Chapter 8: Gloat

Mr. Madden looks up with a faintly bored expression. For a split second I swear his eyes snap to me first, but I must be imagining it, because his attention settles on Sam almost immediately.

“Sam,” he says calmly.

I silently praise him for remembering Sam’s name.

We stop right in front of his desk. Sam’s grip on my arm is still firm, like he dragged me here as proof of something.

“I’ve finished my summary,” Sam announces proudly. “Four hundred and ninety words. Key points only. I’m ready for the second part.”

Silence follows.

Behind us, the last few students pack their bags with painful slowness. Zippers slide. Chairs scrape. Papers rustle.

I pray they take even longer. I really don’t want to be left alone here with these two men.

“And you’ve come here to gloat about it?” Mr. Madden asks evenly.

I REALLY don't want to be left alone with these two men.

Sam’s confident expression falters immediately. His grip on my arm loosens slightly, and for the briefest moment I swear Mr. Madden’s eyes flicker toward it before returning to Sam.

More students leave the classroom, most of them glancing over their shoulders at us. Several girls shoot me looks like I’ve personally offended them.

“N-no,” Sam stammers quickly. “No. I just… I couldn’t find your email in the register. How do you want to receive it?”

I shift uncomfortably beside him as Mr. Madden studies Sam in silence. The air feels heavier now. I am nervous.

Mr. Madden tilts his head slightly. “Are you sure you looked? I’m definitely in there.”

“Uhm…” Sam stammers again.

I clench my jaw. I’m not sure whether I want to hit him or bolt for the door. What exactly was his plan when he dragged me up here? What did he think would happen?

Mr. Madden keeps his attention firmly on Sam. He hasn’t looked at me once. Not a single time.

And yet I feel watched. I feel uncomfortable.

“I checked,” Sam says more firmly now. “I definitely checked. Maybe I looked at another version or something.”

I nearly face-palm. Gods, get me out of here.

“Hm,” Mr. Madden hums, unimpressed. “Didn’t realize there were multiple versions.”

“Well…” Sam chuckles nervously. “Maybe I didn’t look properly. I’ll check again. I’m sorry—”

Mr. Madden leans forward slightly, cutting him off without raising his voice. He reaches for a pen lying near me—still completely ignoring my existence—and pulls open the drawer of his desk to retrieve a small notepad.

He scribbles something down.

Sam and I both watch in silence, strangely captivated by the simple motion.

How can writing something down look… attractive?

“My email,” Mr. Madden says, turning the paper toward us.

An elegant address is written in clean, precise handwriting. But that’s not what catches my eye. There’s a phone number underneath it. My gaze snaps up to him. Surely I’m seeing that wrong.

“If anything goes wrong, call me,” Mr. Madden tells Sam calmly. “Your work needs to be in before next lesson. If I don’t have it by then, I won’t grade it. If you’re unable to email me, you need to contact me immediately.”

My eyebrows lift slightly.

This man is giving me whiplash. First he practically humiliates Sam, and now he’s handing him his number?

Sam snatches the paper like he’s just been given a winning lottery ticket. I glance at it again, confused.

Is that really his number?

“I’m available at all hours,” Mr. Madden continues. “Just make sure your work is submitted on time.”

“Shall I share this with—”

“No.” Mr. Madden’s interruption is immediate and sharp. “Do not share my number with anyone else,” he says calmly. “If someone has a problem, they can come to me themselves. This information stays in this classroom.”

Now I’m even more confused. And strangely intrigued. Does that include me? Could I call him?

Probably not. He hasn’t looked at me once since class ended. I feel like I don’t exist here.

Which is honestly a little rude.

“Thank you,” Sam says quickly. “Nobody will hear about this. I’ll double-check the register as well.”

Mr. Madden nods once, ending the conversation as abruptly as it began. “If that is all,” he says, already turning back toward his desk, “I have work to do.”

“Right,” Sam replies quickly, suddenly sounding far more submissive than usual. “Of course. You must be very busy. Sorry to bother you. See you next lesson.”

Before I even know it, Sam practically drags me off. My body jerks violently as he yanks me along, almost aggressively, and my head is still spinning from the intensity in the classroom. We reach the door, and I can’t help but glance over my shoulder.

He isn’t looking at me. His eyes are glued to his laptop screen again, fingers flying across the keys with that elegant precision.

Look at me. Just once. Let me see what I’m missing.

But he doesn’t. Not even a flicker. The door closes between us, and I’m left staring at the empty hallway.

“I have his number!” Sam calls out, voice echoing down the corridor.

That snaps me back to reality.

“What?!” Tessa shrieks, practically bouncing with excitement.

“Sam!” I protest, smacking his arm. “What did he just say?!”

“What DID he just say?!” Tessa echoes, voice rising as she practically lunges toward us.

Sam holds up the slip of paper like it’s a trophy. “He said he’s available all hours for me. I can call him anytime. He’s… very interested.”

“That’s not what happened,” I snap, snatching the paper from his hand. “He just wants your homework, and don’t forget—you embarrassed yourself in there.”

Delilah raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “You have his number? That doesn’t sound like he’s dead to you.”

“He IS dead to me,” Sam insists, tone unwavering. “I just want a good grade in criminology.”

“Since when?” I ask, dripping sarcasm as I shove the note into my jeans. I glare at Sam, whose smirk is wicked and infuriatingly self-satisfied.

“Since the professor has a big, fat juicy cock I'd like to—”

“S.o.s,” Tessa interrupts with a shiver of fright, cutting him off.

And just like that, we move. Fast. Heels tapping on the floor as if the world behind us is on fire.

I feel it then. A presence. Something behind me, moving just out of sight. I don’t dare turn. I already know who it is.

My skin crawls.

Something is.. happening.