Chapter 7 Caught in the Wrong Company

RAMES’ POV

I stared at my cousin's message, calculating how much time I had left and whether I was willing to spend it in anyone's company. I typed back that I was busy and couldn't accompany her to watch basketball.

I slid my phone into my jacket as the bell above the café door jingled. The small room was packed with working people, families, and college students hunched over laptops. Espresso machines hissed in the corner while workers called out orders over the constant buzz of conversation.

It was loud, chaotic, and completely outside my comfort zone but somehow where I always found myself each time. I sat at a small wooden table that rocked whenever I shifted my weight.

The bell above the café door jingled again and Yara walked through the entrance, scanning the room until her eyes landed on me. She wore her work clothes, a simple dark trench coat buttoned to her chin, with her hair pulled back securely. She carried herself with the same effortless poise she used to command her classroom.

“You actually showed up,” I breathed, rising slightly from my chair before she could sit down.

Yara pulled out the opposite wooden seat, its legs scraping against the tiled floor. She sat down, placing her trench coat and bag across her lap like a physical barrier between us.

“Considering how you threatened to loiter on my apartment doorstep, Mr. Taranis, I doubt I had much of a choice” Yara clarified, her voice sharp and perfectly collected. She looked around the noisy room, her eyes lingering on a family sharing a pastry nearby before returning to my face.

“This meeting does not change the professional wall between us. I am your teacher, and you are my student.”

“I’m nineteen, Yara,” I countered gently, sitting back down and resting my forearms on the table. “And we’re currently outside the school premises. I'm not going to kill you or something.”

“Age has nothing to do with the ethical guidelines of Kensington-Lyle, infact, that's the more reason we shouldn't even be seen together” Yara snapped, though her expression softened just a fraction as a waiter dropped two plain ceramic mugs of black coffee onto the wood between us.

“Why this place? Your family probably owns five-star restaurants that would have suited your taste better”

“That’s exactly why we’re here,” I explained, pushing the small white ceramic pitcher of milk toward her side of the table.

“At those restaurants, the world revolves around me, everyone speaks in whispers because they’re terrified of ruining my dinner. It’s isolated. It’s completely fake but here, nobody knows my last name. Nobody cares about the Taranis empire. They just want their caffeine.”

Yara watched me over the rim of her mug as she took a slow sip. Her striking eyes narrowed slightly, analyzing my words.

“So you use a five-dollar-a-cup public café to simulate a normal life,” Yara noted, her tone trading its defensive edge for genuine curiosity.

“That sounds incredibly cynical, Rames. You view your wealth as an isolation chamber, yet you still tried to use it to buy my compliance.”

“I told you, I was acting like an idiot because I didn't know how else to make you look at me,” I admitted, looking down at my own coffee.

“When everyone you meet has an alternate motive, you learn to treat interactions like business deals. You look at people and see numbers, assets, or liabilities. I thought you wanted a payout because that’s what every other person in my circle would demand after a car wreck.”

“And what number am I to you now?” Yara asked, leaning forward just an inch, her fingers tightening around her ceramic mug.

“No number,” I responded, my voice dropping to a quiet, steady murmur that seemed to cut right through the surrounding noise of the café.

“I guess that's why I'm sitting here. You’re the only person who has looked at my last name and told me it didn't mean a thing to your dignity.” Yara stayed silent for a long moment, her gaze dropping to the dark liquid in her cup.

“Dignity isn't something you can trade or negotiate, Rames,” Yara whispered, her expression guarded but her eyes holding a sudden trace of vulnerability.

“My lifestyle might look modest to someone who lives in a penthouse, but it wasn't always like this, that's why I need it to belong entirely to me. I don't want to need financial validation from anyone, and I certainly don't need a billionaire heir trying to fix my life to cure his own guilt.”

“I’m not trying to fix your life,” I corrected, reaching across the small table toward the center console where the condiments sat.

“I’m trying to earn a spot where you can look at me without total hatred.”

Yara’s eyes flew upward, her pupils dilating as she locked gaze with me. For a moment, neither of us looked away. Then she chuckled slightly and took a sip of her coffee.

“That’s a weird thing to say,” Yara breathed, her voice shaking just a fraction as she dropped the mug on the table, sliding her hand back toward her lap.

Before I could even respond, a shadow suddenly fell over our table, blocking the warm light from the storefront window.

I looked up, my jaw set into a hard, rigid line.

Standing at the edge of our booth was Joanne Graham. Her school blazer was thrown over her shoulders, and her arms were crossed as she looked down at us with a lethal, mocking smile that made my blood run cold.

“Well, isn't this a touching scene?” Joanne stated, her voice carrying cleanly over the noise causing two college students at the next table to look over. She tilted her head, her eyes flashing with a dangerous glint, before moving to look at Yara.

“I didn't realize Kensington-Lyle's star student required private lessons from the new teacher.” her eyes moving to lock on mine.