Callum bit his lip as he scanned the classroom.
Empty.
Or rather—empty of her.
A whole week had gone by without Lara Evans making an appearance. The first few days, he'd been consumed with dread. Waiting. Watching. Every hallway glance, every whispered conversation between staff, felt like it might explode into scandal.
But nothing came.
On the third day, she had texted. Just once.
Gone for a bit. Family stuff. Vacation, sort of. It's approved.
That was it.
No emojis. No updates. No calls. Just silence.
And somehow, that silence made him more unhinged than anything she had done before.
Without her, life became almost… normal.
Predictable.
He showed up. He taught. He graded.
And it bored the hell out of him.
It irritated him. Deeply.
Because it meant he had adjusted. Gotten used to the chaos she brought. The adrenaline. The noise.
It was like living in a vacuum now.
He didn't want her to come back.
But he hated that she hadn't.
And then—
The door creaked open.
Late. Well past the bell.
She stepped inside.
Thinner. Her uniform a touch too loose. Hair not curled like usual. Her eyes held the kind of tired that makeup couldn't cover.
Bags. Dark. Deep.
He stared at her.
She smiled weakly. "Sorry, Mr. Hayes. I'm late."
He didn't answer.
Not right away.
Because something about her had changed.
He felt it immediately—an itch under his skin. Antsy. Uneasy. She looked like someone carrying too many secrets and not enough sleep.
Was it the blackmail?
"Welcome back," he said, finally. But his voice lacked warmth, and his eyes stayed on her too long, too worried.
She slid into her seat near the back, where Nate and Jessica—her usual lunch companions—leaned toward her with hushed voices and quick questions.
He cleared his throat. "Alright, back to your seats."
They jumped, murmured apologies, and scattered. But not before Nate said something to her. Something that made her huff out a tired laugh and push his shoulder lightly.
"Evans," Callum said, as the final bell neared. "Please stay after class."
He saw Nate hesitate as if to object.
"Don't worry, Nate," Callum added. "She's not in trouble."
Nate gave him a grateful smile.
And for some reason, it irritated the hell out of him.
As if Nate knew her better.
As if Nate had some place beside her that he didn't.
After the final bell, Callum returned to the room with two coffees in hand—one already half-sipped, the other still warm. He set one in front of her without a word and took a long drink from his own.
His eyes searched hers.
"Why were you gone for a week?" he asked finally, voice low.
She smiled tightly, eyes dropping. "We went to Bali," she said. "My parents wanted one last family vacation. Or co-parenting vacation. Whatever that means. It was a mess."
She said it like a joke, but there was no humor in her voice.
"I don't really want to talk about it," she added, and took a cautious sip of the coffee.
He said nothing more.
But his stomach knotted tighter.
He stood up and walked to the back cabinet, pulling out a neatly clipped stack of papers. The lesson materials she had missed over the past week. Without a word, he placed them in front of her.
"These are the lessons you missed," he said flatly.
She reached for them, but as she leaned forward, her cardigan slipped down her arm.
And he saw it.
Bruises.
Faint but clear. Dark marks ghosting across her upper arm.
His eyes locked on the sight—just for a second—but she noticed.
Her hand jerked, yanking the sleeve up quickly.
He didn't say anything right away, just stared as she hurriedly shoved the papers into her bag, fumbling, almost frantic.
"Is that a bruise?" he asked, voice low but sharp.
She froze.
"Uhmm... yeah," she said, too quickly. "I fell on the stairs. Yeah. That's all."
She zipped her bag in one fast, loud motion. "I'm going, Mr. Hayes."
She moved to leave, but instinct took over. His hand reached out and caught her other arm—lightly, but enough to make her wince.
She gasped softly.
His eyes dropped again.
More bruises.
His blood ran cold.
He pulled down her sleeve gently, his voice shaking. "What the fuck are these?"
"I fell down the stairs, I swear," she said, her voice smaller now, avoiding his eyes.
He stepped back, breathing hard. Anger roiled in his chest. "Who did this? Was it your parents?"
"Stop!" she shouted suddenly. "I just fell, okay?!"
He froze. Her voice was trembling.
He opened his hands, calming his tone. "I'm sorry. I just—look, I'm here. Whenever you're ready to talk, I'm here."
She didn't answer. She turned and left.
And he stood there, heart pounding.
Because he knew now—something big was going on.
And someone was hurting her.
He just didn't know who.
But he needed to find out. Fast.