Your Secret Admirer: A Valentine's Day Short Story (Season Short Stories Book 1) by AJ Carter

Author:AJ Carter [Carter, AJ]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Papyrus Publishing LTD
Published: 2025-02-02T00:00:00+00:00

I’ve been summoned to Isaacs’ office, a march to the gallows. My shoes click against the wooden floors, each step echoing off the Victorian walls.

His door is closed this time. The brass nameplate gleams with recent polishing, a stark contrast to the aged wood beneath. My knuckles barely graze the surface before he calls out, ‘Come in, Julie.’

I enter. Isaacs sits behind his desk, reading glasses perched on his nose, surrounded by the organised chaos of academic life. The radiator beneath his window clanks and splutters, fighting its eternal battle against February’s bite.

‘Sit down.’ He gestures to the same leather chair I occupied days ago, its ancient springs groaning beneath my weight. ‘I’ve had some… concerning reports about this morning’s lecture.’

My throat constricts. The photograph burns in my bag, a guilty secret, even though I’m the victim here. ‘Professor, I⁠—’

‘No, let me finish.’ He removes his glasses, polishing them with the edge of his shirt – a gesture too familiar now. ‘I received three separate emails from students expressing worry about your well-being. Not complaints, Julie. Worry.’

Something loosens in my chest, just slightly.

‘What kind of employer – what kind of human being – would I be if I punished you for having a perfectly rational response to an increasingly disturbing situation?’ His voice lowers to something more gentle. ‘Tell me what happened today. All of it.’

The words spill out, water from a broken dam. I tell him about the footsteps in the dark, the new security measures that proved useless, the envelope in my bag. We even check the doorbell footage together on my phone, which has failed to record any movement at all – no surprise there. By the time I finish talking, the morning sun has shifted across his cluttered desk. My hands have stopped shaking, I notice distantly.

‘Right.’ Isaacs pushes back from his desk, chair creaking in protest. ‘Let’s go see what our new security system caught, shall we?’

‘New system?’

‘Mobile cameras.’ A hint of satisfaction creeps into his voice. ‘Installed them yesterday, actually. Wanted to tell you as soon as I found time, but we’ve officially got eyes on more corners of the Victorian wing now.’

My lips twitch in the ghost of a smile. ‘Clever.’

‘Occasionally, the bureaucracy works in our favour.’ He moves towards the door with surprising energy for a man who usually shuffles between his books. ‘Dr Lovitt’s waiting in the security office. If anyone went near your bag this morning, we’ll know about it.’

I follow him. The familiar walls feel different somehow – less threatening with Isaacs beside me, his blazer swishing as he walks.

We descend the creaking stairs.

‘Whatever this person’s playing at,’ Isaacs says, ‘they’ve picked the wrong target. We’ll find them, Julie. At least I hope so.’

I manage another weak smile, this one feeling slightly more genuine. The security office awaits at the bottom of the stairs, its reinforced door standing like a fortress gate. Inside, perhaps, lie answers – or at least the beginning of them.

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