The night was quiet, the kind of silence that felt alive. Caesar White sat by the window of his dimly lit quarters, glasses discarded on the table beside him. A single candle flickered, casting shifting shadows across the walls. He had taught mathematics for years, pretending, blending in with mortals, but today… today was different.
Chiamanda.
Her name whispered through his mind like a forbidden hymn. He leaned back, his long fingers tapping against the armrest of his chair, his gaze fixed on the moon outside. He could still smell her fear, her defiance, the way she trembled yet stood her ground in his office earlier that day. Most humans broke easily. She hadn't. She wasn't human after all
"She said it was a mistake," he murmured, almost to himself. His lips curved into a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Mistake or destiny?"
For centuries, he had waited. Waited in the shadows of this wretched school, biding his time, feeding his hunger in silence. And then she had appeared—stumbling into his life like fate itself had opened the door.
He rose to his feet, moving with the grace of a predator, his black shirt whispering against his skin. His reflection in the glass window shifted—his eyes glowed faintly, a deep crimson hidden beneath his calm human disguise. The mask of the teacher was flawless, but alone in this room, there was no need for pretense.
"She doesn't know what she is," he said, his voice low and edged with something darker. "But she will."
His memory replayed the moment she slapped Gladys, the fire in her eyes, the strength in her hand. Too strong for an ordinary girl. He had seen it, sensed it—the same aura her sister carried. The bloodline was undeniable.
Caesar's jaw tightened. The humans around her would destroy her spirit with their petty rumors and cruelty. He would not allow it. No one would touch her, insult her, or break her without answering to him.
He opened the drawer of his desk, pulling out a small, ancient locket. The metal was worn, etched with symbols no mortal could read. Inside it was a faded sketch—two sisters, drawn centuries ago, their resemblance to Chiamanda and her sister unmistakable.
"She belongs to me," Caesar whispered, his fingers brushing over the image. His voice softened, almost tender. "And I will protect her… even if she hates me for it."
The candle flickered violently, as if reacting to his vow. His shadow stretched across the wall, no longer the neat outline of a man but the shifting silhouette of something larger, darker—something not human.
Caesar turned away from the window, his eyes glowing brighter now, crimson bleeding into the black. A predator's hunger stirred in his chest, but he forced it down. Not yet.
Soon.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Chiamanda lay sprawled on her narrow bed, her school uniform still folded on the chair by the corner. The room was dark, except for the faint glow of the streetlight leaking through the curtain. She clutched her pillow tightly, as though it could shield her from the noise in her head.
But it couldn't.
Every time she closed her eyes, Caesar's voice echoed in her mind.
Whoever touched you before will regret it.
The words weren't just a memory anymore—they were a drumbeat, steady, persistent, threading into every thought. She turned on her side, groaning softly.
"This is madness," she muttered under her breath. "Why can't I stop thinking about him?"
She pulled the pillow over her head, willing herself to sleep, but her body betrayed her. Her skin still tingled where his gaze had lingered earlier, her heartbeat quickening at the memory of his closeness. She could almost feel him again, the weight of his presence filling the air, too strong for her to ignore.
With a sigh, she sat up, resting her chin on her knees. The house was silent. Her sister wasn't home yet—no surprise there. The silence felt heavy, too heavy, pressing against her chest.
She glanced at the window. The curtain shifted slightly, though the night air was still. Her brows furrowed. For a moment, she thought she saw movement outside—something tall, a shadow. She blinked, and it was gone.
"Paranoia," she whispered, though the word didn't calm her.
She dragged herself to the mirror and stared at her reflection. Her eyes looked strange tonight—darker, sharper, as if something inside them was awake. She leaned closer, frowning.
"Is this really me?" she whispered.
A memory flashed in her head—Gladys's mocking words, Caesar's dangerous smile, her own slap ringing in the afternoon air. Her chest tightened, caught between shame and pride.
She turned away from the mirror and collapsed back on her bed. Minutes bled into hours as she tossed and turned, dreams nibbling at the edges of her mind. She dreamt of fire and whispers, of a man with glowing eyes reaching out to her.
When she woke, her throat was dry, and her skin was damp with sweat. The night was still thick around her, but something felt wrong—like she wasn't alone.
She sat up, her breath catching. The curtain shifted again, slowly, as if someone had brushed it. Her heart raced.
"Who's there?" she whispered, though her voice cracked.
No answer. Only silence.
She swallowed, forcing herself to lie back down, though sleep never came. Her eyes stayed open until dawn painted the walls pale gold.
Today was going to be a hell of a day.
She thought and it came true.
Chiamanda's class didn't see Ceaser through out morning time, much to the disappointment of Gladys.
Then at lunch time, From the corner of her eye, she noticed him.
Caesar.
He stood near the staff block, speaking to another teacher, yet his gaze was on her. It wasn't soft this time. It was sharp, like a blade unsheathed. His jaw was set, his eyes dark with unspoken promise.
The boys who had jeered earlier fell silent as they caught his glance. One even stepped back, muttering an excuse as if burned. Caesar hadn't said a word, but the warning in his eyes was enough.
Chiamanda's breath caught. A strange relief washed over her, mingled with guilt. He was watching her, protecting her in silence… but what if people noticed? What if the whispers grew louder?
At break, Gladys struck again.
She swept into the corridor with her clique, her voice loud enough for half the block to hear.
"Be careful around Chiamanda," she sneered. "Her family trains girls for special night duties. You know… like her sister."
Laughter erupted, cruel and piercing. Chiamanda froze, her throat tight. The urge to retaliate burned inside her, but her feet betrayed her—rooted to the ground, powerless.
Then, out of nowhere, a shadow moved.
Caesar appeared at the end of the corridor. He didn't say anything, didn't even raise his voice. But his presence alone was enough. His tall frame blocked the light, his gaze fixed coldly on Gladys.
The laughter died instantly. Students shuffled away, pretending to busy themselves. Gladys' bravado faltered under his stare, though she quickly masked it with a scoff.
"We'll see," she muttered before strutting off.
~~~~~~~~~
Chiamanda stood trembling, her heart caught between terror and… gratitude.
Why was he doing this? Why did it feel like he was everywhere she turned?
When their eyes finally met across the corridor, he gave her the faintest nod. Not a smile, not a word—just a silent vow.
Her chest tightened. She looked away quickly, afraid the others would notice.
But deep inside, she knew: the war with Gladys had only begun. And Caesar… he was no longer just her teacher. He had become her shadow, her unspoken protector in the dark corridors of school and beyond.
Gladys' laughter still echoed in the corners of Chiamanda's mind long after the corridor had emptied. The sting of her words clung tighter than any slap could. Prostitute. Sister. Stains that no amount of scrubbing could erase. Chiamanda hid at the far end of the school garden, beneath the almond tree whose branches bent low like a shield. Her rice and beans sat untouched in her lap. Students passed by in clusters, some throwing glances, others whispering. Each one felt like a stone hurled at her chest.
Why me? she thought bitterly. What have I done to deserve this?
She pressed her forehead to her knees, wishing the earth would swallow her whole.
Meanwhile, Gladys was far from finished.
In the senior girls' restroom, her friends crowded around as she applied lip gloss with a steady hand, her reflection smirking back at her.
"That slap? She'll pay for it," Gladys muttered. "Nobody humiliates me in public and goes free."
Her friends exchanged eager looks. One leaned closer. "What's the plan?"
Gladys snapped her lip gloss shut and slipped it into her bag. "Simple. We spread more fire. By the end of this week, everyone will believe she sleeps her way through life. Her sister is already ruined—why not her?"
They giggled, feeding on her cruelty. Gladys tilted her head, dark eyes glittering.
"And when Caesar finally throws her aside, I'll be the one he notices."
Then another plan struck Gladys.
"Why not get her expelled after ruining her name?" She said in a vicious tone.
"Omo, that one go make sense." One of her friends said.
"But how?" Another asked.
"Leave that to me. When we've destroyed her name, you'll know." Shw burst into an evil giggle and her friends followed suit.
~~~~~~~~~~
"Amanda, tell me why you want to leave the school?"
Cassandra question her sister as she dripped a bombshell that evening. "Do you know how I work hard to keep you there?"
"Yes, by sleeping around, and that sleeping around is why I want to leave." Chiamanda said, her anger rising.
"I beg your Pardon?"
"Cassandra, I'm sick and tired of you sleeping around. I'm very ashamed of myself and you."