Chapter 6: Class

He’s talking to Nick when we enter the classroom.

 

Several students are already seated, but nobody seems interested in their books. Every pair of eyes is fixed on the front of the room, where our new hot teacher stands behind his desk with his arms crossed.

 

Mr. Madden.

He doesn’t look up when we walk in.

 

Sam leads the way to the back row and I trail behind him, sliding into a seat beside him. I drop my brand-new, ridiculously expensive bag onto the floor and pull my criminology book from my backpack.

 

It still smells like fresh print.

 

“What do you think they’re talking about?” Delilah whispers from the table in front of me. She and Tessa both lean back slightly, trying to get a better look at the two men.

 

“I don’t know,” Sam answers calmly. “Eating pussy?”

 

Mr. Madden nods once at something Nick says. Nick looks ridiculously pleased with himself, basking in the attention.

 

Delilah snorts quietly. “I doubt it. He was terrible at that.”

 

“Liar,” Sam scoffs. “You told us he was the best you ever had.”

 

A long groan escapes Delilah as she drops her forehead onto the table with a thud.

 

“I know,” she mutters miserably. “Gods, I know. His tongue was magic at times.”

 

Tessa pats her back sympathetically. “It’s okay. You had low standards. You haven’t had a real man yet. You’ll get there.”

 

“Yeah,” Sam says with a grin. “By fucking the teacher. That plan is still on.”

 

A sharp grunt comes from the seat beside us.

 

We all turn.

 

“Don’t think so,” Katie whispers, examining her perfectly manicured nails as if the conversation is beneath her. “You’ll have to fight for him, Delilah.”

 

“Ah,” Sam replies sweetly. “If it isn’t the girl who wanted Nick. How’s that going? I thought you blamed D for not getting him.”

 

Before Katie can answer, someone steps into my line of vision.

 

Nick.

 

He drops into the seat right beside Katie. The four of us fall silent.

 

For an entire year, while Delilah dated him, Katie chased him relentlessly. Phone calls. Flirting. Dancing too close at parties. Always hovering, always watching. And every time Nick ignored her, she blamed Delilah for it.

 

Katie’s lips curl into a victorious smirk.

 

Her hand slides onto the back of Nick’s neck, fingers pressing possessively into his skin.

 

Sam opens his mouth, ready to fire back with something vicious.

 

But Delilah’s expression stops him. Her face goes completely still.

 

Sam shuts his mouth and looks away, like the effort physically hurts him.

 

Katie notices. Her smirk widens. She stares at Delilah as if she’d happily tear her apart right here.

 

Delilah ignores her perfectly.

 

“Eyes here.”

 

The deep voice slices through the room.

 

Every head turns toward the front.

 

Mr. Madden now stands in front of the digital board, hands tucked casually into the pockets of his trousers. He watches the room with calm authority, as if he owns the air we breathe.

 

Like a master surveying his domain.

 

“I’m Mr. Madden.”

 

A small shiver runs down my spine.

 

Pathetic, Raven. Get a grip. It’s just a man.

 

“I’ll be teaching criminology this year.”

 

His voice is deep. Smooth. Controlled. And the accent… Something about it feels strangely familiar.

 

“You’re drooling,” Sam whispers beside me.

 

My fist connects with his waist.

 

He grins instantly, dodging my second punch like a professional.

 

“Eyes on me.”

 

The command lands sharply.

 

My attention snaps forward. And suddenly—

 

He’s looking directly at me.

 

Dark grey eyes. Focused. Steady. Unblinking.

My heart slams against my ribs.

 

What the hell—

 

It feels like he’s looking straight through me. Like he’s peeling away every layer, searching for something underneath.

 

Like he knows me.

Like he’s been waiting for me.

 

That’s ridiculous. I must be imagining things.

 

“Your name?”

 

The question is directed straight at me. The room suddenly feels too warm. Too small.

 

He’s still staring. Those eyes… They’re so intense. And the strangest thing is.. they feel familiar.

 

“Raven,” I say quickly, before I embarrass myself.

 

He tilts his head slightly, and only then do I notice the long digital board pointer resting between his hands. He taps the stick sharply against his palm. The crack echoes through the room and I flinch before I can stop myself. The sound vibrates through the classroom, tightening the already suffocating tension.

 

“Raven,” Mr. Madden repeats.

 

I look up again, away from his hands. His voice coils around my mind like something dangerous. He says my name slowly, deliberately, as if it’s something forbidden. As if he’s testing how it feels on his tongue.

 

I swallow thickly.

 

“Eyes on me, Raven.”

 

My name rolls off his tongue again, the R drawn out in a way that sends an unexpected shiver down my spine. The way he says it is intimate. Too intimate. Like he’s whispering it into my ear instead of speaking it across a classroom. It sounds so pornographic.

 

Something is seriously wrong with me.

And the entire class is waiting.

 

“Yes, Sir,” I whisper.

 

For a split second, his grip tightens around the stick in his hand. It’s subtle, but I catch it. He nods at me once—barely a movement—and something flickers behind his eyes.

 

Then the moment breaks. He turns and walks back toward his desk.

 

And suddenly I can breathe again.

 

“You are so fucked,” Sam whispers beside me, barely containing his delight.

 

“Why?” I ask quietly, watching Mr. Madden move toward his laptop. He presses a button and the digital board flickers to white.

 

“Girl, you almost had an orgasm in front of the entire class. ‘Yes, Sir?’ Seriously? That was peak schoolgirl kink.”

 

My fist lands in his waist again.

 

“That did not happen. I was just… caught off guard.”

 

“Right,” Sam says, patting my head like I’m a confused child. He exchanges a look with Tessa, whose eyebrows are practically climbing into her hairline. I flip her off sweetly.

 

Delilah watches me with a completely unimpressed expression.

 

“Dead to me,” I mouth to her. I drag my finger across my throat in an exaggerated slicing motion.

 

She rolls her eyes, but a small smile slips through before she turns back to the front.

 

“Jack the Ripper,” Mr. Madden announces.

 

A photograph appears on the digital board—grainy, black and white, and horrifying. The mutilated body of a woman sprawled in an alley.

 

“Ew,” Tessa blurts out loudly. A ripple of disgust moves through the classroom. Some students sit up straighter, others groan softly or turn their heads away.

 

Another photograph appears.

 

More protests.

 

“What a notorious case,” Mr. Madden continues calmly. “An unsolved mystery. To this day, we still don’t know who Jack the Ripper was.”

 

He moves through the slides with quiet efficiency. One image after another fills the screen—victims, crime scenes, newspaper headlines.

 

“For this course,” he says, “you will apply criminological theories to the Jack the Ripper murders.”

 

The presentation ends on a slide listing several theoretical frameworks we studied last year.

 

Without warning, Mr. Madden snaps the pointer against the board again. The sharp crack makes half the room jump.

 

Silence follows.

 

The atmosphere shifts. The playful energy from earlier disappears, replaced by something heavier.

 

Ominous.

 

“Jack the Ripper remains a mystery,” he continues. “No confirmed identity. No clear motive. A man who committed brutal murders and vanished into history. We don’t know how long he lived. Where he lived. Whether he walked the streets as a wealthy gentleman… or slept in the gutters beside his victims.”

 

Every student in the room is watching him now.

 

The fluorescent lights seem dimmer somehow. The room feels smaller.

 

Mr. Madden surveys us slowly, his gaze moving across the class like a blade.

 

He doesn’t look directly at me.

 

But somehow he still holds my attention completely.

 

“For this assignment,” he says, his voice dropping lower, “you will analyze the Ripper case using modern criminological frameworks and investigative methods.”

 

Then his eyes find mine again.

 

Dark grey.

Sharp.

Unwavering.

 

For a moment, I almost look away.

 

But I don’t.

 

“Convince me,” he says.

 

His voice cuts through the silence.

 

“Convince me you could solve this case back in the day with the knowledge you already have.” His gaze remains locked on mine. “Convince me to hire you.”