Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
Laurel
I lie flat on my back, staring at the ceiling like it owes me answers. The fan spins lazily overhead. I should get up, eat something. Get on with my life. But the thought of moving feels pointless. I have nowhere to be. I’m jobless.
This morning my alarm went off like always. Muscle memory kicked in before my brain caught up. I rolled out of bed, brushed my teeth, started the coffee, stepped into the shower.
Hot water hit my skin, and for maybe thirty seconds I was just… normal. Then it crashed in: I don’t have a job anymore. I stood there frozen until the water turned cold. I shut it off, wrapped myself in a towel, and crawled straight back into bed.
Is this what being jobless feels like? This hollow, drifting thing? I’ve never known it. Not really. I started working at ten, babysitting, dog-walking, cleaning houses on weekends. Anything my age allowed, and a few things it didn’t. Because the alternative was worse.
My stepfather would stand in the doorway, beer bottle dangling from his fingers, and sneer, “You gonna leech off me forever, girl? Contribute or get out.”
So I contributed. Every dollar I earned went straight to groceries, utilities, whatever kept the lights on when he couldn’t hold a job longer than a month. My mom… she tried, in her way. But mostly she just existed. Absent even when she was in the room.
By sixteen, I was the only reliable paycheck in the house. I kept going, retail, tutoring, waitressing, then finally college on loans and scholarships and night shifts. Teaching was the first thing that felt like mine. Like purpose. Like I’d built something no one could take away.
Until they did.
I roll onto my side, eyes drifting to the nightstand.
My teaching certificate sits there framed.
One Google search on “why Laurel Harper was terminated” and every future principal will see the same words: inappropriate relationship with a parent.
Conflict of interest. Unprofessional conduct.
No one will care about the truth. They’ll see the headline version and move on to the next applicant.
Even though I told Leonid yesterday that I’d pull myself together and find a new job, the sadness hits me all over again at the realization that I may never be a teacher again.
Tears prick hot behind my eyes. I blink hard, and they spill, sliding sideways into my hair.
I knew this could happen. From the first time Leonid responded to that text, I knew.
I told myself the risk was worth it. I told myself we’d be careful.
But deep down I was terrified that one day I’d wake up and everything I’d bled for would be gone.
Maybe I jinxed it just by thinking it. Maybe the universe heard me worrying and decided to make it real.
And yet… I don’t regret him. Not for a second.
Leonid is… everything. When he walks into a room, my heart does this stupid, beautiful leap, like it’s finally found its rhythm after years of stumbling. He makes me feel seen. Safe. Wanted in a way that’s fierce and gentle at the same time.
He’s the flame I didn’t know my life was missing until he set it alight. The way he looks at me, like I’m the only thing in the world, undoes me every time.
But God, it still hurts.
I loved that job. Loved those kids. Loved watching their faces light up when they finally understood something.
And they took it away because I came onto him?
Really? As if Leonid Volkov is some helpless teenager I seduced in the supply closet.
As if a man like him could be coerced into anything.
The double standard burns. Always the woman’s fault.
Always the woman who’s the temptress, the problem, the one who has to pay.
I huff out a bitter laugh that turns into a sob halfway through. Roll my eyes at the ceiling like it’s personally offended me.
My phone pings on the nightstand.
I reach for it automatically. Tasha again, probably. She’s been sending motivational quotes nonstop since I told her what happened: You are enough. You’ve got this. The best is yet to come. Sweet, but right now they just make me feel worse.
I unlock the screen. It’s not Tasha. It’s an email from Principal Ellis. I tap the email open, half-expecting some final nail in the coffin.
Subject: Reinstatement and Formal Apology
My heart stops. I sit up so fast the room tilts. Fingers trembling, I open it and skim the body, heart pounding.
Dear Ms. Harper,
After a thorough review of new information provided to the administration, we are pleased to inform you that your termination has been rescinded effective immediately.
We acknowledge that it was wrong to assume you initiated any inappropriate conduct with Mr. Volkov, and we regret the distress and disruption this caused you.
Effective immediately, you are welcome to return to your position. In recognition of the error and as a gesture of goodwill, you will receive full back pay for the period of your absence, along with a ten percent (10%) salary increase moving forward.
We value your contributions and hope you will accept this apology and reinstatement. Please let us know how you wish to proceed, and do not hesitate to reach out with any questions or concerns.
Sincerely,
Dr. Ellis
I have my job back? Just like that? How? What changed in twenty-four hours?
Then it clicks. Leonid must have provided the new information they referred to. How else would they know I didn’t “come on to him”?
I dial Principal Ellis’s number before I can overthink it. She picks up on the second ring.
“Ms. Harper? Did you receive the email?”
“Yeah.” My voice is steadier than I feel. “I’m a little curious, what made you change your mind?”
A pause. Then, carefully: “Mr. Volkov visited this morning. He cleared the air. Made it very clear that he pursued you, not the other way around. And that you… didn’t have much choice in the matter.”
“What?” The word snaps out sharper than I intend. “I didn’t have much choice? That’s what he said?”
She clears her throat. “Essentially, yes. He provided evidence that shifted our perspective entirely. Inappropriate messages from Ms. Smith to him. It appears her actions were motivated by jealousy. We’ve terminated her employment effective immediately.”
I’m stunned silent for a beat. Aria fired?
But the relief I should feel never arrives. Instead, something hot and bitter coils in my chest. “Shifted your perspective?” I cut in. “Yesterday you were prepared to destroy my career without blinking, and today you’re talking about perspective?”
There’s a pause on the line. I don’t let her fill it.
“You didn’t suspend me,” I continue. “You fired and humiliated me. You didn’t ask about my plans, my reputation, or what this would do to me long-term.”
“I understand why you’re angry, Ms. Harper,” she says carefully.
“Do you? Oh because now someone powerful stepped in, suddenly the school realizes it may have been… mistaken?”
There’s a pause. “I understand your frustration,” she says again, quieter this time. “And you’re right to feel it.”
I exhale sharply, forcing myself to rein it in. “Good. Then you’ll also understand why I need time to consider whether I even want to come back.” I end the call before she can say more.
I lower the phone, my fingers still tight around it. For a moment, my chest aches in a way that’s almost sweet. Leonid stood up for me. My job, the thing I fought so hard for, is still mine, and for a heartbeat I’m touched.
And then the other feeling creeps in. He didn’t ask me first. I immediately dial Leonid. It rings once, then straight to voicemail. His deep voice rumbles through the recording: “Leave a message.”
I hang up, thumbs flying over the keys instead: I see you got involved after I specifically asked you not to.
I stare at the screen. No read receipt.
The silence boils into frustration. We talked this morning, brief, sure, but he could’ve mentioned it. “Hey, I’m about to ignore everything you said and fix this my way.” But no. And saying I had no choice?
That undermines everything, makes me sound weak, coerced. Like our relationship is something he imposed on me.
I throw off the covers, grab the first outfit I lay my hands on—a shift dress—pull it on, run a brush through my hair, and pull it into a messy bun.
I’m going to his office. If he won’t pick up or text back, he can explain this to my face.
I step out of the cab and tilt my head back, taking in the sleek glass tower rising into the Manhattan sky. Polished black stone at the base, mirrored windows reflecting the chaos of Midtown below.
I’ve only been here once before, one evening when we were out together and Leonid needed to grab a document.
I push through the revolving doors. The reception area is all marble and muted gold. A few suited people move through, and no one spares me a second glance. I approach the long curved desk where a receptionist sits, pretty, early thirties, dark hair pulled into a low bun.
I open my mouth, already rehearsing the awkwardness. Hi, I’m Laurel, Leonid’s… girlfriend? Do I need an appointment? What if he’s not even here? What if I look like some clueless woman who doesn’t know her own boyfriend’s schedule?
Before I can force a word out, she looks up, recognition flickering across her face.
“Ms. Harper?” she says smoothly. “Mr. Volkov is expecting you. The private elevator is to your right, floor forty-eight.”
I blink. “Oh. Okay. Thank you.”
Expecting me. Of course he is. He probably saw me step out of the cab from one of those tinted windows up there.
The elevator ride is silent except for the soft chime of passing floors. When the doors slide open on forty-eight, the hallway is empty, modern, lined with dark wood paneling. I walk straight to the double doors marked Volkov Enterprises – CEO, and raise my fist to knock—
The doors swing open before my knuckles connect. Three men in tailored suits file out first, followed by a woman in a blazer carrying a tablet. They nod politely as they pass.