Page 45 of Black Castle

“Before we start, let’s get to know each other, shall we?” the new teacher proposes, his lips pulling into a smile for the first time. But even that feels wrong—too stiff, too forced. It’s almost like his face isn’t used to movements

“Why do you have to know us?” The question is from Banks Awolowo. “In a few hours, you are gonna hate our ass and make us a joke in the teacher’s lounge. So why don’t you just, I don’t know, teach and be on your merry way?”

Vivienne must confess, as true as Banks’ words are, he comes off a bit rude right now. But that’s okay. He’s quite dreamy. Well, used to be dreamy.

Wait, used to?

She turns to look at him again, her brows furrowed? Why isn’t her heart fluttering like before? Despite her relationship with Ian, Banks always evoked a powerful emotional response in her, making her blush uncontrollably.

His smooth onyx skin, shiny buzz cut, dimples, pearly white teeth, and lean muscles remain unchanged. Yet he looks like just another irrelevant boy in the crowd now.

Maybe it’s her that has changed. Lucan has raised the bar, making other boys or men seem less appealing to her.

“Trust me, it’s necessary that I know my students,” the teacher replies, his gaze settling on Banks with a sharpness that feels almost affronted. But he doesn’t dwell as his attention floats to the first kid in the front row.

“Your name?”

“Victoria Hastings,” the blonde girl answers.

“You.” Mr. Fadden points again.

“Nina Watkins.”

He moves on, one by one, collecting names like puzzle pieces only he can see. Vivienne finds this ridiculous. But she keeps her thoughts to herself—better not to draw his cold attention.

“You over there!” His finger is pointing toward Vivienne’s table. She stiffens. He makes her so jumpy, and she doesn’t know why. And she hates things she can’t understand.

“Kenji Sato,” Kenji answers smoothly, drumming his fingers on his table.

“Japanese?” Mr. Fadden tilts his head.

Kenji doesn’t bother responding to the obvious, so Banks snickers, “No, Indian.”

A hum settles in the air as people snicker and murmur. But it is immediately silenced by Mr. Fadden’s voice as he calls the next student.

Her.

“And you?”

Vivienne’s gaze finally lifts to him. She can’t help noticing the shift in his own gaze. Something a little dark. She feels it before she can try to see if she can understand it. It creeps slowly up her spine, like something foul curling its fingers around the back of her neck.

“Um, Vivienne?” she clears her throat, suddenly unsure of her identity under his cold scrutiny. “Vivienne Marchand.”

“Sure?”

Her stomach tightens.

“Sorry, do you think I don’t know my own name?” she snaps, sharper than she intends to.

“Sorry,” Mr. Fadden smiles, a slow crooked thing. Not amused. Not kind. But thinly veiled and mean. “You just share a resemblance with a girl I used to know.”

They were just words. People look like other people all the time. Yet it slithers through the air and lingers there.

James Fadden doesn’t break his gaze away from her on time. His eyes are locked on as though he’s searching, studying, waiting for something.

And just when it becomes unbearable for Vivienne, he looks away.

But the foreboding refuses to leave. It stays on her skin, and after a few minutes, as Mr. Fadden’s gaze keeps occasionally drifting to her, the unease sinks deeper into her blood, into her bones. And remains there.

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