He does

"I need to tell you something," you begin, the words grinding their way out like stones caught in a current. You **** a breath, deep and shaky, as though it might shore up your faltering resolve.

Camila tilts her head, curiosity sparking in her eyes like sunlight glinting on glass. Her lips curve into a faintly teasing smile, her voice light and mischievous. “What is it, Alvin?”

Her tone, playful and unburdened, feels like a mismatch to the storm brewing inside you. You shift in your seat, the fabric pulling taut beneath you as if echoing your discomfort. “It’s about Salma,” you say, quieter now. “Something happened in class today.”

The playful gleam in her eyes dims, her smile faltering as her posture straightens. Concern etches itself into her features. “What kind of something?” she asks, her voice steadier now, anchored by caution.

You hesitate, the words pooling on your tongue like water that won’t quite flow. “She stayed after class again. At first, I thought nothing of it—she’s been doing that a lot lately, asking questions, hanging back like she needs help. But today…” You pause, swallowing hard. “Today was different.”

“Different how?” Camila’s brow furrows, her teasing tone replaced by a sharper edge.

You glance away, rubbing the back of your neck, the heat of embarrassment creeping up your spine. “She leaned in too close,” you admit, your voice barely audible. “Close enough that I could feel her breath. And then she said something…” You trail off, the memory unspooling in your mind like a thread snagging on a splinter. “‘So, you’re coming over tonight, huh?’ That’s what she said.”

Camila blinks, her face tightening as if the words themselves sting. “She said that?” she asks, her voice low, testing the phrase aloud for its weight.

You nod, staring at your hands as if they might somehow explain the inexplicable. “She was looking around, like she didn’t want anyone to hear. Then she… handed me something.” Your hand curls reflexively, still haunted by the phantom sensation. “A key.”

Camila stiffens, her fingers gripping the edge of her chair. “A key?” she repeats, disbelief threading through her voice.

“She pressed it into my palm,” you continue, your gaze fixed on the floor. “It was warm, like she’d been holding it. And before I could even react, she brushed my hand with her fingers. Just for a second. But it was deliberate.”

The silence between you stretches taut, heavy as a storm cloud about to burst. Finally, Camila leans forward, her face a taut mask of emotion. “And then?” she prompts, her voice tight.

You take in a deep breath, bracing yourself for the words that refuse to stay contained. “She called me… ‘Daddy.’” The word drops between you like a stone into still water, rippling with implications you’d rather not face. “Not how she should. It was—suggestive. Flirty.”

For a moment, Camila’s expression is unreadable, her eyes narrowing as she processes your words. Then, like storm clouds gathering, a tempest brews across her features—confusion, disbelief, and finally, anger. “You’re serious?” she asks, each word clipped, her voice trembling under the weight of restrained fury.

“I didn’t know what to do,” you admit, dragging a hand through your hair, your voice cracking under the strain. “I felt like I had to tell you, Camila. It wasn’t right. None of it felt right.”

Camila sighs sharply, leaning back in her chair as her shoulders sag under the weight of your revelation. She pinches the bridge of her nose, her frustration evident. “That girl,” she mutters, shaking her head. “Alvin, I’m sorry. This isn’t the first time Salma’s… tested boundaries.”

You blink, taken aback by the bluntness of her words. “You think she’s doing this just to—what? Push buttons?”

Camila nods, her expression a mix of exasperation and resignation. “I think she’s trying to see how far she can go. She’s always been competitive—testing limits, seeing what she can get away with. I hate to say it, but with you being younger than me, and even younger than her in some ways… she might see you as a challenge.”

“A challenge?” you echo, the knot in your chest tightening.

“She likes to prove she’s in control,” Camila explains, her voice quieter now, tinged with regret. “Salma’s always had this need to win, to show she can have what she wants—even when she shouldn’t. And honestly, I think part of this is her trying to show me that she can ‘win’ against me too.” She pauses, shaking her head. “It’s not about you. It’s about power.”

Her words hang in the air, the weight of them sinking deep. Camila reaches out, her hand finding yours, her touch grounding and warm. “I’m so sorry you’ve been dragged into this,” she says softly, her tone sincere. “It’s not fair to you, and I promise I’ll handle it. She’ll settle down, but until then, just know I’m on your side.”

You nod, her words a small comfort against the storm still raging inside you. “Thank you,” you murmur, your voice rough with emotion.

Camila leans closer, her gaze softening with affection. “Thank you for telling me,” she says, her tone warm and steady. Then, with a small smile, she cups your face and presses a lingering kiss to your lips. When she pulls back, the tension between you feels lighter, the weight shared instead of shouldered alone.

“Don’t let her get to you, Alvin,” she says, her voice gentler now, her earlier playfulness flickering back to life. “I'll make it up to you once we get home."

Her gaze flickers downward, lingering just a moment too long. A slow, knowing smile curls at the corners of her lips. “Or,” she murmurs, her voice low and silken, “we could lock the door... and have ourselves a little session right here in my office.