The Teacher's Secret

By Cordelia Prescott

"How far would you go to protect your reputation—and your life?"

Margaret Avery thought her past was behind her. A dedicated teacher with a passion for her students, she returns to the classroom after a year of personal struggles. But the school's PTA is no ordinary group of parents—it's a web of power, whispers, and manipulation led by the charismatic yet ruthless Lisa Hartford.

When Margaret finds herself at the center of anonymous threats, cryptic notes, and a string of devastating rumors, it becomes clear that someone wants her out of the picture—for good. As Lisa's grip tightens and allies become enemies, Margaret discovers that the real danger isn't just losing her career—it's losing her life.

With the stakes rising and the truth buried under layers of deceit, Margaret must confront her deepest fears and unearth long-buried secrets. But in a world where trust is fragile and betrayal is lethal, can she outsmart the puppet master pulling the strings?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Edgar Mashinini
• Release date: Nov 28, 2024
• ISBN: 9798230867807

Book preview

The Teacher's Secret

Secrets and Betrayals in the Classroom

Cordelia Prescott

To you, the reader—

For choosing to step into this world of secrets, shadows, and whispered betrayals.

This story is for the moments when you’ve doubted your instincts, questioned your choices, or felt the sting of misplaced trust.

May you find strength in these pages, courage in the unraveling of lies, and the reminder that even in the darkest corners, truth has a way of finding the light.

Thank you for turning the page. Without you, stories would remain untold.

With gratitude,

Cordelia Prescott

Betrayal is a quiet weapon, wielded in whispers and sealed with silence

Cordelia

Contents

Title Page

Dedication

Epigraph

Preface

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Preface

The meeting room was always too bright, the fluorescent lights casting sharp shadows that exaggerated every glance, every smirk. Margaret sat at the far end of the table, the weight of their gazes pressing against her like a silent accusation. Somewhere in this room, the lies were growing—spreading, twisting, suffocating her.

The first note had been subtle, almost innocuous: You should be careful. But subtlety gave way to cruelty, and cruelty to danger.

Margaret didn’t know who to trust anymore. The whispers, the laughter, the carefully planted rumors—they were a storm swirling around her, threatening to pull her under. She hadn’t started this game, but she would find a way to finish it.

Even if it meant breaking every rule.

Chapter 1

The meeting room hummed with a low murmur of conversation, the kind that wormed its way into your senses, hinting at undercurrents you couldn’t quite catch. The fluorescent lights cast a flat, clinical sheen over everything, washing the faces around the table in a pallor that exaggerated every sharp line and pointed glance. I shifted slightly in the hard-backed chair, the unyielding edge pressing into my leg. It wasn’t painful, just persistent, a physical reminder that I didn’t belong here—not fully.

The first PTA meeting of the term was underway, but the agenda felt like window dressing for the real action: subtle power plays wrapped in civility. A question floated across the room, its edges softened by a veneer of politeness that didn’t quite conceal the knife beneath.

How do you ensure discipline is maintained after… well, after everything?

Lisa Hartford. Her voice was sweetly inflected, her tone as warm and inoffensive as a perfectly brewed cup of tea—until you tasted the bitterness beneath. I looked up, schooling my expression into a neutral smile.

As we always have, I replied evenly. With respect and consistency.

Her head tilted in a show of agreement, lips curving into a smile that felt more predatory than pleasant. Around the room, subtle shifts of posture and murmured acknowledgments rippled outward, like an unspoken consensus. Lisa commanded this room without ever raising her voice. Her power wasn’t brash; it was insidious, woven into the very air.

I refocused on the printed agenda in front of me, letting my fingers curl around the pen in my hand. Its cool metal steadied me, an anchor against the unease prickling at my thoughts. Updates on funding, extracurricular programs, and scheduling blurred together into background noise, but I remained acutely aware of Lisa’s gaze darting toward me now and then, her expression unreadable.

Then, her next strike landed.

It must be quite the adjustment for you, Margaret, she said, her voice smooth as silk. Coming back to a full classroom after… everything last year.

The room stilled—not with drama, but with the sort of poised silence that amplifies tension. It wasn’t the words themselves that carried the weight but the space she left around them, the deliberate ambiguity that invited curiosity without inviting responsibility.

I inhaled slowly, forcing my smile to stay fixed. It’s been wonderful to be back, I said lightly. The students have been fantastic, as always.

The lie came easily, but my stomach twisted all the same. Lisa wasn’t just referencing the past; she was dragging it into the room and setting it down between us, daring me to ignore it. Across the table, Mrs. Kemper glanced at Lisa, a flicker of understanding passing between them. It was brief, almost imperceptible, but unmistakable. They were circling me, silently coordinating their moves.

The meeting trudged on, but the space felt suffocating. The scrape of chairs, the shifting of papers, even the rhythmic tapping of a pen down the table began to grate, each sound a jab at my nerves. By the time the meeting adjourned, I was the first to stand, my movements brisk but careful. I wouldn’t let them see me rush.

The corridor beyond the meeting room was dimmer, the lighting softer and oddly comforting. I allowed myself a quiet exhale, my shoulders dropping an inch as I turned toward the exit.

Margaret.

Lisa’s voice stopped me. It was calm, almost casual, but I knew better. I turned, fixing my expression into one of polite curiosity as she approached, her heels clicking a measured rhythm against the tiled floor.

You handled yourself well, she said, stopping just close enough to make the space between us feel uncomfortable. It can’t be easy, coming back after what happened.

There it was again, that careful phrasing designed to land just shy of an accusation. I met her gaze, keeping my tone even. I manage just fine, thank you.

Of course, she replied smoothly, her smile widening in a way that felt distinctly sharp. I just hope the other parents see it that way.

My chest tightened, but I refused to show it. Instead, I nodded and stepped past her, walking toward the exit with measured strides. The cool evening air outside hit my face like a tonic, clearing the residue of the meeting’s oppressive atmosphere. I walked quickly to my car, my thoughts racing faster than my steps.

The drive home passed in silence, save for the low hum of the engine. I didn’t bother turning on the radio; my thoughts were loud enough. Lisa’s words replayed in my head, each iteration sharpening their edge. By the time I reached my apartment, a dull ache had settled in my shoulders.

I poured a glass of water in the kitchen, the faint clink of glass against the counter grounding me momentarily. Outside the window, the streetlights cast long, uneven patterns on the empty playground below. The swings moved slightly in the breeze. They should have been a comforting sight, a reminder of simpler times, but tonight, they felt like something else—an intrusion, perhaps, or a warning.

My phone chimed, pulling me back. A message from Sarah, one of the younger teachers.

You okay? Looked like Lisa was on a mission tonight.

I stared at the screen, my thumb hovering over the keyboard. Finally, I typed a short response.

Fine. Thanks for checking in.

Setting the phone down, I leaned against the counter, closing my eyes. Sarah’s message confirmed what I already knew: Lisa’s words hadn’t just unsettled me. They’d landed with an audience.

Sleep didn’t come easily that night. When I finally abandoned the bed for the window, the playground was still. Yet, the unease Lisa had planted earlier lingered, festering like a splinter I couldn’t quite dislodge.

Her words played again in my mind, clear and cutting.

I just hope the other parents see it that way.

There was more behind her smile than just malice—there was intent. And whatever she was planning, this was only the beginning.

Chapter 2

The paper caught my eye first, a pristine square folded with meticulous precision, peeking out from the edge of my desk. It hadn’t been there earlier—I was certain of it. My classroom had been locked all morning. Perhaps the janitor had left it while cleaning? Or maybe one of the students, always testing boundaries with their jokes and sly pranks.

But the moment I picked it up, something shifted in my chest—a heaviness that told me this was no prank.

The handwriting was delicate, unnervingly exact, as though each letter had been shaped with the care of someone who knew their message mattered. My fingers trembled as I unfolded it. The faint scent of lavender rose from the paper, cloying and strangely familiar.

Your words silenced her forever.

A short sentence, but it landed like a punch.

My breath hitched, and for a moment the room tilted, the edges blurring. I gripped the edge of the desk to ground myself, the note crinkling beneath my tightening grip.

Mrs. Avery?

The voice startled me, soft and hesitant. Kayla, one of my more perceptive students, stood in the doorway, her backpack slung casually over one shoulder, though her eyes betrayed concern.

Everything okay?

Yes, I managed, the word coming out too quickly. I folded the note with stiff fingers and slipped it into my pocket. Just misplaced something.

Her brow furrowed, but she didn’t press. Instead, she nodded and took her seat. As I moved to the front of the classroom, my legs felt wooden, my movements stiff and unnatural. The note’s weight pressed against me through the fabric of my pocket, its message lingering like an unspoken accusation.

The lesson unfolded in a haze. Words stumbled from my mouth, half-formed and disconnected, while the students exchanged glances. Even Kayla’s usual attentiveness was edged with wariness, as though she could sense the fractures spreading beneath my carefully controlled exterior.

When the bell rang, their departure was a relief—until the silence closed in.

I waited until the last student had left before pulling the note from my pocket. The words stared back at me, the sharpness of their meaning undiminished.

Silenced her forever.

A sharp knock on the door jolted me. Panicking, I shoved the note into my desk drawer. Lisa Hartford stood framed in the doorway, her scarf draped with calculated casualness, the faint scent of lavender announcing her presence.

Margaret, she said with syrupy sweetness, her voice an invitation and a weapon all at once. Do you have a moment?

Not really. Of course, I said, forcing a smile.

She stepped into the room, her heels tapping softly on the tile, and began tracing her fingers along the edge of a nearby desk.

I just wanted to say how impressed everyone is with your return, she began, her tone so light it nearly floated. Really, the parents have been singing your praises. It’s admirable.

Thank you, I replied, the words as hollow as her compliment.

Her gaze swept the room before landing on my desk. She lingered just a beat too long, her curiosity unspoken but palpable.

Must be nice, she continued, to have everything back in order. I imagine it takes time, though. Adjusting.

The veneer of pleasantry couldn’t hide the blade beneath her words.

It does, I said, matching her tone with careful neutrality.

She smiled then, sharp and deliberate, before turning to leave. But at the door, she paused, glancing over her shoulder.

Oh, by the way, she added lightly, you might want to double-check your seating chart. A few students seemed… out of place today.

Her scarf trailed behind her as she left, the lavender scent lingering long after she disappeared.

---

By the time I reached the staff lounge, my nerves felt stretched to breaking. I needed answers—something concrete to make sense of this unsettling game.

Danny, the school’s IT specialist, sat hunched over a laptop in the corner, his headphones askew.

Danny, I said, my voice tighter than I intended. Can I ask you something?

He glanced up, his brow quirking. Sure. What’s up?

I hesitated, choosing my words carefully. The security cameras. Have they picked up anything unusual near my classroom lately?

His eyes narrowed. Why? Did something happen?

Not exactly, I hedged. I just… thought I saw something this morning.

He shrugged and turned back to his laptop. What time?

Before first period. Around seven-thirty, maybe?

His fingers flew over the keyboard, and for a moment, the only sound was the soft click of keys. Then, he spun the laptop toward me.

There, he said.

The footage was grainy but serviceable. At precisely 7:42 a.m., a figure moved into view near my classroom door. Their movements were unhurried, deliberate, but their face was obscured by the angle.

Can you zoom in?

Danny shook his head. That’s as good as it gets. Whoever it was, they knew where the blind spots were.

My stomach churned. Of course they did.

---

Back in my classroom, I pulled the note from the drawer again, unfolding it with reluctant hands. The faint lavender scent clung to the paper, mingling now with the sterile tang of the janitor’s cleaning spray.

Two scents. Two possible culprits.

But it was the handwriting that nagged at me, something about its delicate loops and measured precision tugging at the edges of my memory.

I reached for my old teaching diary, the one I hadn’t opened in years. It was buried in the bottom drawer of my desk, beneath a jumble of forgotten lesson plans and papers. Or it should have been.

The drawer was empty.

---

That evening, I sat by the window, the note clenched in my hand. The playground below lay deserted, its stillness only amplifying the unease curling in my stomach.

Lisa’s scarf. The lavender. The seating chart. It all felt too convenient, too orchestrated. And yet, there was the shadow on the footage, the missing diary—pieces that didn’t quite fit.

Unfolding the note again, I noticed faint smudges at the bottom, like something had been erased but not completely hidden. Squinting, I made out the faint trace of a second sentence:

Not even the stars could save her.

The words hit me like a blow. They were from her diary. My student’s diary.

My heart raced, the truth settling heavily in my chest.

Whoever had written this note didn’t just know.

They wanted me to know they knew.

And they were far from finished.

Chapter 3

Sophie lingered in the doorway of my classroom, her slight frame outlined against the stark fluorescent light of the corridor. She hesitated, one foot inside as though testing the water, before rapping lightly on the doorframe.

Mrs. Avery?

I looked up from my half-eaten sandwich and motioned for her to come in. Sophie. Everything all right?

She slipped inside, clutching a notebook to her chest like a talisman, her eyes darting toward the corners of the room as if someone might be hiding there.

I was wondering if you could help me with my project, she said, her voice barely audible but steady. It’s about societal expectations—how they can trap people.

Her choice of topic caught me off guard. It was bold for someone so quiet, so… careful. I nodded, setting the sandwich aside. Sure. Pull up a chair. What do you need help with?

She perched on the edge of the chair opposite me, her shoulders slightly hunched, her grip tightening on the notebook. I’m not sure how to make it personal without… Her voice wavered, her gaze dropping to her lap.

Without what? I prompted gently, leaning forward.

Without upsetting anyone, she murmured, her words clipped but loaded.

I frowned, lowering my tone. "Sophie, this is your project. You have the right to say what you need to say. What are you worried about?"

Her eyes flicked toward the door, a fleeting movement that betrayed more than her words. She swallowed hard before shaking her head. It’s nothing. Just a project.

The pause that followed was thick with unspoken words, each moment stretching taut between us. I opened my mouth to press further, but the sound of heels clicking sharply in the hallway made Sophie’s head snap up.

Lisa Hartford swept into the room, her immaculate scarf—a soft lavender silk—draped artfully over her shoulders. She radiated calm authority, the kind that demanded attention without asking for it.

Margaret, she said, her voice honeyed but with an edge sharp enough to nick if you weren’t careful. It’s wonderful to see you giving Sophie some extra attention. She’s always been so hesitant to ask for help.

Her hand landed lightly on my shoulder, the touch both a reassurance and a reminder of control. It’s nice to know she has a teacher she can trust.

I forced a polite smile, resisting the urge to pull away. Sophie’s project has a lot of potential. I’m happy to help her shape it.

Lisa’s smile widened, though her eyes stayed cool and calculating. Of course. It’s important for her to feel comfortable. She can be a bit… withdrawn.

Sophie flushed, her gaze dropping to the notebook she still clutched like a lifeline. The air in the room grew taut again, a web spun tight by Lisa’s presence.

Well, Lisa said, squeezing my shoulder lightly before releasing it, I’ll let you two get back to it. Don’t let me interrupt.

Turning to Sophie, she softened her tone but not her grip. I’ll see you after school, darling. Don’t forget we have plans.

Yes, Mom, Sophie mumbled, her voice barely audible.

Lisa lingered a moment longer, her eyes sweeping the room as though cataloging every detail, before she finally turned and left. The sound of her heels receded down the hallway, but the tension