Kassie endures a day of awkward hand-holding with a nerd, Amanda is forced to apologize to her cameraman, and Jake meets his new special education teacher, Ava.
"Hold my hand and act like you're my boyfriend, or I swear to God, I'll make sure you get expelled!" Kassie hissed, her teeth clenched.
Wu Zhang's mind raced as she practically dragged him out into the hallway, his heart hammering in his chest. The whispers grew louder as they emerged, and every set of eyes in the hall seemed to be on them. He felt like a mouse caught in the gaze of a thousand hawks, his palms slick with sweat.
Kassie, however, was a vision of reluctant beauty. Despite the rage that burned within her, she couldn't help but look stunning. Her long legs stretched out in front of her, draped in a pair of snugly fitted blue colored and ripped jeans. Her top was white and showed off her toned abs.
Her curves and her full, round breasts bounced ever so slightly with every step she took in a pair of white sneakers. Kassie's hair was a cascade of light golden waves, framing a face that could have graced the cover of any magazine.
Full lips of hers were pursed in a scowl, but even that couldn't diminish their allure. Her eyes, a piercing mix of blue and gray colors, shot darts of anger at him, yet they sparkled with a fiery intensity that made him feel terrified.
Wu Zhang felt like a leaf caught in a tornado, whipping around in a maelstrom. He'd never been the center of attention, especially not like this—not in a school where his very existence was often ignored.
The rest of the day was a blur of awkwardness and fear. Kassie's grip on his hand was ironclad, her eyes shooting venom at him every time they walked by a group of students whispering about their newfound relationship. His heart felt like it was going to jump out of his chest. He couldn't believe what was happening.
During lunch, Kassie dragged him to her table, surrounded by her entourage of beautiful, mean-spirited friends. They all looked at him as if he was a zoo exhibit, their eyes gliding over him with a mix of disgust and amusement. He felt his cheeks burning as they talked about him in highly arrogant and utterly bitchy tones, their laughter cutting through him like sharp knives.
But amidst the cruelty, there was one face that stood out—Bailey Emerson. Her emerald eyes sparkled. Her hair was a cascade of dark chocolate waves that framed a face so beautiful it could make even the most stoic of men weak at the knees. Her skin was like porcelain, utterly flawless. Not to mention her voluptuous young body. And still, Kassie had her easily beaten.
"What's the deal?" Bailey had asked Kassie, her voice a mix of curiosity and reverence for the queen bee of the school.
"Some sort of dare? Date the nerd for a day?" Bailey added, her words dripping with poisonous honey. The group of girls around her giggled, their eyes dancing with malicious excitement.
Kassie shot her a withering glare, her full lips curling into a sneer. "Something like that," she replied coolly, her voice like a whip cracking in the air. "But let's not forget who's in charge here, Emerson. This is all for a good cause, and if you know what's good for you, you'll keep your overly surgery enhanced nose out of it."
Bailey's cheeks flushed a deep shade of red, and she looked away, her eyes downcast. The other girls tittered, eager to win Kassie's approval by laughing at Bailey's expense. The room grew tense, the air thick with the scent of fear and desperation to maintain social standing.
Kassie turned her back to Emerson, dismissing the ''rival,'' with a flick of her long hair. "Anyway, today we're making a thing out of it," she announced, her voice a mix of challenge and amusement. "The rest of you shanks, go find your own nerd for the day, right now!"
The hot girls at the table exchanged glances, their perfect eyebrows arching in surprise. They had always envied Kassie's fearlessness and now it was as if she had just thrown down a gauntlet. One by one, they rose from their seats, their designer outfits whispering against the shiny floor, and started to scan the cafeteria for their unsuspecting prey.
Emerson was the first to jump at the opportunity, eager to regain favor with Kassie. She had always been second in command, living in the shadow of Kassie’s popularity and beauty. Now, with this strange turn of events, she saw a chance to prove herself. Her eyes fell upon Timmy, with his thick glasses, big belly and perpetually greasy stained shirts. He was the perfect candidate for her.
With surprising speed, Bailey strutted over to Timmy's table, her hips swaying with an uncharacteristic confidence. Timmy looked up from his lunch, his face a canvas of shock as she approached. His friends, the usual suspects of the school’s social outcasts, watched with a mix of horror and fascination.
Another girl, who had also set her sights on Timmy, was left to scurry away, her face a mask of disappointment as Bailey glared threateningly. Back away bitch, he's mine. She seemed to say.
Emerson pulled Timmy over to the table with surprising strength, his chair screeching against the floor as he stumbled to his feet. His face was a kaleidoscope of emotions—fear, shock, and a flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, this was all a bizarre but welcome twist of fate.
"Presenting Timmy Wilson," she announced with a flourish, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she pushed him in front of Kassie, like a sacrifice to the goddess of popularity.
"Nice one," Kassie agreed, her laughter cold and calculated. "He's positively... repugnant."
Timmy's cheeks turned a shade of scarlet that could rival a freshly picked tomato. He was no stranger to the cruel games of high school, but being paraded around like a trophy by the very girls who had tormented him for years was a new and particularly humiliating experience.
Timmy and Wu shrugged at each other in a shared confusion.
"So, what do we do now?" Timmy asked, his voice quivering.
Emerson snapped at him. "Be quiet, don't speak, nerd!" Timmy was too overwhelmed to protest.
The rest of the day was a surreal experience for both Timmy and Wu, as they were paraded around school by their reluctant captors. Kassie and Emerson had turned their social game into a twisted reality show, and the entire student body was watching. The whispers grew louder, the stares more intense. It was clear that the power dynamics in the school had shifted in a dramatic and confusing way.
Other girls from Kassie's clique had followed suit, each with their own nerd in tow. They strutted through the halls with their heads held high, their captive nerds looking like they had just been told they'd won the lottery—if the lottery prize was a ticket to a nightmare of humiliation.
Jake watched from a safe distance, a smug smile playing on his lips. His sister had gone above and beyond his blackmail demands. This was better than he could have ever hoped for—not just the act of holding hands, but the full-blown public spectacle of it all. It was a delicious taste of power, like watching a train wreck in slow motion, and he couldn't help but feel a twisted sense of pride in his own cleverness.
When he finally made it back home, Jake retreated to the safety of his room, his thoughts racing. He logged onto his computer, the glow of the screen casting an eerie blue hue across his round, overweight face. He took a deep breath and began to compose the email to Kassie.
"Subject: Well Played." He typed furiously, his chubby fingers dancing across the keys. "You really know how to make a statement, girl. I am impressed." He paused, a sly grin spreading. "For now, you're off the hook. Consider this a... little vacation from my requests. Enjoy it while it lasts." He hit send, feeling a thrill of triumph as the email disappeared into the digital ether.
Jake knew that Kassie would be on a warpath, desperately trying to uncover his identity. Her sharp tongue and piercing gaze would be honed in on every student at school, searching for the slightest clue. But he was certain she wouldn't find him out. After all, she was the queen of social games, not the master of digital espionage. Her skills were in breaking hearts and crushing spirits, not hacking into encrypted emails.
He turned his attention to Amanda, his mind racing with what he could demand next. His mother had always been a cold, distant figure, but now, she was something more—a desperate pawn in his sick game of control. He felt a twisted thrill at the thought of pushing her further.
James Sliney, the pitiful excuse for a man, was the next target that came to mind. He had always despised the way Amanda treated him—like a disposable tool, a mere extension of her own hand to capture the perfect Instagram-worthy moments.
Jake knew James had feelings for Amanda, but she had always treated him with the kind of disdain reserved for a gum on the bottom of a designer shoe.
With a smug smile, Jake began to draft the email. "Dear Amanda," he typed with a sense of malicious glee, "I hope you're enjoying our little dance. I must admit, I'm quite entertained by the whole spectacle. But now, it's time for another task. I want you to apologize to James tomorrow. In front of everyone at your office. Make it sincere, or I'll have to share some rather...compromising information with the world."
He took a moment to imagine the scene—his mother, the untouchable goddess of the fitness world, groveling before James Sliney. The camera guy. The thought brought him an immense sense of satisfaction. He knew it would cut her to the core, but he couldn't resist the urge to wield his newfound power.
The next morning, Amanda strutted into her office with the grace of a panther. Her 5'9" frame was wrapped in a figure-hugging black pantsuit that screamed authority, her platinum blonde hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail that swung with each purposeful step. The sharp lines of her tailored blazer emphasized her broad shoulders and narrow waist, a stark contrast to the curves that had made her a social media sensation. Her light blue gray eyes were like chips of ice, belying the great anger that now roiled beneath the surface.
Her mind was racing with thoughts of the blackmailer. Who could it be? Someone with enough access to her private life to know her deepest, darkest secrets—someone who knew exactly how to cut her down to size. The email had arrived just as she thought she was off the hook.
Amanda had hoped that her initial payment to the mysterious sender would be the end of it. But as she walked into her gleaming office, she felt the weight of the new demand pressing down upon her sculpted and highly coveted shoulders.
Her employees, a mix of fear and admiration in their eyes, quickly scurried out of her path, whispering behind her back. She was the queen of their world, the sun around which all their orbits revolved. But today, she felt less like a queen and more like a marionette dancing on the strings of a malicious puppet master.
"James," she called out, her voice clipped and cold as she spotted him in the corner. He looked up, his own eyes narrowing slightly at the unusual tone. He knew something was up, but he had no idea just how much his life was about to change.
"Yes, Amanda?" He replied, his voice steady, but his heart racing. He had always had a thing for her, but she had made it clear that she had no interest in men. The way she had looked at him when he had first started working for her, with a mix of pity and disgust, had made sure of that.
Amanda took in James's form with a critical eye. He was average height, with a paunch that suggested a diet of fast food and late nights spent editing her videos. His hair was a greasy mess, and his glasses slid down his nose as he peered up at her. His eyes were a dull brown, and his teeth were slightly yellowed from his coffee addiction. James was the proverbial toad—unwanted, unloved, and utterly unappealing.
The email had flipped their dynamic on its head, and she seethed with every breath she took.
The nerve of that loser shithead to demand she treat James like a human being, let alone apologize to him. But she knew the consequences of her secret getting out. Her empire, built on a foundation of sweat, lies, and manipulation, could crumble in an instant.
Her mind raced, trying to piece together the puzzle of who could be behind this. It had to be someone who knew her well, someone with access to her personal life, someone who hated her enough to do this.
As she approached James, he swallowed hard, his eyes darting nervously around the room. He had always felt like an outsider in her gleaming, white-walled office, surrounded by images of her sculpted body and gleaming awards. But today, something was different. The air was charged with a tension that was palpable, and he could feel it prickling along his skin.
"James," she repeated, her voice a knife blade slicing through the silence. "I need you to assemble everyone in the conference room. Now."
James nodded, his mind racing with questions. What could she possibly want? Was she going to fire someone? Or perhaps announce a new partnership? The speculation was almost too much to bear as he gathered the team.
The conference room was filled with whispers as everyone took their seats, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. Amanda strode in, her heels clicking against the hardwood floor, and James scurried behind her, setting up the projector and nervously fidgeting with the cables.
As the room grew quiet, she took a deep breath, her eyes scanning the faces of her employees. She knew that she had to play this game well. Her heart hammered in her chest, but she couldn't let them see her sweat. "Thank you for coming on such short notice," she began, her voice smooth as silk.
"I've realized that I've been a bit...harsh with James lately. I want to take this opportunity to apologize to him, publicly."
Her words hung in the air like a grenade, waiting to explode. James stared at her, his mouth agape. He had never seen Amanda look so...vulnerable. It was like watching a lion admit to being afraid of a mouse. The room was so still, you could hear the proverbial pin drop.
"I've come to understand that James has feelings for me," she continued, her voice tightening with each syllable. "And while I cannot reciprocate, I recognize that my behavior has been unprofessional and hurtful. I'm sorry for leading you on, James. It was never my intention."
James's face turned beet red, and his eyes darted around the room, searching for a way out of this embarrassing situation. The employees' expressions ranged from shock to amusement, but no one dared to laugh. They knew better than to cross Amanda.
"Thank you, Amanda," James managed to murmur, his voice barely above a whisper. "It's okay."
The employees, stunned by their boss's sudden confession, looked at James with a mix of pity and contempt. He was the punchline to a joke that had gone too far, and they all knew it. The whispers grew louder as they filed out of the conference room, their eyes sliding away from him like oil on a hot pan.
Amanda watched the scene unfold with a smug satisfaction. She had done what the blackmailer demanded. James was the one who would bear the brunt of the gossip and ridicule. The thought of her employees pitying him brought a cold sinister smile to her lips.
But the smile quickly vanished when she saw the look in James's eyes—anger mixed in with a determination she hadn't noticed before. "I think we should have a talk, in private," he said, his voice low and firm.
Amanda seethed. This was not part of the plan she had in mind. She had hoped to maintain control, to keep her distance. But now, she had no choice but to follow him into her office, her heels clicking a staccato beat as she went.
"What is it?" she snapped as she sat down in her leather chair, the picture of poised authority despite the turmoil within. The email had thrown her off balance, and she was eager to regain her footing.
James closed the door to her office behind him, his hand lingering on the handle as he took in the attractive sight of her. "The public apology was nice," he said, his tone filled with a blend of anger and spite. "But now I want one in private, too. Just you and me, Amanda."
Her eyes narrowed, and she leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest. "What do you want from me, James?" she hissed, the fire of her fury barely contained.
"I said I was sorry, get out of my office, I'm busy," she snarled, the words leaving her mouth with the bite of a rattlesnake. The room grew colder with each syllable, and James felt the weight of her disdain pressing down upon him like a lead blanket.
But instead of retreating, James took a step closer to her desk, his eyes blazing with a fire that she had never seen before. "That's not enough, Amanda," he said, his voice low and steady. "You've made my life a living hell since I started working here. I want to see you beg for forgiveness. Get on your knees."
The challenge hung in the air, a silent scream that echoed through the sterile white walls of Amanda's office. She stared at him in disbelief, her eyes narrowing to slits. The very idea that James, the lowly cameraman who had followed her around for years, capturing her every sweat-drenched pose, could demand anything from her was preposterous. But the email, the fucking email, had put her in a corner, and she could feel the walls closing in.
"What the fuck do you mean, get on my knees?" she spat out, her voice a whip crack of anger. The words left a bitter taste in her mouth, a taste she had hoped she would never have to say to any man. But here she was, the almighty Amanda Elise Lee, being ordered around by someone she had always seen as nothing more than slave.
James's eyes didn't waver as he took another step closer. "You heard me," he said, his voice firm and unwavering. "I want you to admit that you're wrong. That you've been just using me."
Amanda felt the blood drain from her face, her heart thumping in her chest. The thought of begging James, of all people, was a blow to her ego that she had never anticipated. But she knew the stakes—if her secret got out, she would lose everything she had worked for. Her reputation, her business, and maybe even her freedom.
"You're fired," she tried again, her voice shaking slightly. "Get the fuck out of my office before I call security." But James just laughed, a deep, rich sound that filled the room and seemed to echo off the walls. It was a laugh that said he had the upper hand, and he was going to enjoy every second of it.
"Something's got you spooked. No idea what—something I could sue over? I’ll find out, eventually. But in the meantime, if you want to improve your chances of not having me as your enemy when that time comes, get on your fucking knees, you bitch," James ordered.
Amanda's rage almost choked her. The very notion of submitting to this... this nobody was absurd. But the fear of exposure was like a vice around her throat, tightening with every breath she took. The room spun, and she felt the cold sweat of desperation begin to bead on her forehead. She was a predator at the mercy of a mouse.
With a snarl, she slammed her hand down on the desk, the sound echoing through the room. "Fine," she spat out. "But this changes nothing. You're still a worthless piece of shit to me, James."
James's eyes gleamed with a mix of triumph and malice as he took another step closer to her. "That's the spirit," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Now, get on your knees."
"Close the fucking blinds," Amanda spat, gesturing at him. The last thing she needed was for anyone else out there to see it.
James obeyed, a smug smile playing on his lips as he pulled the shades down, plunging the office into a dimness that seemed to suit the twisted turn their relationship had just taken. When he turned back to face her, Amanda had already risen from her throne-like chair.
Her face was a mask of fury and disgust, but she lowered herself to her knees with the grace of a seasoned gymnast. The sharp lines of her jaw were tight, and her eyes were like shards of ice that could cut through the very soul of anyone unfortunate enough to meet her gaze. Her body, the envy of millions, remained poised and powerful, even in this position of forced subservience.
James stared down at her, his own eyes drinking in the sight of her perfection. The figure-hugging black pantsuit she wore molded to her like a second skin, showcasing the toned muscles of her thighs and the curve of her ass as she knelt before him. Her platinum blonde hair fell in a sleek ponytail down her back, a stark contrast to the rage in her eyes. The tailored blazer hugged her shoulders, framing her ample bust and the narrow waist that had launched a multi-million dollar fitness career.
"Now, tell me you're sorry," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "Let me hear you admit it."
Amanda's jaw clenched tightly, her teeth grinding together. She took a deep breath, her nostrils flaring with each inhale and exhale. "I'm sorry, James," she said rapidly, the words tasting like acid on her tongue.
James leaned in closer, his breath hot on her face. "Say it like you mean it," he hissed, his hand reaching out to tug at a lock of her hair, forcing her to look up at him. "Beg for my forgiveness, like the pathetic, manipulating whore you are."
"You can't talk to me like that," Amanda snaps. She starts to stand, but he shoved her back down upon the floor. "Oh, but I can," James replied with a smug smile, enjoying the power he now had over her. "Beg," he demanded.
Her eyes narrowed in anger and humiliation, but she knew she had no choice. "I'm sorry, James," she says through gritted teeth, her voice filled with a mix of rage and defeat. "I'm sorry for using you."
James's smile widens, and he released her hair. "Good," he says, his voice a sneer. "Now, let's talk about your future apologies. You're going to be nicer to me from now on, understand?"
Amanda's eyes flash with anger, but she nods stiffly, unable to argue while she's still on her knees. "I think this is enough," she interjects coldly, her voice a whip crack of authority. "We have an understanding now. Don't push your luck, James."
He chuckles, the sound grating on her nerves like nails on a chalkboard. "Oh, but I think we're just getting started, Amanda," he says, his eyes raking over her. "I've got plenty more where that came from."
Her stomach twists into a knot, but she forces herself to stand up, towering over him. Yet, she feels smaller than ever, the power dynamics of their relationship shifting like tectonic plates beneath her feet. She smooths down her blazer, trying to regain some semblance of dignity.
"Now get the fuck out of my office!" she barks, her voice echoing with the authority she had moments ago.
James's smile doesn't fade, though. He knows he's got her in his pocket now. With a dramatic sigh, he turns away from her and heads for the door. "As you wish," he says, his voice dripping with fake deference.
Amanda watches him leave, the rage inside of her growing with each step he takes. She slams her fist on the desk, sending a stack of papers flying. "Fuck!" she screams into the empty room. The door closes with a soft click, and she's left alone with her thoughts.
Jake, the weak and cowardly mastermind behind the blackmail, sat in his room with his heart racing from excitement. He had never felt so powerful. Quickly, he logged onto his computer and checked the latest activity on his mother's Instagram page. The followers were buzzing about the newly posted apology Amanda had shared.
The comments were a mix of shock and confusion. Her usual fans didn’t know what to make of it, while others were already flooding the thread with memes and GIFs of Amanda. It was hilarious watching her in the conference room—her body language a silent scream of rage and humiliation. He had never seen his frost-queen mother, the invincible goddess of fitness, look so… utterly human.
Jake knew that this was just the start of his twisted little game. He had so many more ideas, so much more humiliation. But for now, he decided to let the situation simmer. Jake had his own problems to deal with, namely the looming math test that he was totally unprepared for.
He sighed and turned his attention to his textbook, the pages filled with equations that might as well have been hieroglyphics. He wasn't bad at math, not really. He just didn't apply himself. Video games and the endless scroll of his mother's Instagram had always seemed more fun.
But now, as he stared at the numbers and symbols, he realized that maybe it was time to change that. After all, he couldn't keep blackmailing people if he flunked out of school, right?
Jake took a deep breath and tried to focus on the math problems in front of him, but his mind kept drifting back to Ava, the special education teacher he'd be stuck with tomorrow. He'd always had a thing for female teachers—there was something about the raw power they had over him that made him feel...excited. But the thought of a crusty old bat with saggy tits was definitely not appealing.
The next day, as he slumped into the special education classroom, his heart raced at the sight of Ava. She was nothing like he had imagined. She was young—not quite as young as his mother, but definitely not old—with a body that could give even Sommer a run for her money.
Her breasts were large and firm, stretching the fabric of her tight blouse, and her hips curved like a mountain road leading to heaven. Her hair was a wild mane of black curls that framed a face with full, pouty lips and piercing green eyes that seemed to see right through him.
Ava's thighs, while they didn't quite touch, seemed to have a softness to them that suggested she might enjoy a good meal, and her stomach wasn't entirely flat, but rather, it had the gentle slope of a hill, hinting at the possibility of a little extra flesh to grab onto.
"Hi, Jake right?" she greeted him, her smile so warm it could melt the ice that had formed around his heart. Her voice was like honey—sweet and smooth, with a hint of being a true carefree spirit.
Jake nodded, unable to find his voice as he took his seat. He couldn't believe his luck—his new math teacher was a busty goddess with an ass that could make a grown man weep.
The tiny room was filled with her perfume—something floral and inviting that made him want to bury his face in her neck. A large, sparkling ring on Ava’s finger was a clear signal that she was married. Jake couldn’t help but think to himself, Lucky bastard.
He found himself irritated for reasons he couldn’t quite explain—maybe it was the thought of someone else having her attention, or perhaps it was the nagging feeling that his own life felt like a constant uphill battle. Either way, the ring on her finger seemed to mark an unspoken distance between them, one he could never cross.
"You want some gum?" Ava offered him, holding out a pack from her handbag on the table. "Sure," Jake said, trying to keep his voice steady. The way she looked at him, with those knowing eyes, made him feel like she could see right through his tough exterior to the insecure, overweight kid he was inside.
He took a stick and unwrapped it, popping it into his mouth. The minty freshness was a stark contrast to the foul dryness that had settled in his throat from the nerves. They both chewed in silence for a moment before Ava spoke up. "So, Jake, what do you say we take it easy today, ease into this tutoring gig? Maybe we can just go over what you're struggling with in math and get to know each other a bit."
Her voice was soothing, and she had a way of speaking that made him feel like they were on the same level, despite the complete glaring differences in their social statuses. She was the cool teacher, the kind that everyone talked to outside of class, and he was... well, he was the kid who blackmailed his own mother for a gaming setup.
"Sounds fine," Jake replied shy and quietly. Annoying himself.
Ava's eyes studied him for a moment, her expression a blend of kindness and concern. "You okay, Jake?" she asked, leaning forward slightly. The way she said his name made him feel like it was the most important word she'd ever spoken.
Jake nodded, trying to ignore the heat rising to his cheeks. "Yeah, just... nervous about the test," he lied. The truth was that he was nervous about a lot of things, but none of them were algebra or calculus.
Ava's eyes searched his, and for a second, Jake was afraid she could see through the lie. But she just nodded and pulled out a worksheet. "Okay," she said gently. "Let us start figuring stuff out, nice and slow." Ava pulled her chair closer to his.
As they began to work through what he needed help with, Jake couldn't help but feel a strange sense of comfort. It had been so long since anyone had shown him genuine care and concern, and it was both unsettling and soothing. He found himself glancing up at her from time to time.
"I think we have a solid plan, don't you agree?" Ava asked as they both studied the worksheet, now covered in scribbled notes and outlined lessons. Jake nodded. He did feel good about it.
"Great! Now, let's get it all neat and tidy," Ava said, rising from her chair with a grace that seemed to defy gravity. She crossed the room toward the large printer, her movements fluid and deliberate. Jake's eyes followed her, caught somewhere between admiration and horny distraction. There was something hypnotic about the way she carried herself—calm, confident.
"One copy for me, and one for you," she added beamingly as the printer roared to life, spitting out freshly organized lesson plans.
As Ava approached, Jake couldn't help but admire the gentle sway of her hips, the way they moved in time with the beat of his racing heart. She handed him the warm paper, her fingers brushing against his in a way that sent a jolt of electricity up his arm. He took a deep breath, trying to compose himself.
“Now, before I let you go,” Ava said, her voice soft but steady, “let’s just talk for a minute.” She settled back into her own seat, folding her hands in her lap, her eyes genuinely interested. “Tell me something about yourself, Jake. I want to know who you really are.”
Jake hesitated, something in her tone — maybe the way she said his name, or the pure calm patience behind her words — made him pause. He looked down into the table.
Ava didn’t speak again right away. She let the silence stretch, unafraid, giving him space. When he finally looked up, he found her waiting — not judging, not interrogating. Just listening.