After the humiliating ordeal on the schoolyard, the bond between Maya and Mark was not severed; on the contrary, it grew remarkably deep.
In the five-year-old child's eyes, Maya was not only the sole person who patiently made toys for him, but she was also the only one willing to stand up, shield him, and take the blows on his behalf against the cruelty of the adult world. The resentment and humiliation Maya had endured that day seemed to completely shatter the final wall of ice in Mark's heart.
Mark became extremely close to Maya. While toward Teacher Beatrice, Principal Evans, or even the close housekeeper at home, Mark maintained a sullen, mute, and cold demeanor, the moment he was alone with Maya, the young boy transformed into a completely different person.
He began talking more. Though his voice remained slightly raspy, with each word and sentence coming out broken and hesitant, Mark was willing to proactively share. He liked sitting close to Maya on the wooden floor, tinkering with the snap buttons on the fabric robot while quietly whispering and chatting with her.
One quiet autumn afternoon, as the children in the class had moved to the talent room, Maya sat beside Mark, meticulously resewing a loose button on his shirt. Recalling the image of the authoritative man with deep ash-gray eyes who had appeared at the classroom door days ago, an involuntary curiosity surged in Maya's heart. She tilted her head, skillfully guiding the needle while softly asking:
"Mark... does your dad often play with robots with you at home?"
Mark's small hands, which were busy with the car joint, paused. The boy lowered his head, blinking his long eyelashes to hide his gloomy, ash-gray eyes. He shook his head lightly.
"Dad... is very busy," Mark whispered, his voice tiny as wind passing through leaf gaps. "Dad is always in meetings... meetings abroad, meetings on the phone. Home is very big... but there is only me and the housekeeper."
Maya paused her needle, her heart tightening slightly. She looked at the child's stubborn yet lonely forehead, gently asking further: "Then... what about your mom?"
Mark raised his head to look at Maya, his ash-gray eyes pure yet painfully hollow. He shook his head casually—the bitter casualness of a child who was far too used to absence:
"I do not have a mom. Dad said I do not need a mom. But... everyone in class has a mom to pick them up. I only have myself."
That light shake of his head and Mark's naive sentence were like a blade lightly slicing into Maya's heart. She—a child raised in a social shelter, who had never once known the faces of her parents and had spent countless cold nights wishing for a holding arm—understood all too well the gnawing pain of lacking a mother's love.
Mark lived in luxury, dressed in expensive designer clothes, but in essence, this child was just as lonely and starved of affection as she had been in the past. Deep empathy surged fiercely inside Maya. From that day on, she gave Mark far more attention. She not only prepared fresh fruit plates cut into cute shapes, but every afternoon she also patiently sat beside him, listening to his fragmented stories about motor models, meticulously soothing the small scratches on his tiny hands.
A few days later, a sudden autumn downpour poured over the city of San Francisco.
Torrential rain turned the vast courtyard of St. Jude completely white. Dark clouds covered the sky, and heavy raindrops battered continuously against the Gothic arched glass windows, making harsh rustling sounds. Lightning flashed across the sky occasionally, expressing nature's frenzy.
It was past five o'clock in the afternoon. The children in the Purple Sprout class had all been picked up by luxury cars and parents. Inside the large classroom bathed in warm yellow light, only Mark remained sitting on the rug assembling building blocks, alongside Maya, who was working away wiping down the tables and chairs.
Click.
The heavy wooden door of the classroom opened abruptly.
A draft of cold air mixed with the stale scent of rain flooded into the room from the hallway. Maya turned her head in surprise.
Travis stood there.
The man appeared in the rainy afternoon like a god stepping out of classical paintings. He was not wearing his suit jacket, wearing only a gray vest over a white dress shirt rolled up to his elbows, his tie loosened and pushed to one side. His dark brown hair was slightly damp from a few raindrops, several strands falling across his broad forehead, softening his usual aloofness while increasing his breathtaking charm, ruggedness, and masculinity tenfold.
He was tall and imposingly handsome, emanating a natural authority that made the surrounding space seem to shrink.
"Dad!" Mark let out a small cheer, his eyes brightening upon seeing his perpetually busy father appear.
Travis looked at his son, the corners of his lips relaxing into a rare smile. He took long strides into the room, the heels of his leather shoes touching the wooden floor with an unhurried rhythm. He bent down to pat Mark's head in an extremely attentive gesture, then slowly straightened up, turning his ash-gray gaze toward Maya.
"Miss Maya."
Travis spoke. His voice was deep and warm, heavy with the scent of cigars and sandalwood, sounding above the rhythmic rain falling outside the window pane. The distance between them was very close. Maya involuntarily held her breath, her chest thumping violently when meeting his eyes, which were deep as a night ocean.
"Hello, Mr. Travis," Maya tried to keep her voice steady, her hands clasped in front of her stomach. "The rain is so heavy; did you come to pick up Mark?"
"Yes, I just finished a meeting nearby," Travis looked at her. The man's ash-gray gaze did not hurry to shift away, staying on Maya's face longer than necessary.
He saw the slightly frayed seam of her shirt, saw her resilient gaze that held deep fatigue after a long workday, and especially the thoughtful care she gave to his son.
Pulling a luxurious dark green velvet box from his pocket, Travis took a step forward. The shortened distance allowed Maya to clearly feel the warmth and masculine scent emanating from his body. That intense pressure generated an invisible spark of electricity piercing through the air, making Maya's face suddenly burn warm, her heart beating in chaotic frenzy.
"Thank you for staying by Mark's side and defending him during the recent incident," Travis spoke in a low voice, extending the velvet box toward her. "This is a small gift from me to you; please accept it, as it comes from my family's sincere intentions."
Maya was startled, stepping back in confusion while waving her hands in refusal: "Mr. Travis, this... is really not necessary. I was only doing my job properly."
"This is not a gift for your job," Travis interrupted, his tone measured yet holding an unrefusable firmness. His gaze shifted down to her slightly trembling hands, continuing in a voice that softened astonishingly: "I heard from the housekeeper about what happened on the schoolyard the other day. Thank you for standing up to protect Mark, and... I am deeply sorry that you had to endure those unreasonable things."
His words ran like an electric current down Maya's spine.
A man standing at the peak of power, holding the destiny of countless conglomerates, was standing before her—a dirt-poor intern teacher—to offer sincere thanks and apologies because she had suffered humiliation for his son. The respect and understanding hidden behind Travis's every word completely dismantled the defensive wall in Maya's heart. Confusion surged, leaving her not knowing where to hide her hesitant hands.
"I... I am truly fine. Mark did nothing wrong, so protecting him was only natural," Maya hesitated, her eyes involuntarily colliding with his, creating a sweet yet dangerous tremor.
Travis looked at Maya's genuinely confused expression, the corners of his lips curling into an elegant smile. He no longer forced her to accept the expensive velvet box, leisurely placing it on the desk beside them.
"Mark likes you very much," Travis unclasped his expensive watch from his wrist, unhurriedly adjusting his shirt cuff as he continued casually. "Recently, he has made great progress, talking much more. I want to understand more about his psychological state and routine at school. If you do not mind, we can exchange information directly."
Saying that, he pulled out a shiny chrome-plated phone, displaying his personal QR code interface toward Maya.
"Shall we add contact information?"
Looking at the expensive phone presented before her, and then looking at Travis's ash-gray eyes waiting patiently, Maya swallowed. This time, she relaxed. His sincerity and courtesy meant she was no longer as awkward or guarded as before. She opened up significantly, nodding with a smile:
"Yes, that would be good. If there are any issues regarding Mark at school, I will text and inform you immediately."
Maya pulled out her old cell phone, scanning the connection code. A small beep sounded, completing the addition of the contact number and messaging app of the most powerful man in the city into the contact list of a poor intern girl.
Travis tucked his phone into his pocket, bending down to lift Mark into his arms. The young boy obediently wrapped his arms around his father's neck, but his eyes still turned back to wave goodbye to Maya: "Miss Maya... goodbye."
"Goodbye, Mark. See you tomorrow," Maya waved back gently.
Travis nodded in farewell, his deep voice sounding one last time before stepping out the room door: "Goodbye, Miss Maya. Travel carefully in the storm."
His tall silhouette vanished behind the wooden door, leaving Maya standing alone inside the warm classroom. She stood dazed, looking at the velvet box on the table, and then at her phone screen, where a new contact had just appeared: Travis. Her heart could not return to its normal rhythm, continuously aching from the flutter she had just experienced.
A few days later, an unexpected event occurred at St. Jude that set both teachers and parents whispering and gossiping.
The chubby boy from the Red Sprout class—the child who had pushed Mark down and whose mother in the fur coat had insulted Maya days before—abruptly went through school transfer procedures.
It happened swiftly and quietly. No grand announcements, no farewell party. The boy's entire file was completely withdrawn from St. Jude within a single morning. The snobbish lady who owned the huge jade ring did not appear at all; rumor had it that her family had just encountered several severe "procedural incidents" in their real estate business.
Maya stood in the hallway, listening to Teacher Beatrice grumbling furiously about losing a major source of donations for the school.
Hearing the loud chatter around her, Maya merely let out a soft, bitter smile and leisurely returned to her class. Her thoughts were simple and naive. She believed that the wealthy mother, out of sheer hatred for the presence of an "inferior" intern teacher like her, and finding the incident that day eyesore-inducing, had decided to transfer her child to another aristocratic school to avoid being "soiled."
Maya was completely unaware that in a skyscraper in the city's financial center, lying on Travis's desk was a file of bankruptcy and business license revocation for that real estate conglomerate—a cold and ruthless price that the man had silently demanded back for his son's harm and the young teacher's humiliated tears.
