Nolan

She walked into the classroom, feeling her insides tremble with barely contained rage. It was her first year, and she'd been "lucky" enough to be assigned to the senior class—a rabble of unruly brats and violent teenagers who had turned the school into a gladiatorial arena. Every single day, she broke up fights where girls would grab each other's hair until it bled, and boys would douse each other with ice water right in the middle of class, or engage in harassment that rattled the windows.

She tried to be nice. She tried to appeal to their conscience. But today, when two students nearly cracked each other's skulls right at her desk, the "kind teacher" died.

The parents' meeting began in dead silence. Mothers in mink coats and fathers in expensive suits sat as if they were doing her a favor. They whispered and stared at their phones, ignoring her presence. She silently walked up to the board, slammed a stack of reports onto the table, and turned around abruptly.

"Okay," her voice sounded like a whip crack, making everyone flinch. "Shut your mouths and look at me. Quickly."

The parents froze, shocked by her tone.

"You think I'm here to sing your praises about your 'talented' kids?" She chuckled bitterly, resting her hands on the table and leaning forward, turning into a true, insolent bitch. "Your idiots are an unruly herd. They'll soon kill each other right here in this classroom, and you're sitting here blinking. You're lousy parents who failed at the most important thing. You didn't raise them, you just bought them off with brands and gadgets while your children turned into cruel beasts. One more fight, and I'll personally make sure they're thrown out of here with a black mark. I don't care about your money or connections."

A heavy, stifling silence fell over the office. The mothers began to gasp indignantly, but then the door slowly opened.

A man stood in the doorway. Tall, shrouded in an aura of primal menace. His black suit fit his powerful frame like a glove, his long dark hair fell slightly over his face, and his eyes were cold and piercing. This was Mark's uncle—the most dangerous bully in the class, rumored to have ties to the criminal underworld. The man walked into the classroom, casually shoving his hands in his pockets, and stopped right in front of her desk.

She didn't look away. On the contrary, she looked him up and down with disdain.

"Ah, so there's our local crime boss's main protector," she said sarcastically, looking the man straight in the eye. "Your nephew is terrorizing the entire floor. Apparently, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. Do you also think that fists are the only way to communicate, or did you just forget to explain to the guy that he's at school, not in a back alley?"

The man leaned slowly toward her. The air was thick with the scent of expensive perfume and something metallic, frightening. He loomed over her, making her feel tiny, but she only straightened her back, not letting her fear seep through. A barely perceptible, dangerous smile touched his lips.

He spoke in a low, vibrant voice that went right to the bone.

"Darling, you're teaching my nephew, not me. So don't go sniping at me with your sharp tongue. Otherwise, I'll have to find a way to cut him short, and believe me, you won't like it at all."