Chapter Twenty-three: Emily

The school hallway hummed with life—shoes scuffing against polished floors, the murmur of voices blending into a constant buzz, the occasional slam of a locker echoing through the space. Myra barely registered the chaos around her. She stood with her back against her locker, arms folded, her expression twisted in irritation as she spoke to Nathan and Arielle.

The fluorescent lights overhead cast a harsh glow, reflecting off the metal lockers in dull streaks. The faint scent of cleaning solution and expensive cologne lingered in the air.

Then came the sound she hated the most.

The steady, unhurried click of King’s shoes against the tiled floor. She didn’t even need to look. She just knew.

Before she could react, a strong arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her backward into a firm chest.

Her body went rigid. The scent of rain and earth and something undeniably him hit her senses, making her stomach churn.

"Let. Me. Go," she seethed, her voice low and dangerous, but King only tightened his grip, his warmth pressing against her back.

Nathan coughed to stifle a laugh. Arielle, less subtle, openly smirked.

"You two are glowing today," King said, voice smooth as silk, completely ignoring Myra’s struggle.

She felt the smugness radiating off him like heat.

Nathan shot him a wary look. "What are you talking about?"

King turned his head slightly, the strands of his blond hair shifting as he smirked. "Oh, come on, Nate. You and Arielle? It’s obvious."

Arielle crossed her arms, tilting her head. "What’s obvious?" Still playing dumb.

King clicked his tongue, shifting his hold on Myra just slightly—enough to make it very clear he had no intention of letting her go.

"You two are dating," he said smoothly, watching their reactions like a cat playing with its prey.

Nathan frowned. "And you care because...?"

King shrugged. "I’m invested."

"In what?"

"In annoying Myra."

The sharp breath Myra sucked in was loud.

With a violent jerk, she finally tore herself free, stepping forward like she was about to hit him. The movement was sharp, her boots scraping against the floor.

King only grinned.

"See?" he mused. "She gets me."

Arielle let out a snort. "You’re impossible."

The faint ding of a classroom bell rang in the distance. A few students shuffled past, their chatter fading into white noise.

Myra exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of her nose. "King. Why do you care?"

His response was immediate.

"Because," he said, effortlessly slinging an arm around her shoulders this time, "if Nathan and Arielle are finally dating, he’ll stop third-wheeling us."

A heavy, weighted silence settled between them.

Myra didn’t even blink. What the fuck was he talking about?

"Us?" she repeated slowly, her tone drenched in disbelief.

King’s smirk deepened. His voice dropped slightly, teasing yet unwavering.

"Of course. Have you forgotten about our con—"

Her response was instant.

"I hate you."

The warmth of his breath ghosted near her ear as he whispered, "Love you too, darling."

Her brown eyes narrowed, her lips slightly parted to speak but nothing came out, this boy was beyond the word delusional!

“Shouldn't we be in class?” Arielle's amused voice reaching her ears. Myra raised her head, noticing the half empty hallway.

King's arm moved from her shoulders to take her hand, drawing small circles in her palm. “True, we have an advanced maths class, with a new teacher”

They started moving to their class, for some reason there was no urgency in their steps. “A new teacher?” Myra's brow raised a bit.

They reached their class, slowly opening the door, Arielle and Nathan entering first, only to halt they're steps when their eyes landed on the new teacher.

A bit confused Myra stepped into the class, her eyes met his.

For five whole seconds she forgot how to breathe.

Oh shit!

___

Damien Aphelion was 6'4, with dark brown hair streaked with magenta highlights—a mark of the Aphelion tribe. He was the exact replica of his father, inheriting not just his features but also his commanding presence. An air of elegance and arrogance clung to him like a well-tailored coat, effortlessly exuding authority.

He lounged on the plush velvet couch, one ankle resting atop his other knee, his arms draped lazily across the backrest. Even in the presence of his parents, he radiated unwavering confidence, a smug smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. His deep brown eyes flickered with amusement as he took in their expressions—a mixture of unease and something else, something they were trying desperately to conceal.

Across from him, his mother and father sat stiffly, their postures rigid. His mother’s fingers fidgeted in her lap, twisting and untwisting the fabric of her gown. Her smile was forced, the corners of her mouth trembling slightly. His father, Sebastian, sat beside her, his foot tapping rhythmically against the marble floor, an uncharacteristic display of nervous energy.

Damien let the silence stretch, relishing their discomfort before his mother finally broke it.

"Why didn't you tell us you were coming?" Her voice, though soft, held an underlying tension.

Damien arched a brow, his smirk deepening. "I wanted to surprise you three," he said smoothly, his gaze flickering between them. "Nathan’s in school?" He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, watching them carefully.

His father answered this time, his voice steady but his eyes betraying him. "Yes. They’ll be back at noon."

They.

Ah, a slip-up.

Damien’s eyes sharpened. "They?" he repeated, tilting his head slightly, his tone laced with curiosity.

For the briefest of moments, his mother’s expression soured. It was barely perceptible, but Damien caught it. So he hadn’t been imagining things. They were hiding something.

His mother recovered quickly, her voice sharper than before. "How long will you be staying?"

Interesting. She was trying to get rid of him.

A slow smirk spread across his face. Whoever ‘they’ were, they were definitely someone his mother didn’t want him meeting.

"A few days," he replied nonchalantly, watching their reactions closely. As expected, they weren’t pleased. His mother averted her gaze, while his father’s tapping became more erratic.

Could they be more obvious?

"Is there something wrong?" he asked, feigning innocence.

His mother forced a smile, but it wavered. "Of course not!" she answered too quickly, biting her lower lip as if scrambling for an excuse.

Damien's gaze shifted between his parents. His father remained unreadable, but there was something in his eyes—an internal struggle, hesitation, perhaps even guilt.

Damien sighed, feeling the weight of their secrecy pressing down on the room. "I will be going to my room to unpack then," he said, standing up.

"Wait!" His mother shot to her feet, inhaling sharply.

Ah. So she was looking for a way to break the news to him.

Damien folded his arms, regarding her with quiet patience. "Does this have anything to do with your visitors?" His voice was calm, but there was a knowing edge to it.

His mother hesitated, then nodded slowly. She exhaled, steadying herself before speaking the name that made something in Damien snap.

"It's about Emily."

The room seemed to shrink, the air growing thick and suffocating. The smirk vanished from Damien’s lips, replaced by something cold and unreadable. His hands clenched at his sides, and for the first time since enterin

g the room, the composure he wore like armor cracked.

Emily.

His voice, when he finally spoke, was dangerously quiet.

"What about her?"