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No way. It's just nerves. I shook off the thought, my face burning. "I'm fine. Thank you, Mr. Sokolov."

He held my gaze a second longer, and I swore there was a flicker of something—recognition? Amusement?—before he nodded, all business again. "This is Anya's teacher," Mr. Willson jumped in, sensing the awkward silence. "Cassie Monroe."

I forced a smile, trying to look professional despite my racing pulse. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Sokolov. Anya's a great kid."

"Cassie," he said, like he was tasting the name. "Anya mentions you often." His tone was neutral, but his eyes… they were doing something to me I couldn't explain.

Then he turned away, letting the principal ramble on about the school. I slunk to the back of the group, grateful to blend into the background as the tour kicked off.

We trailed after Gennady like a flock of nervous ducks, Mr. Willson droning on about the school's "state-of-the-art facilities" while the other teachers scrambled to kiss up. I stayed quiet, sticking to the rear, trying to shake the weird feeling in my gut.

We reached the kids' activity room, all bright colors and tiny tables. "This is where the children spend most of their day," Mr. Willson said. "Painting, games, naps…"

Gennady's eyes scanned the room, lingering on the wall covered in kids' drawings. His expression softened, just a fraction. Probably thinking of Anya.

"Who manages this area?" he asked, voice calm but commanding.

The principal pointed at me. "That would be Cassie."

Great. Every eye in the room turned to me. My face heated up, but I swallowed hard and stepped forward. "Mr. Sokolov, this is the main activity space for the kids. We do all sorts of stuff—art, music, storytime, free play. It's about keeping things fun while they learn to socialize."

Talking about work calmed my nerves a bit. My eyes drifted to Anya's drawing on the wall—a blue bunny with crescent-moon ears. I smiled, warmth creeping into my voice. "Anya loves that corner over there," I said, pointing to a cozy spot by the window. "She'll sit there with her beat-up old bunny plush, just drawing her heart out. She's got a real spark, you know? Super focused when she's got a pencil in her hand."

I walked over to the wall, stopping at her painting. "This is hers. She told me it's a bunny that lives on the moon, and those ears are for 'hooking' it. Bold colors, but it's so creative. She was so proud when she finished it—insisted we hang it front and center." I smoothed out a curled corner of the paper, smiling to myself. For a second, I forgot the intimidating billionaire standing a few feet away, lost in the memory of Anya's shy little grin.

Then I felt it. His eyes on me.

I looked up, and Gennady was staring. Not at the painting—at me. Silent. Intense. The kind of stare that made your skin prickle and your breath catch. The principal was sweating again, and the other teachers were holding their breath.

Did I say too much? Sound too casual? Oh God, do I look like an idiot?

Finally, he spoke. "Good work." Flat, no emotion, but those two words felt like a lifeline.

I mumbled a "Thank you, Mr. Sokolov" and retreated to the back of the group, legs wobbly. Get it together, Cassie.

Then my phone buzzed.

I glanced down, and my heart stopped. A new message. From G.

Oh my God, finally. But this was not the time. I tried to focus as Mr. Willson moved the group to the next area, but my phone buzzed again. And again. He's spamming me.

Curiosity won. While everyone was distracted, I snuck a peek, hiding the screen behind my hip.

G: You wearing panties today, rose?

My face went nuclear. In the middle of this buttoned-up school tour, this was what he sent? My heart was racing, a mix of embarrassment and… something else. I checked around—nobody was looking—and scrolled to the next message.

G: Bet you're all flustered now. Face red yet?

How the hell did he know? I swallowed hard, my hands shaky as I read on.

G: Picture me behind you, hands on your waist. Feel that?

My breath hitched. The room felt too small, the air too thick. His words were like a match to gasoline, and I was burning up.

G: Spread your legs a little. Feel how wet you're getting for me.

A rush of heat pooled low in my belly. I clamped my thighs together, trying to stay composed, but my body was betraying me. The phone was practically shaking in my hands.