10. The Bitterness After the Magic

Tears of humiliation and frustration threatened to spill. He had taken what he wanted without even asking my name—and now treated me like I was nothing, barking orders as if I didn’t matter.

Buttoning up the few remaining fasteners on my torn uniform, I tied the apron tightly around my waist, trying to make myself look halfway decent. I still felt exposed, like someone stripped of dignity, and the feeling clung to me like shame.

I quickly changed the sheets, hearing the water running in the bathroom.

“Drown in there, you hairy jerk,” I muttered under my breath, shooting a glare at the door. Just to make myself feel better, I even stuck out my tongue, wiping at the tears with the back of my hand.

Grabbing the dirty linens, I rushed downstairs to the staff area. My skin itched with the memory of him, clinging to me like an unwanted reminder. I jumped into the shower, scrubbing myself clean, trying to wash away the traces of a moment I didn’t know how to feel about.

No underwear. Great. I pulled my clothes on quickly—my sweater clung too tightly, outlining too much. At least I’d had the foresight to take off my tights earlier. I needed to stop by a store and buy a bra and underwear—there was no way I could go through a school day like this.

I stuffed the ruined uniform into my bag, planning to fix it at home, and rushed out of Wayland’s mansion.

9:30 AM.

Damn it. I might not make it by ten. The store would have to wait. Thankfully, I had a spare blazer at school. That would be my only shield today.

I arrived just as the bell rang for break. Slipping through the halls, dodging energetic students, I covered myself with my bag and jacket, nodding politely at my coworkers and the kids.

Just to feel a bit more hidden, I let my hair down, letting it fall over my shoulders.

Teachers were already grabbing their logs and hurrying to class. I calmly made my way to the cabinet, picked up the seventh-grade register, and walked to my history room on the third floor.

Outside the window, kids still ran around, throwing snowballs. New Year’s was coming, and no one cared much about school anymore. Everyone was just waiting for winter break.

“Good morning,” I greeted my students with a smile, walking toward the desk. “I’ve graded your tests.”

Disappointed sighs rose from the room, and I couldn’t help but grin. Everyone was mentally checked out already.

“Honey, would you mind passing these out?” I handed the stack of tests to a sweet brown-eyed girl in the front row.

They all busied themselves, flipping through their results—some satisfied, others not. I was a firm but fair teacher, and the kids knew I was on their side. They respected that. I took pride in it. Not every teacher can say the same.

“You all seem completely ready for break,” I joked, watching their tired faces. “Let’s make a deal. If you’re not happy with your grade and want to retake, come to the front row. Everyone else—stay quiet and relaxed. Just don’t cause chaos.”

Smiles bloomed around the room. Cutting class with the teacher’s permission? Dream come true.

“Quietly move around if you need, but no shouting,” I added with a grin. They nodded eagerly.

The atmosphere softened, a gentle hum of movement and whispering filling the classroom. It worked. Cheap authority or not, it kept things calm.

And truthfully, I wasn’t in the mood for a proper lesson. Not after what happened in the Alpha’s bedroom.

His angry, glowing gaze still haunted me. I could still hear his voice—“Don’t mess up. Don’t provoke me.”

As if I’d asked for this.

Jerk.

I could curse him all I wanted in my head, but my body still remembered his hands. His lips. His heat. That damn tongue…

Heat crept into my cheeks. Shame bloomed in my chest—and lower.

Get it together, Alina! So what if he used you like some passing fling? That doesn’t mean you have to melt every time you think about it.

Still… sitting here without underwear, trying to act normal in front of a bunch of kids? That might just be my worst day yet.

The lesson passed in a blur.

Seventh graders filed out, making way for the next group—and a young delivery guy stepped inside.

“Ms. Alina Velichko?”

I nodded, puzzled.

“You have a delivery. Please sign here.”