Chapter 36 BETH
BETH
Everyone wanted a puppet.
“You know, I still can’t seem to shake it off.” My grip tightened around the strap of my backpack, my steps slow as we walked down the hall.
“Shake off what?” Kenzo’s eyes never strayed from his phone’s screen. We were about to make an arc down another hallway, a little inch closer and he would bump his head into the wall.
I exhaled a sigh, grabbing him by the arm and yanking him closer to my side. His head snapped up, eyes scanning the surroundings for threats before the realisation dawned on him.
“Oh, shit!” he cussed, shoulders relaxing. “Thanks.”
I rolled my eyes. “Anyway, I said I can’t shake off the idea of being tracked somehow.
” My expression hardened as I spotted Mr. James Donald sliding into the classroom ahead–the same class I was currently heading.
Last week I avoided the Tuesday class. Today, I couldn’t do the same.
I couldn’t keep running at the expense of my studies.
“Well, it’s not your phone. I already checked.” Kenzo finally pocketed his device as we reached the classroom. “We should look into something else. Something very obvious.”
The classroom was already packed, and the usual pre-lesson chatter was reduced to murmurs with Mr. Donald already at the front of the class.
“Settle down, class.” His voice sliced through the air as Kenzo and I took our seats.
“So what do you think could have a tracker other than my phone?” I asked, my voice low as I subtly turned my head.
“Earrings,” he murmured. “But he has never given you those, has he?”
I shook my head.
“So that leaves us with one more option…”
“And that is…?”
Kenzo leaned back, face blank. “Isn’t it obvious?”
“Well, what is it?” I glared at him, my lips pressed into a thin line.
He rolled his eyes, then reached his hand beneath his collar and pulled out his gold chain. “Got something like this, perhaps?”
My brows knitted, and two heartbeats later, my eyes widened. My hand flew to my neck, grabbing the pendant resting on my chest. I turned it over in my fingers, watching the emerald catch the light so beautifully.
How did I not figure this out sooner? He gave this to me, so randomly and without a reason. Of course, only him would be capable of such a thing. Only he could go this far to prove a point. So giving me the necklace wasn’t his attempt at a romantic gesture but to keep me on a leash?
“I feel so dumb for not connecting the dots sooner,” I whispered, my gaze burning into the pendant, waiting for the tracker to make itself visible somehow.
“Any problem, Beth Fraser?” Mr. Donald’s voice pierced through my thoughts.
The way he said my name made my stomach churn. “No, Mr. Donald.” I shook my head.
My gaze returned to the necklace. I had seen it in movies–trackers being put in jewelry and even hairpins. If there was truly a tracker in my necklace, it wouldn’t be too surprising.
But why did he put a tracker on me? Shouldn’t this be illegal in some big book of law?
“Fraser?!” Mr. Donald’s voice cracked like a whip, his sinister undertone unmistakable. Startled, I glanced around to find that the entire class was staring at me.
“Um, yes?”
“You don’t seem very present,” he said, a smirk ghosting his lips. “Is my class too boring for you?”
“No.”
“Should we wipe the board and return to Psychopathy instead?” he gestured toward the board.
My eyes followed, landing on the topic scrawled across the whiteboard. Sleep and Dreams.
“What?” I whispered.
“I don’t know, I guess I liked how interested you were last week when we taught psychopathy.” His smirk grew, mean and deceptive. “Almost like it spoke to you. Maybe you really liked the topic. Should we revisit it? Same case study, though.”
What the hell?
“I’m sorry, Mr. Donald.” I glanced at Kenzo who squeezed my hand gently. “I was a little distracted.”
“Very well then.” He grinned, sharp like a knife. “Do well to pay attention.”
He turned to the board, his chalk squeaking as he underlined Sleep and Dreams.
“I find it fascinating,” he said to the class, pacing, his hands clasped behind his back, “how the mind copes with guilt during rest.” He stopped beside my desk.
Too close. “How some people don’t dream at all.
Others–” There was a pause far too deliberate.
“–relive their worst memories every night.”
My throat tightened.
“Tell me, Fraser,” he said, lowering his voice enough that just the row next to me heard it. “Do you dream?”
The class shifted. Someone coughed. A chair scraped.
“Yes, Mr. Donald.” The words came out paper thin.
His brows lifted. “Interesting. Because research suggests that children of highly violent offenders often experience either chronic nightmares…or complete emotion detachment during REM sleep.”
The class gasped, eyes on me.
“What is wrong with this dude?” Kenzo murmured, voice laced with panic.
No one knew who my father was. As far as the rumours were concerned, Mother was a single mom. My father died and we moved to Scotland. Saying children of violent offenders just suggested to the class that one of my parents was violent. An offender.
My fingers curled.
He turned back to the board, murmurs settling in the class. Eyes were on me now, curious, interested. Now, they wondered who my father was. Was he truly violent? How did Mr. Donald know? Did he know my father?
Curiosity would make them ask questions. Questions would lead to the desire for answers. Answers I didn’t want any of them to find. Because if they found it, they would hate me. And if they hated me, I wouldn’t be able to survive the rest of the year in school.
I would have to drop out again.
“For some reason, this topic is bringing us back to psychopathy.” He scribbled the word on the board in scrawny handwriting. “I’m sure Miss Fraser will like this.”
He turned to the class, his gaze resting on me, just briefly. “Now this disorder is often misunderstood, though. Not all monsters lack charm.” He turned to the board, scribbling CHARM in capital letters. “Some are beloved. Some are trusted. Some live ordinary lives.”
His gaze returned to the class. “But of course, that’s highly hypothetical.”
The class chuckled. They didn’t hear the threat. They didn’t know what was going on. It was just another fun psychology class.
“But let’s stay on the topic, shall we?” He gestured to the board. “Sleep and Dreams. Page 99. Read silently.”
The room was immediately filled with rustling papers, whispering, as students read.
I didn’t move. Couldn’t move. I sat frozen. But Kenzo’s hand never left mine.
And when the bell rang minutes later, the class filing out, curious glances were sent my way.
Mr. Donald had stirred the students. Given them the story to work on.
He had begun to pull out the bones I buried.
???
“Let me come with you.” Kenzo insisted, grabbing my wrist, making me halt.
I tugged his hand off. “I can handle this.”
“Beth.” His protest fell on deaf ears as with a breath in, I pushed open the door to Mr. Donald’s class, a mission in mind.
He got me earlier. Oh, he got me so good. Almost pushed me into panicking and revealing my true identity. But this was the power he had over me. He knew my dark, little secret, and if I continued to tiptoe around him, he would turn me into a puppet.
There must be something he wanted if he hadn’t blurted it out yet. Hell, every man wanted something. And I had become curious about what could be the desires of James Donald.
“Fraser?” He played at surprise. But his delivery fell flat. He would never make it in Hollywood.
“Surprise to see you here.” Swinging his feet off the table, he grabbed the coffee mug with one hand, the other slipping into his pocket as he strode forward. “Saw how you uh…” He raised a half shoulder in a shrug, his tone easy, amused. “Didn’t participate much in my class earlier.”
“My bad.” I folded my arms across my chest, my back against the door, anxiety buried at the darkest corner of my mind.
“So…” He tilted his head to the side, but the seemingly welcoming smile didn’t touch his eyes which were nothing but a canvas of mischief. “To what do I owe this visit?”
“Aren’t you tired of the act, Mr. Donald?” I raised a brow. “Especially when you are not so good at it?”
He chuckled drily. “I’m lost here, Fraser. Is there something I’m missing?”
“You have a personal grudge against Julian Bourdet.” His jaw clenched, anger flashing in his eyes.
Bullseye.
I tilted my head, eyes gleaming with mock curiosity. “Who was it? Your sister? Your mom? Oh, wait, your girlfriend?” I snapped my fingers, a grin touching my lips.
Something shifted in his expression. His eyes darkened, grip tightening around his mug. I just cracked something open. It was reckless, a gamble, but it worked.
“I figured you had something you want talk to me about.” I pushed off the door, crossing the room and stopping just a foot from him. “I’m tired of all the games and sneaking around. Tell me, what do you want? Why have you been trying to unsettle me?”
He moved, so fast, I didn’t have time to blink, and closed the space between us.
Fear slithered down my spine.
He was taller than me. But nothing compared to Zaghan—Callan’s height.
He gripped my jaw, fingers digging into my skin, smudging my carefully applied makeup.
“What your father did is unforgivable, Juliette Bourdet.” His voice dripped with venom.
My pulse spiked at the mention of my forgotten name, but I arched a brow, feigning nonchalance. “So what? You’re going kill me?”
He might as well do it and do it now. Nothing was more dangerous and irrational than a man on the quest for vengeance, made to wait around.
To my question, his lips curled, menacing. “Maybe.” Then his smirk shifted into something sinister. “But where’s the fun in that?”
His free hand lifted, finger brushing my lips. I recoiled, disgust curling in my stomach.
“Nothing will be more satisfying than making this such a huge mess,” he mused. “Imagine the headlines, your pretty face plastered everywhere.”
My throat closed.
“I could write the article myself. The Hidden Daughter of Julian Bourdet. Presumed Dead. Alive and Thriving. What do you think? Sounds catchy, doesn’t it?”
The room felt smaller, the walls leaning in. I gulped, flickering my gaze to the door. Kenzo should walk in…any moment now. Please.
Donald’s finger slipped down my throat, settling on my collarbone. “But I don’t think you want that kind of fame,” he said softly. “Do you?”
My skin crawled, like something had burrowed deep inside.
“Get your hands off me,” I hissed, my voice trembling despite my effort. “Or you’ll regret it.”
He laughed. Not loud. Not cruel either. Just…casual. “Regret? Even if I killed you right here, I won’t lose a night of sleep.” His finger dipped beneath my collar, grazing the chain of my necklace, skimming against bare skin, too close, too intimate.
My stomach churned violently, and I began to taste bile.
Then his gaze dropped to my lips, lingering for far too long.
“But.” He paused, his deep with unspoken intent. “I have a proposal. One that you might really like since, uh…” He fiddled with the tendril of my hair, his voice lowered. “I heard you have this thing for teachers.”
My heart slammed against my ribs.
What?
His smirk deepened. “So…what do you say about keeping my cock busy for the meantime while I try to figure out what to do with your secret?”
The words didn’t register at first. They floated. Then finally, they sank.
Something inside me cracked. Not loudly, not all at once. It was deep and slow, like ice breaking under still water.
This wasn’t about power. Not about lust either. It was a punishment.
My punishment.
Julian Bourdet ruined lives because he wanted to. Now Donald was about to ruin mine because he could.
And the worst part was, I wasn’t afraid he would eventually expose me. I was afraid no one would ever save me, and I would end up becoming a pawn in his game.
Everyone wanted a puppet.
Everyone wanted me as a puppet.