The atmospheric pressure in the classroom plummeted instantly. The warmth that had just begun to spark between Maya and Mark was snuffed out like a candle in a blizzard.
Maya turned her head back with a start. The long shadow stretching across the polished wooden floor guided her eyes to the man standing at the doorway.
He was a man of exceptional height with a muscular, perfectly balanced build hidden beneath a charcoal grey three-piece suit, hand-tailored to the exact millimeter. The lines of his face looked as though they were carved from a block of granite: a nose high and sharp as a blade, a razor-sharp, angular jawline, and thin lips pressed tight. But what made Maya freeze in her tracks completely was his eyes.
They were deep ash-grey eyes, cold as the night ocean—sharing the exact same shade as Mark’s eyes, but in this man, they held the absolute power and pressure of someone standing at the absolute peak.
Travis’s gaze leisurely swept over the half-peeled apple plate, the meticulously hand-sewn stuffed cotton robots lying on the floor, and then rested on Maya’s face.
He wasn’t surprised or unfamiliar in the least. Over the last few days, reports from his bodyguards and butler had repeatedly mentioned that Mark—a child usually entirely shut off—had started clinging to a newly arrived intern teacher. That was the reason he personally showed up here this afternoon to see it for himself with his own eyes.
Travis took slow, unhurried steps into the room. The sound of high-end leather shoe soles hitting the wooden floor tapped… tapped… relaxed yet heavy. He stopped just two steps away from Maya, a distance so close that his warm, masculine fragrance of sandalwood mixed with heavy cigar smoke immediately enveloped the air around them.
"Miss Maya."
Travis spoke. His voice was low and deep, his tone deliberate, yet resonating with immense charm. He didn’t use authority to intimidate, but opened with the active politeness of a seasoned man of the world:
"These past few days, Mark has come home mentioning a cloth robot, and today he actually ate all his apple portion at school. I came here because I wanted to meet the person who pulled off that miracle in person."
His ash-grey eyes locked directly into Maya’s, remaining calm while carrying unhidden appreciation.
The proximity, paired with the powerful man’s deep gaze, made Maya’s chest tighten involuntarily. Her heart suddenly gave a violent thump, beating wildly in a frenzy that she couldn’t control herself. His masculine sandalwood scent and flawless face created a suffocating pull, making her face flush warm.
Maya suppressed the panic swirling inside her, lightly clenching her hands behind her back, trying to keep her voice perfectly steady:
"Thank you, sir. I only did what a teacher should do. Mark is very smart; he just needs someone willing to be patient and play with him."
The corner of Travis’s lips curved into a fleeting smile—a incredibly graceful smile that carried devastating lethality. He leaned down slightly, shortening the distance between them, his deep, warm voice speaking right next to her ear:
"Your patience is very expensive, Miss Maya. Even top psychologists couldn’t pull that off."
He raised his head, spotting a few tiny, scabbed-over needle pricks on Maya’s slender fingers from hand-sewing toys last night. His ash-grey eyes softened, holding genuine appreciation: "Thank you for sharing that warmth with my son."
His charm, politeness, and the way he paid attention to the smallest details sent Maya’s heart sliding into a powerful flutter. Her heart pounded continuously as if it wanted to jump out of her chest. This man was far too dangerous—every gesture, every word of his could easily dismantle any woman.
Yet within a single second, the ice-cold rationality of a girl who grew up from rock bottom instantly splashed a bucket of cold water over Maya’s heart.
She looked at Travis’s designer suit without a single wrinkle, looked at the luxury watch worth an entire house on his wrist, and then looked back at her own frayed-shoulder clothes and the cheap intern badge on her chest.
What on earth are you daydreaming about, Maya?
A bitter, sober laugh echoed inside her mind. She reminded herself coldly: His thoughtfulness or smile was merely the attitude of a billionaire grateful to someone who helped his son, carrying absolutely zero personal affection. He was a cloud in the sky, while she was just someone struggling day by day to eat, hovering right on the edge of getting fired. Fantasizing about this man would only bring her shame and bitterness.
Maya completely extinguished the flutter that had just sparked, quickly building a polite, professional wall of distance. She proactively took a step back and bowed respectfully:
"It is my responsibility, sir. I was only doing my job."
Travis looked deep into Maya’s eyes. His sharp, ash-grey eyes seemed to read right through her heartbreaking self-awareness and the distance she had just built. He didn’t force it or say anything more; he simply gave a light nod, then leaned down to pick Mark up into his arms.
However, that brief calm was merely the prelude to the real storm breaking out early the following week.
Monday morning, common outdoor playtime in the yard.
Dry autumn sunlight stretched across the lush green grass. Maya was standing nearby assisting and keeping an eye on the little kids playing with building blocks in the wooden bench area. Mark sat not far away, tightly clutching the cotton cloth robot Maya had given him—a toy the little boy treated like a treasure, never letting it go a single step away.
Suddenly, a chubby boy from the Red Sprouts class—the son of a lady who owned a massive real estate conglomerate in the city—charged over. This boy was notoriously aggressive, using his family’s influence to always view himself as the center of the universe.
"Give it here!" The chubby boy jerked his chin up, pointing at the cloth robot in Mark’s hands. "This toy looks weird, I wanna play with it!"
Mark said nothing. He just silently turned away, hugging the robot tighter against his chest, his ash-grey eyes showing clear stubbornness and alertness.
"You mute, you dare ignore me?" The chubby boy snapped, suddenly rushing forward and shoving Mark hard on the shoulder.
Thud!
Mark’s small body was pushed flat onto his back onto the rough stone floor. His tiny hands scraped against the stone ground, leaving red, bleeding scratches. The chubby boy quickly snatched the cloth robot away, holding it up high in triumph.
"Give it back to me!" Mark roared out, tearful anger bursting forth, yet he still determinedly charged forward to demand his thing back. The chubby boy immediately hurled the robot onto the ground, stomping down hard on it with his leather shoe sole, turning the meticulously made cloth toy into a ragged pile covered in dirt and sand.
It all happened too fast. By the time Maya noticed and rushed over, Mark was collapsed on the ground, hands bleeding, while the cloth robot was brutally trampled.
"Stop that right now!" Maya barked sternly. She rushed over, gently pushing the chubby boy aside, and hurriedly knelt down to pull Mark into her arms.
Seeing the child’s bleeding hands and his ash-grey eyes overflowing with tears of indignity, the fire of anger inside Maya flared up violently. She stood up, blocking the way in front of Mark, her sharp glare fixing straight on the aggressive boy:
"Why did you push him down and ruin his toy? Apologize to Mark right this second!"
The chubby boy had never been yelled at by any teacher before. He instantly burst into loud, wailing tears, screaming out opportunistically: "Mommy! The teacher hit me! The teacher took that mute’s side and yelled at me!"
Within just two minutes, the boy’s crying drew a crowd of parents and teachers gathering around. As luck would have it, the chubby boy’s mother—an elegant woman draped in an expensive fur coat, wearing heavy makeup—who had been chatting nearby, came rushing over.
"What is going on here?!" The woman shrieked, wrapping her arms around her son and glaring at Maya with an expression that looked ready to burn her alive. "What kind of stunt are you pulling with my son? How dare a low-class intern like you yell at and threaten my boy?"
"Ma'am, please stay calm," Maya suppressed her anger, keeping her tone as objective as possible. "Your son took the initiative to charge over, push Mark down to the point his hands bled, then snatched and intentionally trampled his toy to pieces. I only requested that he apologize for that violent behavior."
"Apologize? Apologize for what?" The woman curled her lips in mockery, pointing her finger—bearing a massive jade ring—straight at Maya’s face, raising her voice loudly for the entire schoolyard to hear:
"A kid with no known origin, who's mute, whose mother abandoned him when he was little, and he expects my son to apologize? Is he even worth a fraction of my son’s fingernail? What value does that piece-of-trash cloth toy picked from a dumpster even have that you're making a scene over?"
The harsh, cruel insults aimed directly at Mark’s motherless situation rang out publicly in front of dozens of parents and students. Maya felt Mark’s body in her arms tremble violently. The little boy hung his head low, his scraped, bleeding hands clutching Maya’s shirt hem tightly, his ash-grey eyes filled with shame and hatred.
"You have no right to insult a student like that!" Maya was so furious her whole body shook. She stepped forward, shielding Mark completely. "All children here are equal. No matter how much money you have, your son’s actions of hitting another child and destroying property are completely wrong!"
"Equal? You're talking to me about equality?" The woman burst into a disgusting, loud laugh. "I donate hundreds of thousands of dollars to this school every single year! And what are you? A dirt-poor intern! All it takes is one phone call from me to make you disappear from this city and lose your degree for good! Let's see what you use to demand 'equality' then!"
The commotion quickly drew Principal Evans and Miss Beatrice over.
Mrs. Evans walked up with an ice-cold face, her eyes pinned onto Maya as if looking at a criminal who had just caused a catastrophe. Without asking for the cause, without looking at the bleeding wounds on Mark’s hands, Mrs. Evans immediately bowed low before the woman in the fur coat:
"We are so sorry, ma'am! This is a severe management failure on the part of our intern. Please lower your anger!"
Turning to Maya, Mrs. Evans’s gaze turned ruthlessly absolute:
"Miss Maya! Kneel down and apologize to the lady and her young son right this second!"
"Principal Evans, I am not in the wrong!" Maya clenched her fists, raising her head high, her voice trembling with indignity yet refusing to back down. "Mark is the victim here! He was pushed down, his hands scraped, and his toy destroyed. The one who needs to apologize is this lady’s son!"
Slap!
A piercing noise rang out. Miss Beatrice charged over, ripped the name badge right off Maya’s chest, and barked:
"Shut your mouth right now! Do you have any idea who this lady is? You are just an intern who can be replaced in five minutes! If you don't apologize right now, not only will you be fired immediately, but the school will send your black mark file to every single school in the city, making sure you can never be a teacher again!"
A black mark file. Never being able to teach again.
The ruthless threat plunged like an icy blade straight into the back of Maya’s neck.
Everything around them seemed to grind to a halt. Maya stood frozen under the harsh autumn sun. The wealthy woman’s mocking laughter, Miss Beatrice’s contemptuous glare, Principal Evans’s cold cruelty, and the pitch-black horizon of her own future... it all felt like mountains crushing down on the shoulders of a twenty-three-year-old girl with no background and no money.
She had nothing in her hands. No family backing, no money to pay damages, no one to stand up and protect her. If she got blacklisted, her lifelong dream would shatter completely. She would fall right back to square one, living a squalid life back in the slums, unable to pay rent, unable to survive.
This world was never fair to begin with. Money and power could crush the truth and strangle a person's dignity in the blink of an eye.
Maya’s entire body trembled uncontrollably. Her fingers clenched so hard her nails dug deep into her flesh, bleeding painfully. The indignation surging in her chest choked her up, but bitter rationality dragged her back to reality: She had to survive. She had to endure it.
Maya slowly, inch by inch, lowered her head.
Her back bent under the countless judging, contemptuous glares of the elite crowd. Tears of humiliation fell, soaking into the stone floor beneath her feet.
"I... I apologize, ma'am. It's... it's my fault," Maya’s voice trembled, breaking apart, every single word escaping as if ripping away pieces of her self-respect.
The woman in the fur coat tossed her chin up, letting out a sneering snort full of disgust: "Remember this lesson, servant girl."
Standing right beside her, Mark silently observed the entire scene.
The five-year-old child wasn't crying anymore. His bleeding hands went limp, letting go of Maya’s shirt hem. He looked at the teacher who had just patted his head, who had just brought him a smile, now bowing her head in humiliation just to protect him.
Mark’s gaze shifted. The innocent brightness of a child vanished instantly, replaced by a terrifyingly deep, cold, vengeful maturity—a glare that looked identical to his powerful father’s whenever he faced his enemies.
The five-year-old child understood that in this world, being weak and poor was a crime. And he, at all costs, had to grow up.
