Todos os capítulos de Teach me to sin II (Sins of the past): Capítulo 101 - Capítulo 110

The hallways felt heavier today. Like the air itself was whispering about me. Every glance burned. Every whisper twisted into my gut. Even though no one said my name out loud, I knew they were talking about me — about the message, about Eloise, about what I’d done.Oh poor, Eloise.This was all my fault. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking. My throat hurt from crying all night. I’d thrown up twice this morning before leaving home, but I still showed up because hiding would’ve made it worse. Except, being here felt worse anyway. I walked past a group of students who fell quiet the second I approached. One of them giggled under her breath. I couldn’t make out the words, but I didn’t need to — I could feel it. By the time I reached the back of the school, near the gym, my chest was tight again. I sat down on the cold concrete, buried my face in my knees, and tried to breathe through the mess in my head. I’d done it. I’d actually done it. I’d exposed Eloise. My friend. The one pers

The sound of Eloise’s footsteps thudded up the stairs, sharp and fast, followed by the slam of her bedroom door. Then silence. The kind that filled every corner of the house. I stood there, still half-turned toward the staircase, trying to swallow the sting that had settled in my throat. I could still feel her words like scratches under my skin — “You don’t get to act like you care.” It shouldn’t have bothered me as much as it did. She was upset, embarrassed over something maybe. I knew that. But it still hurt. I wasn’t used to being the target — not like that. Tristan was standing a few feet away, one hand braced against the wall, watching the stairs the way you’d watch a storm fade into the distance. When he finally turned toward me, his face was unreadable, but his eyes — calm and grey as ever — held something steadier than patience. Something deliberate. “Come with me,” he said. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. I followed him into his study.

I I’d been watching Eloise all morning the way people watch a glass about to crack — half-expecting it to shatter and trying not to breathe too loud. The Tree of Crowns table felt smaller than usual, like the world had folded away from her and left a thin, bright line where she used to sit. She hadn’t said much in class or at all really, just kept her head down, chewing the inside of her cheek until the skin went white. Now the whole school knew things she’d never wanted public: her mother’s addiction, the fact she hadn’t known her father until recently, and that the father she’d finally found was gay. Aisha had made sure it reverberated. It sucked that Eloise had a friend who could do that to her. That was just crossing a big line. The after effect was wild. The whispers started like a trickle and then turned into a river.I was just hoping that it didn’t evolve into an ocean and swallow Eloise. Lindsay was picking at a salad like it could distract her from the noise, eyes

I kept rereading the message. Luca’s message.It was from another private line but I knew that it was him. That sneaky serpent. I shouldn’t have opened it.I still regret not listening to my gut because now, days later, that message made my chest tighten every single time I looked at it. “If you ever try anything funny, if you so much as tell her that I even speak to the likes of you, I’ll make you regret breathing.” My fingers trembled as I hovered over the screen. I told myself to delete it. Pretend it never happened. Pretend none of this ever spiraled the way it did. Pretend I wasn’t the reason Eloise’s life exploded in front of the entire school. But I didn’t delete it. Because even if I’d been wrong — and God, I knew I had — there was one thing I couldn’t ignore: Luca Padre terrified me. And Eloise was walking into his orbit like a moth to a flame. I closed my phone and leaned back against the cold bathroom wall, trying to breathe through the panic lodged in my throa

I’d memorized her routine long before today. Eloise Perkins — small, quiet, stubborn in that brittle way broken things are — always walked to her locker between first and second period. She always hesitated before opening it, like she expected something disappointing to be waiting for her. Today, she expected despair. But she found a cupcake instead. I watched from behind the rolling cart stacked with cleaning supplies, my staff uniform blending perfectly with the rest. Beige shirt, navy trousers, an ID badge with the wrong name printed on it. The kind of uniform people don’t look at twice. The kind that erases a face, reduces a body to “school staff,” invisible, forgettable, ignorable. The perfect camouflage. I leaned my weight against the broom handle and watched her through the sliver between locker doors. She picked up the cupcake with trembling hands, her face softening, brightening, like someone had finally reminded her she wasn’t alone. Cute. I w