Chapter 3

The next day, I returned to campus and went back to teaching like nothing had happened.

But after finishing my morning lecture, I spotted Shawn standing outside the classroom.

He wasn't alone—the school administrator was with him, both of them staring in my direction. Shawn's expression was tight, his brows slightly furrowed.

I had no idea what he was doing here. For a second, I even thought I was imagining things.

After all, he'd still been in Egirie just yesterday.

The administrator gave me a subtle nod, signaling for me to come over.

Shawn, his tone dripping with sarcasm, said, "Are you seriously going to tell me this is just a coincidence?"

I blinked, not following.

Then he glanced into the classroom. A few seconds later, one of my students came running out and called to him, "Shawn!"

Only then did it click. His adoptive mother's daughter—his little sister—was my student. Adele Bowen.

Somehow, life always found a way to deliver these absurd little ironies.

No wonder her voice had sounded vaguely familiar when I heard it yesterday.

I kept my voice even. "I didn't know beforehand—"

But Shawn didn't let me finish. "Just resign."

I stared at him, caught off guard. I almost laughed in disbelief. "Says who?"

He looked down at me from where he stood, his posture arrogant, his gaze detached—like he was doing me a favor just by speaking.

"Says me. I don't trust you.

"Not as a person, and not as a teacher.

"I'm not letting my sister be in your hands."

I don't trust you…

The words hit harder than I expected. I swallowed the sting in my chest and forced myself to meet his eyes. "I'm not quitting."

Shawn let out a short laugh. "Fine. Then I'll just transfer Adele to another school.

"And the lab building your university's so excited about? The research equipment?

"I'll donate it somewhere else. The contract's not signed yet—perfect timing, really."

The administrator immediately jumped in, trying to smooth things over. "Mr. Wells, there must be some misunderstanding here. Why don't we all sit down and talk this through?"

Shawn waved off the suggestion, motioning for Adele to head back into class. Then he looked back at the administrator.

"No need. I don't want to speak with this teacher.

"Just let me know in three days whether she's staying or not."

And with that, he turned to leave.

The administrator looked confused but quickly turned to reassure me.

"Don't worry, Miss Wells. We don't fire teachers without a valid reason.

"Worst case, we walk away from the donation."

He meant well, but we both knew giving up that kind of donation would hit the school hard.

I stared after Shawn, my chest tight. Then—suddenly, without overthinking it—I ran after him.

My fist clenched around nothing, nails digging into my palm. I grabbed his arm and stepped in front of him, blocking his way.

"Shawn, you can't do this."

He glanced down at me like I'd just told him a joke. And not a funny one.

A smirk tugged at Shawn's lips, full of sarcasm. "And why shouldn't I?"

I took a slow breath, doing my best to keep my voice steady.

"If there's something you want to say, we can talk about it properly. There's no need for this."

"Talk properly?" Shawn gave a sharp, humorless laugh. "Miss Wells, are you serious right now?"

He used to call me Leoly—gently, affectionately, even indulgently.

Now that mocking "Miss Wells" was laced with nothing but disdain.

He brushed off the hand I'd used to grab his arm, then frowned and slapped at his sleeve like he was wiping away something dirty.

Only then did he look back at me and speak again, "Because you chose to side with your cheating father.

"When our parents divorced, you didn't care that he forced Mom out with nothing. You still picked him.

"You ditched Mom and me over a damn limited-edition bracelet.

"You couldn't even bother to see her one last time before she died.

"You haven't come home in seven years—not once lit incense for your own mother."

His voice tightened slightly, but his eyes—those eyes—burned with cold, bitter hatred.

"So tell me, how exactly am I supposed to 'talk properly' with someone like that?"

It felt like a weight had dropped onto my chest, pressing the air out of my lungs, making it hard to breathe.

I couldn't even raise my head.

After a long moment, I spoke quietly, "Things weren't as simple as you think."

Shawn's voice came again, cold and mocking.

"Oh? Go on then—enlighten me. I'm all ears. Let's hear just how complicated and tragic it really was."

I opened my mouth—but then I remembered my diagnosis.

What good would the truth do now? Telling him would only make him suffer a little more when I was gone.

Maybe it was better to let him keep hating me.

His voice turned even colder, with a trace of cruel satisfaction.

"So you finally come crawling back—for what?

"A job that pays a few thousand a month?

"You're only here because Stevie's in prison and your cushy life came crashing down, right?"

Stevie Wells—our father. Sentenced to life for financial crimes.

Multiple charges. No way out.

His assets were all seized and sold off, and even that didn't cover the debts.

I let out a soft breath. "Sure. If that's what you want to believe."

Just like he said—when I really die, there's no need to tell him.

That might honestly be for the best.

I didn't want to hear any more of his insults.

I turned to walk away.

But before I could take a step, he suddenly grabbed my wrist, yanking me back.

His voice was sharp, angry. "What—running away now? Out of excuses already?"