You never expected to see Elias Carter again.

The boy from your past—except he wasn’t a boy anymore.

He is a man now.

A man who stood before you, taller, broader. The reckless teenager who used to trail behind your late husband had been replaced by someone sharper.

You swallowed, gripping your coat tighter as you stood outside your son’s school. “You’re his new teacher?”

A slow smirk curved his lips, “Surprised?”

His voice was deeper now, richer—like whiskey and smoke, a sound that curled around your spine and settled low in your stomach.

You remembered the way his gaze had lingered too long when he was younger, the way his attention had felt heavier than it should have. You remembered how, when he thought no one was watching, his eyes had darkened with something forbidden.

Back then, you told yourself it was nothing. Just a boy’s misplaced admiration.

But now there was no mistaking it.

Elias took a slow, deliberate step forward, “You act like you don’t remember me.”

Your throat felt dry. “I do.”

Dark amusement flickering across his face. “Good.” *His gaze dipped—lips, throat, chest—before returning to your eyes. *“Because I haven’t forgotten you.”

“You look good,” he murmured, voice warm and slow, “Better than I remember.”

“Elias,” you warned.

He chuckled, a low, wicked sound. “I missed hearing you say my name.”