My Taboo Harem!-Chapter 291: Her Challenge

The question came out lower than she’d intended. More intimate.

Phei let the silence stretch. Let her feel the weight of it.

"Right now?" he said finally. "I want you to go back to calling me Phei."

She blinked. "That’s... that’s it?"

"For now."

"For now." She repeated it like she was testing for hidden meanings. "What about later?"

"Later is later. Right now is right now."

"That’s very philosophical."

"I contain multitudes."

"You contain something. I’m not sure it’s multitudes."

"Harsh but fair."

The night had shifted while they talked.

The empty school settled around them, quiet except for distant footsteps and the occasional door closing somewhere far away.

Patricia stood to adjust the blinds. A normal movement. Practical.

But it brought her closer to him. Close enough that he caught her scent again—

She paused.

Turned her head slightly.

And he knew—knew—she was smelling him too. That masculine warmth that made women forget what they were saying. The subtle wrongness of finding a student attractive and the even more troubling realization that she didn’t want to step away.

"The blinds," she said, voice slightly unsteady. "The light was in my eyes."

"Of course."

"It’s very bright this time of the day."

"Blinding, almost."

"Yes." She wasn’t moving. "Blinding."

"Ms. Bloom?"

"Yes?"

"The blinds are behind you."

She blinked. Looked. Realized she’d walked toward him instead of toward the windows.

"I knew that," she said.

"Of course you did."

"I was just—"

"Getting a closer look at the problem?"

"The blinds are the problem."

"If you say so."

She finally moved—toward the actual windows this time—and adjusted the blinds with hands that weren’t quite steady.

"Can I ask you something serious?"

Her voice had changed. Heavier now. The playfulness draining away.

"Ask."

"Marcus Heavenchild. His family." She met his eyes. "You know what they’re capable of. What they’ve done to people who crossed them. Standing up against one of the most powerful families in the country—one of the most known teenagers in the world—aren’t you worried?"

Phei shrugged. "I told you... someone had to."

"That’s not an answer."

"It’s the only one I have."

She studied him. Looking for cracks. Looking for the fear that should be there and wasn’t.

"It’s bravado," she said finally. "Has to be. You’re seventeen. You think you’re invincible. You’ll stand up to the prince and walk away because that’s what happens in stories."

"Is it?"

"Usually."

"What about you?"

She stilled. "What about me?"

"Two years ago. Teachers’ administration building." His voice was soft. Almost gentle. "Marcus cornered you about his grades. Tried to intimidate you into changing them. You told him to go fuck himself."

Patricia’s face went pale. "How do you know about that?"

"I was there."

"What?"

"Delivering paperwork. Office aide duty." He smiled, but there was no warmth in it. "You didn’t see me. Nobody ever did. But I saw you. Saw him back you against a wall. Saw you shove him away and tell him exactly what you thought of his family’s money and influence."

She was staring at him like she’d never seen him before.

"You walked away," Phei said. "From a Heavenchild. From everything they could do to you. Why?"

Silence.

Then, quietly: "Someone had to."

The echo of his own words hung between them.

"So, you understand," he said.

"I understand you’re playing with fire."

"Maybe I like the heat."

"Maybe the heat will kill you."

"Maybe." He shrugged. "But what a way to go."

She studied him. Looking for something.

"That’s not reckless," she said finally. "That’s dangerous."

"Is there a difference?"

"Yes." Her voice dropped. "Reckless gets you hurt. Dangerous gets everyone else hurt."

"And which one am I?"

"I haven’t decided yet."

The next question came without warning.

"Is it about Selene?"

Phei went still.

The stillness of something dangerous recognizing a threat.

"What?"

"Everyone else sees the challenge and thinks it’s about pride. About proving yourself." Patricia’s voice was careful now. Gentle. "But I was here before while you were invisible. I remember who you used to be. I remember a girl named Selene who used to sit with you at lunch. Who used to make you laugh." She paused. "And I remember when she died."

The room had gone cold.

"Marcus was involved," she continued softly. "Wasn’t he? Not publicly. Nothing anyone could prove. But you know. And this challenge... it’s not about basketball at all."

Phei said nothing.

His eyes had changed—something dark swimming in them, something that made Patricia want to step back even as she leaned closer.

"He’s going to regret being born."

The words came out flat. Empty. The voice of someone stating a simple fact about the weather.

It will rain tomorrow. The sky is blue. Marcus Heavenchild will suffer.

Patricia should have been horrified.

Instead, she just looked at him—this boy who wasn’t a boy anymore—and felt something she couldn’t name settling in her chest.

Neither of them spoke about Selene again.

Some agreements didn’t need words.

"You’re different than I expected."

Patricia’s voice broke the silence that had settled between them. Not uncomfortable. Just... heavy with things neither of them would say.

"How so?"

"I thought you’d be arrogant. Cocky." She tilted her head. "You’ve changed so much—the looks, the confidence, the way every girl in school watches you now. Most boys would be insufferable."

"Most boys aren’t me."

"See, that’s what I mean. That should sound arrogant. But the way you say it..." She shook her head. "It just sounds true."

"Maybe because it is."

"And maybe you’re full of it."

"Also possible."

"Can I ask you something serious?"

"That depends on what it is."

"You." He held her gaze. "All this passion. All this fire. The teacher who stands up to Heavenchilds and stays late for students who don’t deserve it. Where does it go?"

"I don’t understand the question."

"At the end of the day. When the school empties out and you drive home to—what? An apartment? A house?" He paused. "Someone waiting for you?"

"That’s none of your business."

"No," he agreed. "It’s not."

But he didn’t look away.

And she didn’t tell him to stop.

"Nowhere," she said finally. "It goes nowhere. I go home. I grade papers. I sleep. I come back. Repeat until summer."

"That sounds lonely."

"It’s efficient."

"Those aren’t mutually exclusive."

"No," she admitted quietly. "They’re not."

She laughed—but it was hollow. "You’re seventeen. What do you know about loneliness?"

"More than you’d think."

Something passed between them. Recognition. Understanding.

Two people who knew what it meant to be surrounded by others and still feel completely alone.

"I should go," Phei said.

He stood. Moved toward her desk to collect the papers she’d given him.

Their hands brushed as he reached for them.

Neither pulled away.

"The tutoring sessions," she said, voice slightly rough. "Tuesdays and Thursdays."

"Four o’clock."

"Don’t be late."

"I wouldn’t dream of it."

He turned toward the door.

"Phei."

He stopped. Looked back.

Patricia was standing now, something warring in her expression—the teacher, the woman, the lonely creature underneath both. Her hands gripped the edge of her desk a little too tightly.

"All this talk about standing up to Marcus. About making people regret things." She crossed her arms. "It’s very impressive. Very brave. But there’s a limit to what a changed boy can accomplish just because he’s learned to walk with confidence."

"Is there?"

"Yes." Her chin lifted. "Some things can’t be fixed with charm and determination. Some streams have been dry too long. Their riverbeds are cracked. Parched. Even if rain came, they wouldn’t remember how to hold water."

The metaphor hung between them.

Obvious.

Dangerous.

Phei turned fully. Faced her.

"You’d be surprised," he said slowly, "what the right touch can bring back to life. Even riverbeds that have been empty for years. Even streams that have forgotten what it feels like to flow."

Her breath caught. He’d changed her meaningful metaphor into a flirty one and it was working very well in her dry empty stream between her legs.

"That’s—" She steadied herself. Rebuilt her walls. Played along. "That’s very poetic. But poetry doesn’t fill dried wells. Pretty words don’t make water appear."

"No?"

"No." She held his gaze—not backing down, not surrendering, challenging him. "These streams you’re talking about—they’ve been starving for a long time. Their hunger isn’t gentle. It isn’t patient. It’s endless. Insatiable. The kind of thirst that would drain a river dry and still want more."

She stepped closer. One step. Deliberate.

"Can you really handle that kind of need? That kind of hunger?" Her voice dropped. "Or is this just a boy playing at being a man? Talking big because he’s learned a few tricks and thinks that makes him special?"

The challenge crackled between them like lightning looking for ground.

Phei smiled.

Slow. Dangerous. The smile of someone who’d just been handed exactly what he wanted.

He moved toward her. One step. Two. Close enough that she could smell him—that dark, warm scent that had been haunting her all afternoon. Close enough that if either of them leaned forward—

Patricia didn’t step back.

Didn’t breathe.

Just looked up at him with eyes that had gone dark and hungry and terrified of what she’d just invited.

The silence stretched. Electric. Full of things that couldn’t be unsaid.

"Prove it," she whispered.

And waited.