cutting her off. “You’re making it real.”

Her body betrayed her. Her fluttering stomach, her hot skin. And all cues from the ravenous gaze in his eyes, as if he could peer right through her defenses.

“You left me a sex toy, Jace,” she said.

He nodded. “I left you an invitation.”

She lowered her arms to her sides. “Don’t play semantics.”

“I’m not. You kept it.”

Her heart pounded.

“You didn’t throw it out,” he said, his tone low and flat. “Didn’t hand it back. You didn’t ignore it. And now you are thinking about it — about me — right now.”

She started, and he saw it.

“Wanting to lose control for once. But not really lose it. Not completely. Enough, I think, to feel something again.”

The words choked her.

“That’s not fair,” she whispered.

“And neither is pretending you’re not dying for it.”

She fixed him with a stare as if her gaze could silence him. But he didn’t. He just reached out and handed her a small piece of paper.

“What’s this?”

“My free-write.” He said.

She took it and unwrapped it slowly. No name. No title. Just words. But they weren’t academic. They weren’t even guarded.

They were… raw.

Her eyes flicked to the first line.

There’s a woman who stands in the front of the room as if she were made of steel, but I’ve seen the rust behind her eyes.

She felt her heart leap into her throat.

She’s a teacher — structurally, she walks like she’s repressing chaos.

She stopped reading.

Lena kept reading, even though she didn’t want to. Though she was virtually touched by every word.

She’s controlled. Dangerous. Stunning. And she doesn’t even realize she can brighten up the whole room when she walks into it.

Again, she stopped, breath having become suddenly thick in her throat.

Jace was not sneering when she looked up at him. He wasn’t posturing. He was just… watching her. As though they actually meant he intended it, and she should know that. Like he wasn’t sorry.

“Why did you give this to me? This isn’t the assignment,” she said softly.

“Because I thought maybe you’d want to know someone’s watching. Not just the professor. Someone else. Someone who actually sees you.”

Her finger dug into the edge of the page. She had made herself into something that could no longer be contained — hard lines, clean language, precision of perimeter — for so long. She’d had no clue how brittle it was until someone had peered through.

The silence between them stretched. Not awkward. Not cold. Just… open. Like there was a window she’d left open.

“You don’t even know who the hell I am,” she said at last. “I’m still figuring out who I am, how could you know.

“Maybe not,” Jace said. “But I know what I see. And what I feel. I’m good at reading people — it’s one of my gifts.”

“Just… stop, Jace.” She looked down, eyes fixed on the ground.

He shrugged, calm in a way that unsettled her. “I just know I want more.”

She swallowed hard.

 "Even if I said 'yes,' are you ready for someone like me?” she asked. “A woman with rules and responsibilities and a career she might lose? You ready to fund my life if I lose my job?" she said with a smirk, laughing at the thought.

“I know myself pretty well. I know what I want, and I want you that much. Yes.”

That stopped her.

The words dangled there, unmistakable and honest and so near, too soon, so sure of himself.

He didn’t reach for her. Didn’t try to close the gap. He simply observed her, giving her space to sit with the truth.

And that made it deadlier than any touch might have been.

“I’m still your teacher,” she said again, as if she could say it into being.

“And I’m still learning from you,” he repeated. “But this class ends in another two weeks.”

She glanced down at the free-write in her hand, back up at him. “That’s your play? Wait me out?”

“No,” he said. “My play is being patient. And present. And honest.” He paused, looking down, then back up at her, "While I try to keep the animal controlled." He said that Molly's little, naughty-looking face was the one he gave when he was young and up to no good.

He tilted his head slightly. "Unless you'd rather I lie to you.”

She said nothing.

“I’ll go,” he added. “If that’s what you want?”

Lena opened her mouth. Closed it.

Her lips opened again — but the words did not emerge.

Jace stepped back as if he did. He didn’t wait for permission. He didn’t push.

He just faced the door.

And on the way out, he looked back once. “Snap me,” he said. “If you change your mind.”

There was a soft click as the door closed after him.

Lena remained staring at the confession to her bosom, standing within the now-empty classroom.

She didn’t throw his writing away.

She didn’t leave it behind.

She tucked it into her leather-bound planner, zipped the whole thing shut, and headed off into the night.

The drive home seemed longer than ever.

Not traffic — the roads were nearly deserted — but because Lena couldn’t stand him saying the Mollye thing over and over. The way he looked at her. Like she wasn't fragile. She was not the kind of lady who made you want to fix her, seduce her, or even impress her.

Just… someone to see.

She drove into her driveway and sat there, her hands on the wheel, for a minute more, the engine ticking beside her. The purse was on the passenger seat, the planner tucked inside. She didn't open it again. Not yet. But she felt it there — the weight of that note thrumming beneath the leather like a secret pressed against her thigh.

She kicked off her heels and poured herself a glass of wine — the kind she kept tucked in the back of the cabinet for nights like this, even though she told herself she didn’t. The first sip burned, sharp and unforgiving. The second went down easier, but it wasn’t enough. Not enough to take the edge off. Not enough to quiet her thoughts. One sip became two, then the glass emptied faster than she meant it to — and she was already pouring another.

She sat at the kitchen counter, the lip of the glass pressed to her own lips, her phone facedown on the table at her side. It buzzed twice. Then again.

Snapchat: jface8989 — New Message

She didn’t open it.

But she didn’t erase it, either.

She walked upstairs instead, her fingertips tracing the handrail the way a woman will, to remind herself that she’s still rooted. Back in her bedroom, she removed her cardigan and then her camisole, flinging them onto the bed.

Her skin felt warm. Electric.

She walked into the bathroom and turned on the shower. Clouds of steam wreathed her softly billowing body, as if she were breathing deep to catch her breath.

However, she still didn't move much.

Looking at herself, instead, she leaned her palms on the counter and stared with wide-eyed concentration into the polished surface of the mirror. Her lips were slightly parted. She had frizzy, humid locks. Her collarbone flushed.

She looked… undone.

And it wasn’t how she’d feared.

In the long-buried way, she wouldn’t let herself feel anymore.

She snatched her phone, thumb hovering over the screen. Her heart stammered.

She didn’t send a message.

Not yet.

But she opened the app.

And she watched.

Saw his Bitmoji light up again.

Online.

Waiting.

[Author’s Note]

🔥 Things are starting to spiral faster than Lena expected. But what happens when a “bad idea” doesn’t feel bad anymore? Chapter 5 takes you straight into the moment she finally opens the velvet box…