THE SCANDAL

CHAPTER 0009

THE SCANDAL

ELENA

This was my worst fear come to life.

One careless mistake—one fleeting moment of recklessness—had set everything into motion. Ryan’s wife had seen something, misinterpreted it, and now she was determined to turn her assumptions into a scandal that would ruin me. The truth didn’t matter. It never did. People believed what they wanted to believe, and once the whispers started, they spread like wildfire.

I could already see the wreckage ahead.

And I would be the one buried beneath it.

Regret consumed me, each wave more suffocating than the last. I should have known better. I should have never let Ryan step into my office that day. I should have never set foot in his house. Every seemingly insignificant choice had led me here—to the edge of a downfall I couldn’t escape.

Panic clawed at my chest. What was I supposed to do?

The thought of people finding out made my stomach twist violently. I could already hear the hushed conversations in the teachers’ lounge, the sharp murmurs of judgmental parents, the students whispering behind my back, piecing together rumors they didn’t fully understand.

But none of that terrified me as much as the thought of Evan finding out.

If Evan knew…

A sharp, icy fear gripped me, making it hard to breathe. I could already picture his reaction—the way his eyes would darken, his jaw tightening with quiet, simmering rage. He had never needed proof to believe the worst of me. Just an accusation would be enough.

My hands trembled as I paced my office, my mind spiraling into chaos. I needed to think. I needed to act before things slipped even further out of control. More than anything, I needed to cut all ties with Ryan before it was too late.

But the walls of my apartment felt like they were closing in, pressing against my ribs, suffocating me. The weight of everything—Ryan, his wife, Evan—was crushing.

I needed air.

I needed an escape.

I needed a drink.

---

The bar was dimly lit, thick with quiet conversations and the occasional clink of glasses. The scent of whiskey and cheap beer lingered in the air, mingling with something heavier—regret, maybe.

I slipped onto a stool and exhaled shakily, waving the bartender over.

“Something strong,” I muttered, my voice barely above a whisper.

He gave me a knowing look before pouring a dark amber liquid into a glass. I wrapped my fingers around it, my grip unsteady, and lifted it to my lips, savoring the burn as it settled deep in my stomach.

Just a few drinks. That was all I needed. Just enough to dull the edges of my thoughts. Just enough to forget the mess I had made.

But then—I saw him.

The man in the hoodie.

The ghost.

A chill ran through my veins, immediate and paralyzing.

For years, I had convinced myself that I had moved on, that what happened back then was over. I had told myself I was safe.

But deep down, I had always known the truth.

He had never really left.

He had been watching. Waiting. Haunting my every move.

His steps were slow. Deliberate. He was coming toward me.

Panic tightened around my throat like a noose. I wanted to look away, to convince myself I was imagining him. But I couldn’t.

A sudden jolt—fingers tapping my shoulder.

I don’t know when I screamed.

The bar fell into stunned silence. Conversations halted as everyone stared at me. Heads turned wondering what was happening.

But I didn’t care, I didn't want to know who was watching. I just wanted to flee.

Terror overtook me, raw and all-consuming. Without thinking, I bolted from my seat, leaving behind my purse, my drink—everything. I shoved past startled patrons, bursting into the cold night air, my pulse a frantic drumbeat against my ribs.

Then, I crashed into someone.

Strong hands caught me, steadying me before I could stumble backward. A familiar scent—expensive cologne—wrapped around me, grounding me.

Ryan.

“Elena?” His voice was sharp with concern, his grip firm yet careful. “What the hell is going on? What are you running from?”

I couldn’t answer. I couldn’t think.

The only thing that mattered was that he was here. And, for some inexplicable reason, that was enough to steady me.

Without another word, Ryan led me to his car. I didn’t resist.

Maybe because I had nowhere else to go.

Maybe because, right now, he felt safer than whatever was lurking inside that bar.

By the time we reached Ryan’s house, exhaustion had settled deep into my bones. My limbs felt heavy, my mind fogged with fear and lingering panic. I let him guide me inside—somewhere warm, somewhere the shadows of my past couldn’t reach me.

And then I collapsed onto the couch.

Ryan said something about a blanket, but his words barely registered. Sleep pulled me under before I could fight it.

Soon enough it was morning, sunlight streamed through unfamiliar curtains, and I stirred, my body aching, my head pounding with the remnants of last night’s panic.

I shifted—and immediately, something felt wrong.

The fabric against my skin. The cold air on my bare shoulders.

What was going on? I wondered and just then a sickening realization slammed into me.

I was naked.

And just then panic seized me in an iron grip.

No. No, no, no.

I shot up, clutching the blanket to my chest, my heart hammering wildly. My mind scrambled to piece together the events of the night before. The bar. The hooded man. Ryan.

Ryan.

As if summoned by my thoughts, he stepped into the room—shirtless, rubbing the back of his neck.

“You’re awake,” he said cautiously. "I made you breakfast."

I tightened my grip on the blanket, my fingers trembling. “Did we—?” My voice cracked. “Did you take advantage of me?”

His expression darkened, jaw tightening. “Elena, no. Nothing happened. You were drunk. You passed out. That’s it.”

I searched his face, desperate for any sign of deception. But he looked sincere.

And yet, the fear didn’t fade.

Because whether or not I had slept with Ryan wasn’t what terrified me the most.

The real nightmare was about to begin.

I dressed quickly, my hands shaking as I pulled my sweater over my head. I needed to leave. I needed to get as far away from here as possible before things got worse.

Ryan watched me, his gaze unreadable. “Elena, talk to me. You ran out of that bar like you saw a ghost. What happened?”

I couldn’t answer. I couldn’t say it out loud.

Because saying it would make it real.

So, I did what I always did.

I ran.

Out of the bedroom. Through the front door.

And straight into my worst nightmare.

A group of students stood at the bottom of the driveway.

My students.

Their eyes widened in shock. Some whispered. Others raised their phones—capturing the moment that would destroy me.

A scandal unfolding in real time.

My blood turned to ice.

And then, just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, one of them spoke.

“Ms. Harper?”

The sound of my name was a death sentence.

A horrifying realization settled over me.

There was no escaping this.

Not the scandal.

Not my past.

Not Evan.

And most terrifying of all—

Not myself.