Chapter 3 Billionaire Heir, Classroom Rules

YARA

“Quiet down and take your seats before the bell finishes ringing,” I commanded, dropping my leather bag on the desk and opening the plastic attendance binder.

My voice carried across the room, but the instruction was unnecessary. The wealthy legacy teenagers who usually spent the first ten minutes gossiping, shouting, and showing off their expensive jewelry sat in suffocating silence.

Their faces were pale, and a few students in the front row kept glancing nervously toward the back corner, their fingers twitching against their tablets.

I smoothed the front of my gray trousers, forcing myself to stand straight despite the exhaustion weighing on my muscles.

My mind was still on last night. Between the flatbed tow truck, my dead phone, and the five-hundred-thousand-dollar debt, I had barely slept. I expected to feel afraid walking into class, but the moment I looked up, my pulse kicked.

Rames sat in the last seat by the window, his long legs stretched beneath the desk. His dark jacket was unbuttoned, completely disregarding the uniform dress code. With his chin resting in his palm, he watched me, his silver ring catching the morning light.

His dark eyes met mine, and his lips twisted into that familiar smirk that made my blood boil.

I refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing me panic in front of thirty teenagers already searching for a weakness to exploit.

“We will begin with the roll call,” I announced, keeping my tone perfectly flat and professional as I looked down at the attendance sheet. “Answer when you hear your name.”

My fingers tightened around the paper as I began reading the surnames that practically owned the city.

“Harper Vance,” I called out.

“Here,” a girl in the second row squeaked, her voice trembling slightly as she kept her eyes glued to her desk.

“Gabriel Smith,” I continued, shifting my gaze briefly to the boy I had humbled just yesterday.

Gabriel wore a scowl, his shoulders tense as he mumbled his response. “Here, Ms. Jenkins.” He avoided my eyes, his usual rich-kid confidence nowhere to be found. I couldn't help feeling satisfied.

I read through eighteen more names, maintaining my steady tone. With every passing second, the atmosphere grew colder. The students seemed terrified of Rames, shifting their chairs away from him as though he were a predator.

They knew exactly who he was, even if I was only beginning to understand the weight of his identity.

Finally, my eyes reached the last line of the attendance sheet. “Rames Taranis,” I read aloud.

“Present, teacher,” Rames murmured from the back row. His deep voice cut through the silence, causing two girls in the middle row to blush. He straightened in his chair, his gaze following me as I snapped the binder shut.

“Thank you,” I responded, completely ignoring the intense weight of his stare. I stepped around the desk, grabbed a piece of chalk, and turned toward the board. “Open your textbooks to page forty-two. Today we are analyzing the underlying themes of power and accountability in classical literature.”

For the next forty-five minutes, I delivered a lecture on divine rights and cosmic accountability.

Rames never took his eyes off me. He didn't write a single note or even open his book. He simply watched as I moved between the desks, silently challenging my professional composure.

When the final bell rang, the relief in the classroom was almost comical.

The students immediately gathered their belongings, shoving books into their bags before rushing out with their friends. Within thirty seconds, the classroom was empty.

Except for the back row.

I remained behind my desk, stacking my textbooks and sliding the attendance sheet into my drawer. I deliberately avoided looking up, taking my time with the paperwork to show him that his presence changed nothing.

Slow footsteps echoed across the floorboards before stopping in front of my desk. An imposing shadow fell over my paperwork, blocking the window light.

Rames leaned forward, placing his palms flat on my papers. His silver ring clicked against the wood, and the scent of his cologne filled the space between us.

“Did you really think a legal installment plan would be enough to keep me out of your sight, Ms. Jenkins?” Rames whispered, his voice dangerously low as his dark eyes locked onto my face, waiting for me to break.

I looked up to meet his intense gaze. “I see you're a student here Mr Taranis, I wasn't expecting that.” He pulled back slightly and chuckled softly.

“What? Thought I was older?” He asked, I smiled at him shaking my head.

“No, I'm just relieved. I thought that kind of logic from a matured man would be deeply concerning, but from you, it's just immaturity.” His smile vanished, his expression twisting. My words had struck a nerve, and he seemed unable to find an immediate response. Before he could speak, I beat him to it.

“Mr. Taranis. If you have a question about literature, ask it now. Otherwise, your next class has already started.”

Rames let out a low, rough chuckle, his fingers tightening against the edges of my desk as he leaned in even closer, his sharp features casting a dark shadow over my hands.

"You really are something else, Yara. Most people would run for the hills, if I even stood near them like this. But you?.” he chuckled, probably in his disbelief as he looked away.

“That is because I see a student who needs to learn boundaries,” I retorted, my voice dropping to a sharp whisper as I stood up to match his height.

"Your family's billions might buy you compliance outside that door, but inside this room, you are just another student and except you want me to write an harassment report to the principal you'd better leave”

Rames didn't move his hands. Instead, his eyes darkened with a sudden, predatory gleam that made my heart flip suddenly.

He tilted his head, his face inches from mine as he murmured, “Go ahead and write the report, Ms. Jenkins. Let’s see what happens when the principal finds out what the new teacher was doing with a billionaire heir on a dark road last night.”