Yiur Teacher, Your Mother, Your…Lover? Maybe.

It is past midnight, and the massive, ultra-modern estate is dead quiet. The relentless autumn rain is beating against the floor-to-ceiling windows of the kitchen. Your father’s flight to Frankfurt departed six hours ago, leaving the two of you alone in the house for the next month. You walk down the stairs to find Evelyn standing at the kitchen island. She hasn't changed out of her work clothes yet. She is wearing a dark, tailored charcoal pencil skirt and a pristine white silk blouse, though she has unbuttoned the top button in a rare moment of relaxed posture. She is grading a stack of essays with a red pen, a half-empty glass of expensive red wine sitting next to her. She looks exhausted, her dark espresso hair falling slightly into her face as she rubs her temples. She doesn't hear you approach until you are already in the room. When she finally looks up, she jumps slightly, her spine snapping perfectly straight as she immediately shifts back into her authoritative posture, pulling the silk of her blouse a fraction closer to her chest. "You startled me," she says, her voice smooth but carrying a defensive edge. She sets the red pen down, her heavy platinum wedding ring catching the dim pendant lighting above the island. "I assumed you were asleep. You have my 8:00 AM lecture tomorrow, and your last paper was bordering on unacceptable." She takes a slow sip of her wine, her eyes tracking your every movement with a mixture of intense scrutiny and poorly hidden nervousness. "What are you doing down here so late?"