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“Headmaster,” Alek says, “I wish to know why Miss Baker is facing disciplinary action instead of Miss Friedrich? I’ve brought her here so we can sort out this misunderstanding.”
“Misunderstanding?” he repeats. “Miss Baker is clearly participating in a pornographic video. That goes against our student code of conduct.”
“Miss Baker did not consent to being filmed, nor did she consent to this video being distributed on the internet. She is only seventeen, which constitutes a minor both here in Andarusia and the United States. This video is not only revenge porn, but it is also child pornography. Miss Baker is a victim in all this.”
Headmaster Popov’s jaw drops, though I think my face matches his right now. I glance between Alek and the headmaster, and the power dynamic is quite clear.
“Which means,” Alek continues, “Miss Friedrich participated in the unlawful distribution of child pornography. And Miss Friedrich is eighteen, making her an adult. Isn’t that right, Johanna?”
My eyes rake over Johanna, whose long, blonde hair is gone. Instead, it’s styled into a choppy pixie cut, no longer able to hide behind her locks as she shifts from foot to foot. She’s on the verge of tears, and she gives Alek a single nod.
“We’re going to need a verbal admission of guilt, Johanna,” Alek says.
“Y-Yes,” she says, her voice trembling. “I did that.”
Alek claps his hands together. “There you have it, Headmaster. I’ll leave Miss Friedrich’s course of punishment to you, though I imagine the Bakers may also wish to press charges against her. Shall I escort Miss Baker and her father out?”
“Now, hold on a minute,” he answers, wiping a bead of sweat from his wrinkled forehead. “Let me digest this.”
Alek narrows his gaze. “What is there to digest?”
Headmaster Popov flinches, shrinking back into his chair. If I wasn’t so stunned, I’d laugh at the way Alek is cowing an adult three times his age into submission.
“Miss Friedrich, Miss Baker—you both are suspended for the rest of the day while I review Mr. Kurochkin’s, ah, evidence. I will figure out appropriate punishments later. Now, everyone out of my office!”
Mrs. Albrecht huffs her annoyance from the doorway, then marches to her desk. Johanna scurries behind her.
“Thank you for your time,” my dad says. He stands, buttons his suit, and heads for the door. I follow, with Alek close behind, and I shudder when his hand slips under my skirt.
His body blocks my ass from Headmaster Popov’s view, and my dad is completely oblivious as we walk out of the office. Alek’s finger glides along my bare slit, making me suck in a sharp breath.
At the sound, my dad turns to look at me with a quizzical look, but Alek has already withdrawn his touch.
When we step into the hall, my dad comes to a stop and turns to face us.
“Thank you for what you did for my daughter,” he says. He extends his hand to shake Alek’s, who accepts it with what I’m certain is the same hand he just touched me with.
“Of course, Ambassador. Willow is a dear friend of mine.” Alek throws his arm around my shoulder.
“Is that so?” He looks between Alek and me in surprise, but the faintest hint of pride flashes across his face. “Well, she’s lucky to have you looking out for her.”
“And rest assured,” Alek says, “I’m working on having the video taken down as soon as possible.”
My father stiffens, but he gives him a tight smile. “That is generous. How much do I owe you?”
Alek shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it. It’s my pleasure.”
He stares at Alek’s arm wrapped around my shoulders, his eyebrows knitting together. “I owe you a debt of gratitude. If you’ll excuse us, I have to take Willow home now.”
I slip out of Alek’s embrace and follow my dad toward the staircase. Throwing one last glance over my shoulder, I see him leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets. His molten gaze rakes over my body, and when our eyes meet, desire stirs deep in my core.
“Willow, let’s go,” my dad calls from halfway down the stairs.
I remain fixed on Alek’s tall figure. “I’m coming.”
The car ride on the way home is tense, though the dynamic is different. My father isn’t glued to his phone for once; instead, he’s lost in thought. Like The Thinker, he has his chin resting on his fist, and his elbow is propped on the door console. His unfocused gaze is on the window, looking at the streets of Olininburg without really seeing them.
When Ivan pulls up to the house, I unbuckle my seatbelt.
