Eliane stood at the podium, her voice steady as she concluded her lecture. The students packed their bags, some discussing the lesson, others already lost in their own worlds. She sighed, stretching her fingers before reaching for her laptop. Just as she was about to shut it, a notification popped up.....an email.
She frowned. It was an anonymous sender.
Curiosity prickled at her as she clicked it open. Her breath hitched.
A video loaded...a dimly lit bar, pulsing music, and in the center of it all, a woman dancing under neon lights, her body moving in sync with the rhythm. Her face, unmistakably, was her own.
Her blood ran cold. Beneath the video, a message stared back at her:
What a noble profession. I wonder what your students and colleagues will think about it. Let's try.
Her hands trembled, fingers hovering over the keyboard before she hastily typed a reply.
Who are you?
The response was immediate.
A ghost from the past.
"Could it be Rafale? No, after resigning, he never even tried to contact me. He was so afraid of his wife that he left the city altogether. Then who could it be? Who….....?" Eliane started sweating.
A chill slithered down her spine. The words clawed at something deep within her. Memories. Guilt. Regret. She tried to steady herself, her mind scrambling for an answer. Who? Who could it be?
Her stomach churned. The cafeteria seemed miles away now. She skipped lunch, staring at her phone, waiting, dreading.
Then another message arrived:
If you want this video deleted, come to this location.
An address. An abandoned house on the outskirts of town.
Her breath came short and shallow. She knew it was dangerous, but what choice did she have?
The night was thick with shadows as Eliane arrived at the desolate house. The wind howled through broken windows, the wooden steps groaning beneath her hesitant steps. Her heart pounded, each beat a desperate plea to turn back.
But she couldn't. Not with her career hanging by a thread.
She pushed the door open. Darkness swallowed her. A faint, flickering light glowed deeper inside. Her fingers brushed against the cold wall as she moved forward, her heels clicking against the wooden floor.
Then, she saw it...a stage. A single pole standing in the center like a ghostly sentinel.
A slow, mocking clap echoed through the silence.
"Amazing, professor. I never thought you could dance like that."
Eliane spun, eyes locking onto a figure standing at the edge of the dimly lit room. A man, face obscured by a mask.
"Who the hell are you?" Her voice came out sharper than she intended, but fear lingered beneath the bravado.
The masked figure stepped forward, his posture relaxed yet menacing. "You don't remember me?"
She swallowed. The voice...it was familiar. Too familiar.
Then it clicked.
"…...Matteo?"
Silence. A heavy silence that confirmed her worst fear.
Matteo chuckled softly, but there was no humor in it. "I knew you'd recognize me."
Eliane forced a smirk, masking her unease. "So this is your revenge? Blackmail? You think this will make you feel better?"
Matteo tilted his head. "Oh, Professor. You still think you have power over me."
Her lips parted to retort, but he cut her off.
"I remember everything," he said, voice calm, almost detached. "Every insult. Every humiliation. Every time you tore me down when I was already broken."
Eliane's jaw clenched. "And what do you plan to do now?"
Matteo's head tilted, as if considering. "Nothing," he said finally. "Because I don't have anyone left to care about me. You can do whatever you want, say whatever you want, and it won't matter."
The weight of his words pressed against her chest. She had used his past trauma before...to keep him beneath her, to remind him of his place. But now, it was different.
Now, he had nothing to lose.
She stepped back, suddenly aware of the vulnerability of her position. Matteo didn't move, but she felt the air shift, felt his presence loom over her even without him taking a step.
Her fingers curled into fists. "If you leak that video, I'll ruin you," she spat, desperation creeping into her voice. "I still have connections. You may think you've crawled out of the gutter, but I can make sure you never see the light of day again."
Matteo let out a soft laugh, tilting his head as if amused. "Oh, sweet Professor. Still so predictable."
She gritted her teeth. "You think you're untouchable?"
He shrugged, taking a slow step closer. "I think you're scared."
"I am not scared of you," she hissed.
Matteo leaned against the pole on the stage, tapping a finger against its cold surface. "Then why are your hands shaking?"
She glanced down instinctively, cursing herself when she saw he was right. Her hands trembled, betraying her facade of control.
"You're pathetic," she shot back. "Holding onto grudges like a child."
Matteo chuckled. "Oh, professor, this isn't about grudges." His voice dipped into something almost playful. "This is about curiosity."
She narrowed her eyes. "Curiosity?"
He took another step closer, voice dropping to a whisper. "I want to know everything about you, professor."
Eliane's breath hitched. There was something deeply unsettling in the way he said it, in the way his masked gaze seemed to pierce through her.
Matteo let the silence stretch between them before adding, with a smirk she could feel even through the mask, "Let's see who breaks first."