Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
Laurel
Leonid leans in close, his breath warm against my ear. “Calm down, baby. Nobody here is going to recognize you.” It’s the umpteenth time he’s said it tonight, and I can hear the patient edge in his voice.
I force a slow breath, trying to unclench my shoulders. The venue is smaller than I pictured, more intimate.
No sprawling ballroom with blinding chandeliers or red carpets; instead, soft golden light spills from low-hanging crystal fixtures, casting warm pools across dark wood floors and velvet-draped walls.
Round tables are set with crisp white linens, low floral centerpieces of white roses and eucalyptus, and the air smells faintly of expensive candles and aged whiskey. A string quartet playing something classical fills the room. There can’t be more than two hundred guests.
A waiter glides past with a silver tray. I snag a flute of champagne and take a careful sip. It helps settle the knot in my stomach.
When Leonid invited me to this charity gala a few days ago, my immediate answer was no. Hard no. He’s too prominent, and one photo of us together would be enough to set the rumor mill spinning at school. But he insisted it’s an intimate event, strictly no-press.
I scan the room again. Not a single lens in sight. No one’s even glancing our way. My shoulders finally drop a fraction. No one here knows who I am. No one cares.
I turn to Leonid. He’s watching me, that faint almost-smile tugging at his mouth.
“Sorry,” I murmur. “I know it’s easy for you to agree to keep us… secret.”
He groans low, the sound vibrating through his chest. “I don’t like it.” He shifts closer, voice dropping. “I want to show you off, Laurel. I want the whole damn world to know how fortunate I am that I have a beautiful, intelligent, kind, brilliant woman who chose me.”
Heat climbs my cheeks. I duck my head, smiling.
He brushes a thumb along my jaw, tilting my face back up. “I understand why you’re worried about your job. But you don’t need to be scared. If you’d just listen to me and quit, you no longer need to work when you have me.”
I scoff softly. “Easy for you to say. You’re a millionaire.”
He gives a small shake of his head. “B.”
I blink. “Uh?”
“B,” he repeats, eyes glinting. “Not M. Billionaire.”
My mouth falls open. Literally drops.
He slides his hand under my chin, gently closing it with two fingers. “You never need to worry about money again, solnyshko.”
I shake my head. “I can’t just… relax because my boyfriend is wealthy. That’s not how it works.”
He doesn’t argue. Just studies me for a beat, then exhales. “This isn’t the time or place. We’ll talk about it when we leave.”
He presses a soft kiss to my temple, lingering. “For now, just breathe. Let me hold you in public for once without you looking like you’re about to bolt.”
I manage a small laugh. “Okay,” I whisper.
The MC’s voice cuts through the low hum of conversation in the room. “Ladies and gentlemen, if you could please take your seats, the program is about to begin.”
Before we can move, a man in a charcoal tux approaches, tall, silver-haired, all easy smiles. He claps Leonid on the shoulder like they’re old friends, launching into something about quarterly projections and a new venture.
I lean in close to Leonid’s ear. “I’m going to slip to the powder room before it starts.”
I ease myself into one of the stalls, wash my hands at the sink, and lean over the vanity to touch up my lipstick. I press my lips together, smooth a stray curl behind my ear.
The door opens behind me. I glance up in the mirror and freeze.
Aria.
She’s standing there in a emerald gown that hugs every curve, diamonds glinting at her throat, eyes trained on me, that same smug smile I remember too well.
For a second I think I’m hallucinating. I whip my head around so fast, it’s a miracle I don’t get whiplash. It’s really her. What is she doing here?
“Hello Laurel,” she drawls, voice dripping honeyed venom.
“Aria?” I manage, the word shaky. My fingers tighten around the lipstick tube.
She tilts her head, smile widening. “Yeah. It’s me.”
“What are you doing here?” The question bursts out before I can stop it.
She lets out a delighted laugh. “That should be my line, don’t you think? What is someone like you doing at an event like this?”
She gestures vaguely at the room, then narrows her eyes. “And why do you look so surprised to see me? Does it have something to do with hoping you wouldn’t get caught?”
I swallow hard, throat dry. “Caught? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
She tsks, stepping closer, heels clicking on marble.
“Don’t play me for a fool, Laurel.” She lets out a long, contented sigh.
“When my mother asked me to represent her tonight, I was reluctant. These things are so boring, right?” She waves a manicured hand, dismissing the entire gala.
“Oh, wait. I forgot. You wouldn’t know.”
I don’t respond. My pulse is roaring in my ears.
“Anyway,” she continues, leaning one hip against the wall beside the door. “I’m lucky I came. I had no idea showing up here would reveal something so… interesting.”
I know it the second Aria says “reveal something interesting.” She saw us. My stomach plummets.
I need to get out of here. Deny everything, anything to avoid whatever bomb she’s about to drop.
I force a tight smile. “I’d love to stay and chitchat, Aria, but I really need to get back inside.”
I step forward to brush past her.
She shifts, blocking the narrow space between the vanity and the door. “Yeah, you would want to do that.” Her voice is syrupy sweet. “I’m just wondering what the principal will say when she sees the picture of you and Mr. Volkov together.”
The blood drains from my face so fast I feel dizzy. My ears ring. Is she serious?
But Aria reads me like an open book. She reaches into her tiny clutch, pulls out her phone, and taps the screen once. Then she turns it toward me.
There we are, frozen in high definition. Leonid whispering something in my ear, my head tilted toward him, smiling like he hung the sun. His arm is around my waist. There’s no angle, no lighting trick that makes this look platonic. Even a stranger would know we’re together.
My mouth goes dry. “How did you get that?”
Aria’s perfectly shaped brows shoot up, offended. “That’s what you have to say?” She snatches the phone back, clutching it like a trophy. “I’ve had eyes on Mr. Volkov for years. And then you come along, throwing yourself at him like a whore!”
The pieces snap together. She likes him. And now she sees me as the thief who stole what she thinks should be hers.
“A woman like you,” she continues, voice dripping disdain, “doesn’t deserve a man like Mr. Volkov.”
My mind spins in every direction at once. I can’t lose my job. If she shows that photo to anyone at school, or worse, to the principal…
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.
Before I can force a single word, her phone buzzes. She glances at the screen, answers with a clipped “Yes, Mother,” and strides out of the restroom without another glance at me.
I follow on autopilot, heart hammering, but she’s already moving fast down the hallway, away from the ballroom, not toward it. She’s leaving.
I’m still staring after her when a familiar hand catches my elbow.
“I was coming to look for you. You were taking too long. Everything alright?” Leonid asks, concern etched between his brows.
I blink, forcing my face into something neutral. “Yeah… just a situation with my dress. It’s sorted.”
He studies me, those blue eyes searching mine. “You alright?”
“Yeah.”
He doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t push. Instead, he slides his hand to the small of my back and guides me back toward the ballroom.
We slip into our seats just as the lights dim for the first speaker. Applause ripples around us. Someone steps to the podium. Words about charity, impact, and futures fill the room, but none of it registers.
All through the night I don’t sleep. Every time I close my eyes, I see Aria’s smug smile, that photo glowing on her screen.
I want to call him and spill everything. He’d fix it. I know he would. But that’s exactly why I can’t. This isn’t his fight. I’ve spent years taking care of myself, paying my own bills, handling my own messes, building a life no one handed me.
If I tell Leonid about this, he’ll immediately say I should just quit my job and become his full-time girlfriend or get another job.
But I’m not ready to give up teaching. I genuinely love my work and the kids at Prudence.
So for now, I want to handle it myself first and see if there’s another way to fix this without blowing up my entire life.
By the time the alarm goes off, my eyes are gritty and my stomach is knotted so tight I can barely breathe.
I drag myself through a shower, pull on a plain blouse and skirt, and head to school.
My plan is simple: find Aria before first bell, talk to her, beg if I have to.
Convince her not to tell or show anyone the picture.
She’s petty, but maybe she’ll listen to reason.
The second I step through the staff entrance, I know it’s already too late.
The hallway feels narrower. Heads turn. Eyes linger.
Mrs. Carter from third grade gives me the coldest once-over I’ve ever received, lips pressed into a thin line.
Mr. Patel glances up from his coffee, then quickly away.
Two teachers near the copy machine, Ms. Reynolds and Mrs. Kim, stop mid-sentence, stare, then burst into hushed snickers.
As I pass, I catch the word.
“Whore.”
My steps falter. Another teacher, someone I’ve shared lunch with, swapped lesson plans with, mutters it again under her breath as she brushes past.
My chest caves. They know. They all know. Before I can reach the lounge, a hand grabs my elbow and yanks me sideways into an empty classroom. The door clicks shut behind us.
It’s Maria, usually the warmest person in the building. Right now her face is stone.
“What were you thinking?” she whispers, furious.
“I—”
She doesn’t let me finish. She pulls out her phone, opens a group chat, and shoves the screen in my face.
There it is. The photo. Blown up. Captioned in all caps:
Look who’s sleeping her way to the top. Our little Ms. Harper and the billionaire. Classy.
The chat is exploding, dozens of messages, emojis, shocked faces, laughing ones. My world tilts. The floor seems to drop away. I grip the edge of a student desk to keep from swaying.
Before I can form a single coherent word, my phone buzzes in my hand. The screen lights up.
Dr. Ellis. My fingers tremble so badly I almost drop it. I answer anyway.
“Hello?”
“Ms. Harper.” The principal’s voice is ice-cold. “Please come to my office immediately.”
The line goes dead.
I don’t remember walking there. One second I’m in the empty classroom, the next I’m standing outside the principal’s door, knuckles white around the knob. I knock once.
“Come in.”
I step inside. Dr. Ellis sits behind her desk, hands folded, expression unreadable.
“Sit.”
I do. My legs feel like they belong to someone else.
She doesn’t waste time. “I’ve received credible information, and photographic evidence that you are involved in an inappropriate relationship with a parent of one of our students, Mr. Leonid Volkov.”
My mouth opens. Nothing comes out.
“The photo in question has been circulated among staff. Regardless of how it was obtained, the fact remains that this compromises your professional integrity and the reputation of this school. We have a strict policy against relationships that could create conflicts of interest or appear exploitative, especially when a child is involved.”
“I… it’s not like that,” I manage, voice cracking. “Alexei isn’t involved. Mr. Volkov and I are in a normal romantic relationship. I know what it looks like, but I assure you —”
She raises a hand. “Ms. Harper, please.” Dr. Ellis leans forward, elbows on her desk, fingers steepled.
Her smile is thin, cold, professional in the worst way.
“The gap between your social classes is… astronomical. You certainly don’t expect me to believe you’re in some sweet, normal romantic relationship with Leonid Volkov of all people.
The man is a billionaire. A public figure.
You’re a school teacher. It’s absurd on its face. ”
“Dr. Ellis, it’s the truth, I didn’t come on to him like you’re making it seem.”
“Ms. Harper! The school has very clear policies. Teachers are not permitted to have romantic relationships with students’ parents. It’s a conflict of interest. You know that.”
I nod, trying my best not to let the tears fall.
“So,” she continues, “I’m not interested in excuses or explanations at this stage.
The board has already been informed. Effective immediately, you are terminated.
Your access to school systems will be revoked by the end of the day.
You will clean out your classroom, under supervision, and return all school property.
Your final paycheck and any accrued benefits will be processed according to contract. ”
The words land like punches. Each one knocks the air out of me.
“Dr. Ellis, please—”
“This is not negotiable, Ms. Harper.” Her voice softens just a fraction. “You’ve been an excellent teacher. I wish it hadn’t come to this. But it has. You’re dismissed.”