Chapter 4

I dialed the art teacher's number. A rich baritone voice answered.

When he heard I was a student's mother, he fell silent for a few seconds.

"I know why you're calling," he said. "But you'll need to show sincerity. In this world, to gain something, you must give something in return."

I agreed immediately, assuming he wanted money.

My late husband had left me a few hundred thousand dollars in savings.

If it could secure Jacob's early admission to an Ivy League school, I was willing to spend every last cent.

He arranged to meet me at a country inn in the suburbs that evening.

He had been staying there for his plein air painting sessions.

Wanting to make a good impression, I rushed home to freshen up.

I changed into a tight bodycon dress that hugged my curves and accentuated my cleavage.

I didn't know if this would appeal to the art teacher, but for my son's sake, I had to try everything to secure that Ivy League spot.

At six sharp, I arrived at the inn.

It was quite remote, a good twenty miles from the city.

I knocked on the heavy iron gate.

Within seconds, a middle-aged man answered.

He had an ordinary face, but his gentle smile put me at ease.

"You must be Jacob's mother. Please, come in."

He handed me a black, lockable blindfold.

"I've been working on a series of blind contour drawings. Would you be willing to model for me?"

Since he was the art teacher, I agreed without hesitation.

He carefully fastened the blindfold over my eyes and locked it.

"Follow me, Mrs. Lowell."

I was nervous. The blindfold was specially designed—once it was on, I couldn't see a thing, just like being truly blind.

I knew how attractive I was.

If the teacher wanted something more from me, how could I refuse?

These thoughts made my face flush with heat.

His breathing grew heavier, and I felt his warm breath on my neck.

"Are you... feeling hot, sir?"

I heard him swallow hard.

"N-no, Mrs. Lowell. We're almost at the studio."

I hesitated for a moment. His voice sounded strange—almost familiar—though I was sure I'd never met him before.

He guided me to a stool and handed me a glass of water.

"Have a drink, Mrs. Lowell. It'll help you relax before we begin."

I took a small sip, trying to calm my nerves.

Almost instantly, a tingling sensation spread through my body.

The water had been drupped.

"Mrs. Lowell," he said, his voice husky. "Your skin is as smooth as a girl's, but you have the allure of a mature woman. You're exquisite."

I didn't understand what he meant. My head grew foggy, and I could only squirm helplessly.

His breathing became ragged.

"Mrs. Lowell, if you want Jacob to get that early admission, you'll need to..."

My rational mind said to refuse, but I was no longer in control.

I knew what was coming.

I hadn't been with a man since my husband died.

If this would secure Jacob's future, it would be worth it.

I convinced myself to stop resisting.

He seemed to sense my surrender and pressed me down.

But there was something familiar about him—a youthful energy.

Earlier, he had seemed like a middle-aged man.

I pushed the thought aside. Nothing else mattered in that moment.

Afterward, I blushed and asked, "When will you submit Jacob's early admission application?"

He held me close, stroking my hair.

"Mrs. Lowell, if you can satisfy me like this every time, that Ivy League spot will be Jacob's."

"This is a mutually beneficial arrangement."

My face burned even hotter. His implication was deeply embarrassing.

Truth be told, even without Jacob's future at stake, I would have wanted him.

He was a captivating man.

When I left the inn, my head was spinning and my legs felt weak.

But when I glanced back at the art teacher, he looked completely unaffected.

I had to admire his stamina.

Who would have thought such a lean man could possess such raw power?