Teach me

Content warning: Age gap, secret lover, depression, heartbreak, breath play.

Chapter 1 - Lia

Let me start by saying this: I’m busy. Like CTO(Chief Technology Officer-my official title)-on-a-mission busy. But you already know that if you’ve ever Googled me—or read the Forbes feature on “Women Dominating Tech.” Yeah, that’s me. Lia Hart. So, when I found out that my now ex-fiancé Leo decided to cheat on me, I barely had time to feel insulted. Except I did. And oh, did I make time to burn his sorry existence to the ground.

Leo. Sigh. That idiot. He didn’t just cheat—he cheated with multiple women. Under my nose. In my apartment. In our bed. The gall of that man. Truly, I almost have to admire the level of stupidity. Almost. But you can’t really blame him, can you? I mean, look at me. A career-obsessed, grind-24/7, take-no-prisoners kind of woman. The kind of woman men say they “admire” but secretly resent because I don’t prioritize their fragile egos.

Let me tell you what Leo *clearly* underestimated: my love of vengeance. Screaming? Crying? Throwing plates like some melodramatic movie housewife? Please. That’s not my style. No, I’m far more patient, far more calculated. I waited. I played it cool, biding my time until the perfect moment to strike. And when I did? Oh, it was glorious.

I kicked his freeloading ass out of the apartment we’d shared—*my* apartment, really, since I was the one paying the bills while he spent his days pretending to be a “visionary entrepreneur.” Spoiler: his vision was as blurry as his moral compass. But I didn’t stop there. No, I went bigger. Better. I bought myself a three-bedroom penthouse with views of the Empire State Building that would make even the most jaded New Yorker weak in the knees. A quick stroll to Central Park, floor-to-ceiling windows, and a kitchen so sleek it could’ve been ripped straight from a design magazine.

And Leo? Oh, he couldn’t afford it on his best day. Not even close. But me? I didn’t just buy it—I furnished it, curated it, made it a sanctuary that screamed *power* and *independence*. Every piece of furniture, every carefully chosen detail, was a middle finger to his betrayal. And when I was done, I stood in the center of that pristine living room, took a deep breath, and let go of every last shred of him. Marie Kondo would’ve wept tears of pride.

And now? Now, my space is mine, only mine. My peace is intact. I even turned the third bedroom into a home office. It’s my personal fortress of productivity, where I dominate global markets and sip overpriced latte. The single life? It’s a vibe.

But just as I was basking in my newly reclaimed serenity, the universe decided to test my patience. Jake. My late best friend Jane’s son. He’s crashing at my place for two weeks while he does some fancy internship at one of the big tech companies—not mine, thankfully. I’d have to chew glass before letting a relative work under me.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy for Jake. The kid’s sharp—19, a computer science major at an Ivy League, and already making waves. I mean, of course, he is. He’s practically my protégé. I gave him his first laptop when he was 11, and boom—he fell in love with coding. Justin, his dad, always said I was the one who inspired Jake’s career path. Not to toot my own horn, but… toot, toot.

Jake’s a good kid. No, scratch that. He’s a great kid. I just haven’t seen him in three years, not since he left for college. From what Justin tells me, he’s been all work and no play, laser-focused on his studies, which is great. Admirable, even. But it does make me wonder—who’s Jake now?

So here I am, fluffing pillows in the guest room and making sure it’s spotless. Not because I’m trying to impress him or anything, but because I run my home the way I run my company: with excellence. Jane would’ve been so proud of him. Hell, I’m proud of him. And Justin? That man deserves a gold medal for raising Jake solo after Jane passed away.

I don’t do the whole “maternal” thing—I leave that to Hallmark movies and Instagram moms. But Jake? He’s family. And when your family needs you, you show up. Even if it means temporarily giving up your solitude.

That said, if this kid tries to test my boundaries or leaves a single dirty dish in my sink, we’re going to have problems.

The doorbell rang, right on schedule, just as I smoothed the last corner of the guest bedspread. The room was picture-perfect: crisp white towels neatly folded on the edge of the bed, a pair of house slippers tucked just so, and a strict no outside shoes policy enforced. My sanctuary, my rules.

I opened the front door, and—holy shit. My jaw nearly hit the polished hardwood floor.

Jake. But not Jake. At least, not the lanky teenager I remembered. Standing in front of me was a six-foot-something mountain of lean muscle and jawline for days. My brain short-circuited for a second, trying to reconcile the Jake I used to know with the Jake currently dominating my doorway.

“Wow, Jake. I… barely recognized you,” I said, stepping aside to let him in, my voice somehow managing to stay even.

“Hi, Lia.” He grinned, dimples flashing, and casually stepped inside. He toed off his pristine white sneakers like a pro, knowing my no-shoes-inside rule. A grin tugged at my lips. The kid paid attention.

Then he shrugged off his winter coat, revealing broad shoulders and an unfairly fitted navy t-shirt stretched across what I could only describe as a lot. His dark jeans clung to legs that looked like they could crush logs—or egos. He hung his jacket on the hook like the polite guest he was, then turned back to me with his overnight bag in hand, looking every bit the college heartthrob that probably had girls lining up.

“Welcome to my home! How are you, big boy?” I teased, stepping forward to give him a hug. The height difference was laughable—I had to crane my neck, and he had to lean down, but it was warm and familiar.

“I’m good. How are you, Lia? Long time no see.” His voice had a richness to it now, a deeper, more grown-up tone that was… distracting.

“Not too bad myself. And yeah, it’s been ages. But look at you! All gym bro vibes now.” I gestured at him, all six feet and charge of pure testosterone taking up half my hallway.

Jake ducked his head, scratching the back of his neck with that same sheepish smile I remembered from years ago. “Yeah, well… not much else to do besides studying and the gym.”

I raised a brow, folding my arms. “What? no parties? No friends? No girls?” I wiggled my eyebrows, my teasing tone earning a burst of laughter that echoed down the hall as I led him to the living room.

“Okay, fine. Maybe a few parties and I’ve got friends. But no girl,” he admitted, dropping his bag near the sofa and pausing to take in the space.

I watched as he turned toward the arced floor-to-ceiling windows, his eyes widening as the skyline stretched out before him, bathed in the amber hues of the setting sun. The view never failed to impress.

“Wow,” he breathed, his voice soft. “This view is fire.”

I smirked. “Pretty dope, right?”

For lack of a better word, Jake was a walking genetic jackpot. He’d inherited most of his father’s striking features: a chiseled jawline sharp enough to file paperwork on, a tall, aristocratic nose, and a mouth so perfectly proportioned Michelangelo himself could’ve sculpted it. His thick brows framed his eyes like a masterpiece and lashes that most women paid good money to replicate naturally darkened his gaze.

Then there was his hair—dark brown with streaks that caught the light like they were blessed by the sun itself. The kind of hair that screamed effortless charm but probably took zero effort to maintain.

But his eyes? Those were all Jane. Gray as a stormy sea, flecked with hints of silver and blue, they carried an intensity and warmth that could pin you in place without meaning to. It was uncanny how much they resembled his mom’s like little pieces of her lived on in him.

Looking at Jake now, I couldn’t help but think that Justin and Jane had created a masterpiece of a human being. It was almost criminal that a person this genetically blessed could exist—and also mildly infuriating that the universe had let him show up looking like this without any warning.

He turned to me, his stormy gray eyes—his mom’s eyes—glinting in the warm light, and flashed me that killer smile again. Damn. He could probably charm the pants off anyone with that look.

“So,” I said, breaking the moment and heading toward the open kitchen, “what’s the game plan? Want to chill for a bit with some snacks and drinks, or freshen up first before we head out for dinner?”

He sniffed his armpit with zero shame—typical—and grinned. “Shower first. Definitely. Then I’ll take off my clothes and chill.”

I shot him a mock glare. “You mean shower, put clothes back on, and then chill. Right?”

He just laughed as I pointed out his room. “That door’s yours. The bathroom’s shared with the visitors toilet, but don’t worry—the lock automatically engages from your side when you open the side of your door. Smart home perks.”

“Lit. This whole place is a smart home?” he asked, clearly impressed.

“Top to bottom,” I said, a little smug. It’s always nice when someone appreciates your tech addiction. His gray eyes lit up, excitement flickering there as he nodded and headed inside, closing the door behind him.

I turned back to the kitchen, pulling out a cheese board and some wine glasses. I’d planned to open a bottle of my favorite white, but as I unscrewed the cork, a thought hit me: Wait, Jake’s only nineteen. Shit. He’s technically not old enough to drink.

I stared at the wine for a second, chewing my lip. Did I even have anything non-alcoholic? His favorite fizzy grape drink wasn’t exactly something I kept stocked.

Why didn’t Justin warn me about this? I groaned internally. Clearly, hosting a teenager-who’s-not-really-a-teenager was going to be more complicated than I thought.