CHAPTER 153: THE MONSTER IN THE ADMINISTRATIVE WING

The longer he looked, the dirtier she felt. Like he was peeling her layer by layer without touching her—stripping away the armor of fabric, decency, and personal space until her skin itched with exposure.

"That’s a lovely sweater," he said, voice honey-slick and twice as toxic. His eyes lingered on her chest. "The color really brings out your eyes. You’re becoming such a beautiful young woman, Emma.

"Have I mentioned that before?"

If he had, she’d done herself the kindness of forgetting. She pressed harder against the door, wishing she could just melt into the wood grain and slide out into the hallway like spilled water.

"Now then..." Trent pushed away from the desk with deliberate slowness, each movement rehearsed to the millimeter. "Why don’t you come sit in this chair so we can have a proper conversation?"

He gestured toward the seat in front of him—leather too perfect, too clean, the kind of false comfort you see in interrogation rooms where the goal is to make you forget you’re being cornered.

"I think it’s time we discussed your... development... in more detail."

The word development hit like a splash of ice water down her spine. It was obscene in its softness, and the way he rolled it in his mouth left no doubt what he meant.

Her breathing went shallow and fast. Vision narrowing. Every nerve screaming. This was happening again. She was alone.

And this time—his stance, his eyes—told her the line wasn’t staying where it was before. Today, it would move. And once it moved, it would never move back.

He smiled, the kind of polished, PR-perfect smile that looked great in yearbook photos but meant nothing good in real life.

"Now, Emma," he murmured, dropping into that counterfeit fatherly tone that made her skin crawl, "We both know why you’re really here. And you better behave cuz as you know this isn’t not about your grades. Not about classroom behavior. We know as long as I wish I can ruin you any time I wanted... but... you know the drill."

Emma’s stomach twisted. She knew exactly what he was about to bring up. But he did not need to. It was the same thing he’s been threatening her with so he can run his dirty eyes and hands on her.

Three weeks ago. Gerald Martinez—Jess’s older brother, who acted like selling vape cartridges made him a hardened kingpin—had dared them to try vaping weed after school. One bad decision, one unused classroom, one puff too many... and her luck had been the kind that made ancient gamblers go pale and whisper prayers.

Gerald had handed her the stash like it was some kind of prize—vape cartridges, a small bag of marijuana fragrant enough to make her nervous just holding it, a couple of pills he’d scored from "a friend of a friend," and a pocket-sized bottle of whiskey swiped from his parents’ liquor cabinet. He’d told her to stash it in the old chemistry lab while he rounded up Jess and the others, promising they’d all "party a little" after school.

Emma had been alone for maybe five minutes, just long enough for her nerves to chew at her stomach, when Vice Principal Holloway walked in on his evening rounds.

She could still see his face in that moment—etched into her brain like a burn mark. Not the shock she’d expected. Not moral outrage. Not even disappointment. No... what she saw in his eyes was far worse. It was interest. Calculating, opportunistic interest. Like a shark realizing the bleeding swimmer wasn’t going anywhere.

And in that instant, Emma had understood—she wasn’t just in trouble. She was caught.

Now, standing against the office door like a trapped animal, she listened to him close the noose.

"You remember, don’t you?" His tone was almost nostalgic, like they were reminiscing about a class trip instead of a blackmail situation. "All those substances in your possession. Enough marijuana to suggest distribution. Pills that weren’t yours. Alcohol on school property."

The words landed like hammer blows, each one a reminder of how quickly her life could be reduced to ashes. College applications shredded. Criminal record. Her mother’s face when she found out—God, that look alone could kill her.

"The good news," Holloway went on, stepping closer, "is that I haven’t filed any reports yet. As far as anyone knows..." he paused, smiling as if savoring the taste of it, "...that incident never happened."

When his hand touched her cheek, it was gentle in the way a spider might stroke its prey before deciding where to bite. Her stomach churned; her skin prickled as though his fingers carried a toxin.

She wanted to flinch. Wanted to smack his hand away, to bolt for the door. But she’d learned in the past three weeks that resisting him was like throwing gasoline on a fire—you only made the flames hungrier.

Tears slipped down her cheeks, hot with humiliation. His thumb traced her jawline, slow and deliberate.

"Such a pretty girl," he murmured, and the words dripped into her ears like oil. "Too pretty to have her life ruined over a few teenage mistakes. Too smart to throw her future away because of... poor judgment."

His hand slid from her face to her shoulder, then trailed down her arm in a movement so slow it felt like time itself was watching in disgust. Emma trembled, every nerve screaming at her to move, to do something, but she stayed frozen—because the truth was, Holloway didn’t just hold her here.

He owned her fear now.

Tears blurred her vision, but she blinked through them, forcing herself to stay present.

"All you have to do is be cooperative," Trent said, his other hand sliding up to press flat against the wall just inches from her head, boxing her in. The heat of his palm was almost mocking—too warm, too close, a silent warning carved in flesh and bone.

"Be grateful someone’s looking out for your best interests. Someone who could make all those little problems of yours... disappear forever." His voice dropped an octave, dark and deadly. "Or, you know, make them very public."

Emma’s breath hitched. She was trapped—no, pinned—in a vise tighter than any lock or latch. Gerald hadn’t asked what happened after she got caught; he’d assumed Holloway’s silence meant the coast was clear.

Jess had no idea. No one knew about the blackmail, the constant threat that twisted her days into a waking nightmare.

"Please," Emma whispered, voice cracking, the word barely more than a ghost carried away by the cold air between them. "Please don’t—"

"Shh." Trent’s thumb came up to brush away one of her tears with a tenderness so fake it was nearly a physical blow. "There’s nothing to be afraid of, Emma. I’m not going to hurt you." His words coiled around her like smoke, promising safety while tasting like poison. "I’m going to take very good care of you."

The phrase made her stomach lurch as if she’d swallowed something rotten. She squeezed her eyes shut, hot tears spilling freely, wishing beyond reason that someone—anyone—would burst through that door and rip her away from this nightmare.

But the hallways outside were empty. School had emptied. The administrative wing was silent except for the two of them.

Emma Carter was utterly alone with a predator who held her entire future in his hands. And they both knew exactly how powerless that made her.