After Rachel left, the house felt eerily quiet, leaving only me and Alicia.

The silence seemed to echo through the empty rooms, amplifying every unspoken tension between us.

She looked at me with uncertainty in her eyes, a mixture of doubt and curiosity that cut through the air like a blade. "Ms. Hawke, you seem... different. It's like you're not the same person anymore."

I fought to suppress the anger bubbling inside me, forcing a gentle smile that felt as fragile as glass. "No, it's just that I don't want you to get any funny ideas."

Alicia blinked, taken aback by my words, the uncertainty in her eyes deepening.

"Um, okay. I'll go tidy up my room now."

I leaned against the couch, my mind racing as I recalled everything that had happened in my previous life.

Alicia was a freshman from a less fortunate background, and her story was one of hardship and struggle. I had helped her apply for a student loan and even secured her a job in the cafeteria to help with expenses, a gesture of kindness that now felt as hollow as the smile I had just offered her.

That summer, she had confided in me about her parents' preference for boys over girls, expressing her fear that she wouldn't be able to continue her education if she went back home. Out of compassion, I allowed her to stay with us.

But Alicia was a master of disguise, her true nature hidden beneath layers of charm and innocence. In our home, she portrayed herself as a strong, innocent girl, her actions designed to win over my parents' affections.

My parents adored her, their love for her even extending to suggesting she could work at Cillian's company after graduation.

In my previous life, I had been fooled by her seemingly kind facade, her every action appearing as an act of devotion.

Alicia was always busy, either cleaning or cooking for our family, charming us with her efforts.

It wasn't until the end of summer that her true colors began to show.

Under the pretense of cleaning, she rummaged through Cillian's bedroom and found used condoms belonging to him and his wife, Hilary.

It was a discovery that set her plan into motion, her intentions as clear as the look in her eyes when she approached me next.

"My dad is gravely ill. She needs money for treatment," she had said, her voice trembling with a false urgency.

Out of sympathy, I had lent her 70 thousand dollars, a decision that now felt as foolish as it was irreversible.

With that money, she went to a clinic, extracted sperm from Cillian's condom, and underwent in vitro fertilization.

The process was swift, and her plans were executed with a precision that left no room for error.

Not long after the school year began, she was pregnant.

As the roundness of her belly grew too conspicuous to conceal, Alicia, with an enigmatic silence, slipped away from the school, making an unexpected return to her remote hometown.

A year danced by, and she resurfaced at the school gates, a fragile baby cradled in her arms, flanked by a tumultuous throng of social media magnates.

With accusations blazing, she pointed an accusing finger at me, painting a lurid portrait of seduction and exploitation—alleging that I had enticed her into my house only to become a pawn in Cillian's predatory schemes.

Her tears cascaded like a tempest, crafting a narrative of terror for the school authorities and the ravenous lenses of the media.

She wove a story that my parents, once stalwart police officers, had retired into a web of menace and that Cillian, a luminary in the business world, had cast her into a vortex of dread.

She declared that we had laid grave threats upon her, warning that if she dared to approach the police, we would orchestrate the downfall of her family.

Her haunting declaration, "No girl would purposely get pregnant just to slander someone," catapulted my family into the unforgiving glare of public scrutiny.

In a heartbeat, Cillian metamorphosed into a beast, while I, in the eyes of the internet's denizens, became the epitome of an "evil teacher."

My parents' adversaries, scenting the blood in the water, pounced with retributive ferocity, and Cillian's once-thriving empire crumbled under the avalanche of scandal.

Desperate to cleanse his name, Cillian demanded a paternity test for Alicia's child—a test that, to our collective horror, affirmed that the infant was indeed his.

This revelation ensnared Cillian in a labyrinth of guilt, with no avenue of escape from the impending judgment.

In the end, we were laid low, forced to surrender a staggering 10 million in damages and child support to Alicia.

Cillian, once a beacon of promise, was now a pariah, while my parents, their reputations irrevocably tarnished, chose a tragic fate by plunging into the river.

Expelled from the school and condemned to the relentless torment of online vitriol, I, in a moment of despairing clarity, leaped from an overpass.

As I was whisked to the hospital, clinging to a fragile thread of life, Alicia, hearing the news, ventured to my bedside.

She leaned in close, her breath brushing against my ear as she whispered the buried truths behind this orchestrated nightmare.

I gazed at her, my eyes bloodshot and my heart pounding wildly, knowing that the veil of oblivion would soon claim me and I would never close my eyes again.