All Chapters of Teach me to sin II (Sins of the past): Chapter 71 - Chapter 80

The air in the classroom felt heavier than usual. The blinds were drawn halfway, cutting the sunlight into slanted lines that streaked across the whiteboard. Everyone sat stiffly at their desks, eyes darting between the math teacher and the neat stack of graded tests in her hands. I could practically feel my heartbeat in my ears. Mrs. Patterson adjusted her glasses and cleared her throat, doing that little tapping thing with her pen that always meant she was enjoying the suspense way too much. “Alright,” she said, drawing out the word. “Your test results are ready. I’m proud to say that most of you did… reasonably well.” A few groans rolled through the room. I sat up straighter, trying to look calm. Inside, though, my stomach was twisting. Math was one of those subjects that never came easy to most people. But for me? It just clicked. It always had. Maybe because numbers made sense when nothing else did. “Top scorers this time,” Mrs. Patterson continued, flipping through her

The smell of garlic and butter filled the kitchen, rising from the skillet in lazy curls that clung to the air. Marilyn’s hum drifted somewhere between a tune and a sigh as she stirred the pot, her silver bracelet tapping lightly against the wooden spoon. She looked at home there — perfectly in control, apron tied like armor. Meanwhile, I’d been staring at the same tomato for about five minutes. “Alex,” she said without turning around, “you planning to skin that tomato with your thoughts, or do you need a knife?” I blinked. “Right. Sorry.” My blade hit the board with a dull thud, slicing through red flesh and watery seeds. But even as I worked, my head wasn’t in it. It was back at Heldon. Or maybe years ago, in the cold hallway outside my old dorm, where Julius had stood crying, begging. The image replayed in flashes — his hand clutching my wrist, his voice breaking, his eyes a storm of regret. Marilyn glanced over, catching me mid-spiral. “You’re quiet.” “Just tired,” I

The second glass always hit different. Not strong enough to knock you out — just enough to make everything glow. I poured another half glass for Eloise, careful not to spill it on her duvet. She giggled as the liquid wobbled. “Careful, bartender,” she said, holding out her mug. “Yes, ma’am.” I grinned, tipping it toward her. “That’s what you call a professional pour.” We clinked mugs and drank. Eloise’s cheeks were already flushed, the kind of pink that made her eyes look impossibly bright. The fairy lights above her bed threw soft gold across her face, and for a moment I just watched her — the way she talked with her hands, the way she always tilted her head when she listened.She was so fucking beautiful. God, she didn’t even know. Didn’t know that the first day I saw her — standing in the hallway like she’d fallen out of some better world — I’d thought she was the prettiest person I’d ever seen. It wasn’t just her face, though that helped. It was the way she didn’t seem

I got there early. Again. It was stupid — I knew it — but something about waiting for Eloise Perkins made me feel like a criminal caught between two crimes: the one I was sent to commit, and the one I wanted to. The library was almost empty this afternoon, sunlight washing over the mahogany tables. The quiet was deceptive, the kind of quiet that begged you to whisper secrets in. I sat with a pen between my fingers, pretending to study, pretending to be the kind of girl who actually needed help with math. The truth? I could solve every equation in this damn textbook. My father had made sure of that long before Heldon. Numbers were his way of teaching control — logic, precision, no room for feeling. But feelings had a way of bleeding through, especially when it came to her. Eloise. Just thinking her name felt dangerous.I had come to accept the fact that I could not fight against the invisible force that pulled me to her.Whatever it was, it felt good and maybe that was all t

The whiskey burned just enough to remind me I was alive. I had learned to deal with the burn. The first time I had tasted alcohol I was 11 and my father had poured me a shot. He said a man needs to learn to hold his liquor early on. I went to bed with a dizzying headache and woke up with an even worse one. Still, I had come to endure the fiery liquid and maybe even come to like it on some level. Damian Drape leaned back in his chair, boots kicked up on the coffee table like he owned the place — which, technically, he almost did. His father funded half of Heldon’s recent renovations. The penthouse lounge was ours tonight, reserved under some fake alumni name we used when we wanted privacy. Angelo Bove was pouring another round, all swagger and loud laughter, while Orion Black scrolled through his phone, smirking at something that was probably illegal.Or maybe just flirting with some random girl on the internet. I low key hoped that Lindsay caught him but then again, it was