Wanted by the Billionaire and the prince

She makes a promise to herself

You will be mine. You will always be mine.

It all started on Monday morning when I came into my classroom to see a red note on the floor beside my desk, which read, “How long before you see me?” I had thought it was weird but quickly dismissed it. On Tuesday, a new red note had read, “It’s just a little more time.” Then today this. I was starting to worry, firstly, because I didn’t want the note in the hands of anyone other than myself, especially a student or a teacher. I don’t want my name to be used as lunch gossip. Secondly, I had no idea who the culprit was. Could it be my ex? Micheal is not one to hide. He’s one to step into my life like an avalanche and then proceed to ruin it. A secret admirer, maybe? I’m single. He should do himself a favour by just coming to me. Guaranteed, he would most likely be rejected because I’m not emotionally available to be in any relationship now. But at least then, he would have spoken his truth.

The temptation to resign from my job would have been stronger if I didn’t love kids so much. So so much, it’s a burning sting. Unlike most of my attributes, this is not hereditary because my family does not share the same sentiments with me. But, my desire to be a teacher was stronger than the desire to obey my parents or to do right by them, more compelling than my need to be the perfect daughter. So, despite their persuasion and threats to disown me, I still found myself working as a nursery school teacher, just like I always wanted.

With all things being equal, they should be proud of me. I followed my heart, landing a good-paying job at ST LAWRENCE school-the most prestigious High School in New Everest. I was treated with respect and paid well. I considered myself lucky. We all know that there are not so many people who work their dream jobs and still earn pretty well. My life wasn’t perfect, but it was good. I was one of those people who did not consider having so much money as ‘the’ major aspect of life which every dream or aspiration must surround and concern.

Perhaps because I was born privileged, I knew I could always find a fallback in my parents or older brother Elijah.

However, it would be better if I finally let go of my fears and get to publish the children’s novels I’ve hidden away safely in my closet out of prying eyes, which included mine, when I get over my impostor syndrome and accept that I’m a good enough children’s writer and illustrator. Perhaps, then, my parents, who had always wanted me to be a lawyer, would be proud of me.

Elijah was already a Pilot, and he married early. He’s the perfect child. Why can’t I be rebellious?Nôvel(D)rama.Org's content.

Law was not my thing, but I did as they said. I came out with a good result, too. However, while my friends struggled to get into law firms, I drew closer to children and farther from law. The thing is, I hate arguments so much, except when it is necessary. So, the thought of my feeding being based on how well I could argue in court did not in any way appeal to me. I know there are other aspects of law, but I wasn’t interested in any. Child protection law is the only aspect I might consider in the far, far future.

The sound of pencils being dropped from the desks and loud whispering pulled me from my thoughts. I saw Holland, my favourite student, drawing amidst all the chaos. I squeezed the note and threw it in the dustbin where others were, happy I found it before anyone else. It was closing hour already. I found the letter too late today. I guess I was distracted by a lot.

“Holland, what are you drawing dear?” I asked. I adjusted my skirt and shirt before walking to her chair to give her maximum attention. I loved every one of my students, but I loved Holland the most. She was so beautiful and so small and so so fragile, but that was not what drew me to her. Holland was mute. She had a different and older aura than all the other five-year-olds. Her big doe eyes were always searching, her hands always shaking.

At first, I was doing it out of pity, specifically favoring her in everything. After a while, I came to love her as I would love my child. She became my Achilles heel. She was brilliant! And it hurt me when I would see sadness in her eyes many a time. I started to wonder what a little girl like her had to be sad about. I wanted so much to know her.

I love children because they are always so happy. So free with the world and with themselves, and I loved this influence on me. At her age, she was supposed to have nothing to worry or care about. When she called my name for the first time with her tiny voice, I was so pleased. I carried her on my shoulders and spun her around until we were both so dizzy I almost collapsed. I shed a tear and kissed her all over.

Holland finally gazed upward with a smile on her face. She pointed to her painting of a red bucket.

“It’s so beautiful. One day, you will grow up to be a painter.”

She giggled as if she knew I was just buttering her. I smiled and went over to separate the brewing fight between Camilla and Sebastian. They were always fighting.

“I will report you both to your parents if you don’t stop fighting now,” I said, standing between them.

“Sorry, teacher.” They said in unison. They both faced their drawing, but I knew they would soon start fighting again. I sighed, exasperated from all the teaching and shouting of the day.

The Bell rang, and each parent was waiting to pick up their kids except Holland’s father. Thirty minutes after every child had gone home, Holland was still drawing.

I was tired of standing, so I pulled the next small chair across hers and sat on it. “Holland baby, what are you drawing now?” She didn’t respond; she kept her face down. Her hands moved back and forth in symphony. I knew she would be very sad if she didn’t even acknowledge me because I was always the center of her attention when I was close to her.

I was mad, too! I should be in my crib binge-watching Game of Thrones. But I’m still here babysitting Holland again because her father always comes to pick her up late. It was becoming more annoying and frustrating as the days went by. The man was unrepentant, and it vexed me so much. Sometimes, he would come so late that I was tempted to take Holland home with me so that I could leave the school. Yes, I loved her, but that didn’t mean I wanted to be alone in school after closing hours, especially when no one was around.

“Today, I am going to speak to him about it.” I resolved it within myself. He needs to hear from an adult how this affects his child. I will speak my mind to Holland’s father today so help me God! so help me God!