The Teacher's Supernova Trap - Chapter 5: Chapter 5
You are reading The Teacher's Supernova Trap, Chapter 5: Chapter 5. Read more chapters of The Teacher's Supernova Trap.
Sophia completely brushed off my question, murmuring more to herself than to me. "I have a video. Care to watch?"
"What video?" I ran a hand through my hair, baffled. Had she figured out I was her former student?
Was this some kind of confrontation?
A link popped up seconds later. I tapped it, eyebrows shooting up when I saw the file size—five freaking gigabytes.
After what felt like an eternity of waiting, the video finally loaded.
The second it played, my stomach dropped.
There we were—every heated, uninhibited moment between Sophia and me in that hotel room.
Six. Hours. Of uncensored footage.
I had zero interest in reliving my "performance." Instead, I fired off a message. "Did the hotel film this? Are they blackmailing you?"
But something wasn't clicking.
If the hotel had secretly recorded us, sending the footage to the victims would be business suicide.
Who had the balls to pull something this brazen?
And the video wasn't blurred—Sophia's privacy was laid bare. How the hell could she show her face after this?
I was already mentally draining my bank account to protect her when her reply came through in that silky, spine-tingling voice.
"Sweetheart, the hotel didn't film this. I did."
She recorded it?
White-hot fury surged through me. Was this some twisted trap?
What was her endgame? Destroy my reputation? Shake me down for cash?
I ran a decent little company. If this got out, my partners would never look at me the same.
I'd be a pariah—forced into hiding like some damn fugitive.
Money? Sure, I had assets, but liquid cash? Barely fifty grand, and that was already spoken for—payroll doesn't pay itself.
The more I thought about it, the more my blood boiled. My high school teacher had played me like a damn fiddle.
Seething, I shot back, "What's your play? Just name your price."
If it was just money, fine. My teenage fantasy had sunk this low—I'd treat it like a transaction.
A woman like Sophia could pull thousands a night at high-end clubs.
But she didn't answer immediately.
The silence ate at me.
Five minutes later, her reply finally came, laced with dark amusement. "You think this is blackmail? If I wanted to ruin you, I wouldn't have sent the entire video."
Not money.
Not extortion.
Then what? Some kind of exhibitionist kink? But people spy on others—not themselves.
What the hell was my gorgeous, scheming teacher really after?
Fed up, I snapped, "Then what do you want?"
Her voice oozed with honeyed temptation. "Simple, darling. I want you as my slave—obedient, devoted, and entirely mine."
"What video?" I ran a hand through my hair, baffled. Had she figured out I was her former student?
Was this some kind of confrontation?
A link popped up seconds later. I tapped it, eyebrows shooting up when I saw the file size—five freaking gigabytes.
After what felt like an eternity of waiting, the video finally loaded.
The second it played, my stomach dropped.
There we were—every heated, uninhibited moment between Sophia and me in that hotel room.
Six. Hours. Of uncensored footage.
I had zero interest in reliving my "performance." Instead, I fired off a message. "Did the hotel film this? Are they blackmailing you?"
But something wasn't clicking.
If the hotel had secretly recorded us, sending the footage to the victims would be business suicide.
Who had the balls to pull something this brazen?
And the video wasn't blurred—Sophia's privacy was laid bare. How the hell could she show her face after this?
I was already mentally draining my bank account to protect her when her reply came through in that silky, spine-tingling voice.
"Sweetheart, the hotel didn't film this. I did."
She recorded it?
White-hot fury surged through me. Was this some twisted trap?
What was her endgame? Destroy my reputation? Shake me down for cash?
I ran a decent little company. If this got out, my partners would never look at me the same.
I'd be a pariah—forced into hiding like some damn fugitive.
Money? Sure, I had assets, but liquid cash? Barely fifty grand, and that was already spoken for—payroll doesn't pay itself.
The more I thought about it, the more my blood boiled. My high school teacher had played me like a damn fiddle.
Seething, I shot back, "What's your play? Just name your price."
If it was just money, fine. My teenage fantasy had sunk this low—I'd treat it like a transaction.
A woman like Sophia could pull thousands a night at high-end clubs.
But she didn't answer immediately.
The silence ate at me.
Five minutes later, her reply finally came, laced with dark amusement. "You think this is blackmail? If I wanted to ruin you, I wouldn't have sent the entire video."
Not money.
Not extortion.
Then what? Some kind of exhibitionist kink? But people spy on others—not themselves.
What the hell was my gorgeous, scheming teacher really after?
Fed up, I snapped, "Then what do you want?"
Her voice oozed with honeyed temptation. "Simple, darling. I want you as my slave—obedient, devoted, and entirely mine."
End of The Teacher's Supernova Trap Chapter 5. Continue reading Chapter 6 or return to The Teacher's Supernova Trap book page.