Se connecter"Sit down, Miss Hale. I'd like you to read something before you say a single word."Assistant Dean Harmon doesn't smile when I walk in. Her office is small and overheated, shelves stacked with binders, a radiator ticking in the corner like a clock counting down. She slides one sheet of paper across the desk and folds her hands, watching my face the way people watch a pot they expect to boil over.I read it standing up. Then I sit, because my knees decide for me.*I, Christian Ashworth, state that I have only ever known Rebecca Hale as a tutor assigned through Professor Lindqvist's seminar. There has never been a relationship of any kind between us, romantic or otherwise. Any claims to the contrary are untrue.*His name sits at the bottom in blue ink. It looks right from far away. Up close, the C is wrong. Christian signs with a quick slanted loop, like he's in a hurry to get away from his own name. This C is careful and round, drawn by someone who copied it from somewhere."This isn't
"Twelve thousand views. Read it yourself."I'm sitting on the fountain's edge with my phone shaking in my hand, Christian reading the email over my shoulder, both of us silent for a long moment while the cold afternoon wind cuts across the quad. The subject line alone makes my stomach drop: *Formal Notice of Interim Suspension Pending Review.*"They can't suspend you over a video," Christian says, though his voice doesn't carry the certainty it did ten minutes ago in his father's office."They can do whatever they decide looks responsible to the public." I scroll through the email again, the words blurring together, formal language about preserving the integrity of the institution, about protecting all parties during an active investigation, about my scholarship funding being paused effective immediately. "It doesn't say I'm guilty. It just says I'm suspended until they decide.""This is because of the video." Christian's jaw tightens as he pulls out his own phone, thumb moving fast.
"You wanted to see me?"I'm standing in Graham Ashworth's office doorway, breathless from the walk across campus, Sloane's crowd and her camera still ringing in my ears. Christian is already there, standing near the window, jaw tight, and Graham sits behind his desk with a printed document in front of him, unhurried as always."Sit, Miss Hale." He doesn't look up right away. "We have a great deal to discuss.""I'd rather stand."Something close to approval flickers across his face, there and gone. "As you wish." He finally lifts his eyes to mine. "Miss Whitmore filed a complaint this morning alleging financial impropriety between you, your mother, and a campus reporter. I assume you're aware.""I'm aware. It's fabricated.""I know." He says it simply, without emotion, sliding the document across the desk toward me. "I've reviewed our Foundation's actual records. There's no such transaction. Miss Whitmore constructed this rather sloppily, in fact, which tells me she was working quickly
"What do you mean, there's more coming? More what, Dom?"I corner him outside the dining hall the next morning before he can disappear into the building, his usual swagger noticeably absent, hands shoved deep in his pockets like he's bracing against something. The morning air is sharp enough to sting, students streaming past us toward their first classes, none of them aware yet that today's going to be anything other than ordinary."I shouldn't even be talking to you." He glances around, uneasy, checking over his shoulder like Sloane might materialize out of thin air just from us standing too close together. "If she finds out I warned you—""Dom." I keep my voice low, urgent, stepping closer so he can't pretend not to hear me. "You texted me last night. You don't get to walk that back now because it's daylight and you're scared of her again. Not after everything this semester."Something flickers across his face, guilt maybe, or exhaustion with his own role in all of this, the particu
"May I cut in? Or is that not allowed anymore either?"Sloane's voice slides in beside us before Christian and I have even found our footing on the dance floor, her smile sharp and bright for the handful of guests still watching. Christian doesn't let go of my waist."No," he says simply. "You may not.""Christian." She laughs, light, like he's made a joke instead of drawn a line. "Don't be dramatic. I just thought, after the scene with your father, we could all use a moment to reset. For appearances, if nothing else.""There's no reset happening." His voice carries now, steady and clear, loud enough that the small cluster of guests nearby turn to look. "I'm done managing appearances for you, Sloane. I'm done letting you decide what story gets told about who I'm actually with."Her smile falters, just slightly, before she recovers it. "You're embarrassing yourself.""No." He pulls me a half step closer, his hand firm at my back. "I've spent this entire semester embarrassing myself, ev
"Notes? He wrote my mother's speech?"My voice comes out sharper than I intend, loud enough that a few heads turn nearby. The staff member's composure barely flickers."Mr. Ashworth simply wanted to ensure the evening ran smoothly. He thought some guidance might help, given the formal setting.""Let me see them." I hold out my hand before my mother can take the folder being offered to her.The staff member hesitates, glancing toward the staircase where Graham stands watching from a distance, and then hands it over anyway, perhaps sensing that refusing me in front of my mother would cause more of a scene than allowing it.I open the folder and read fast, my stomach dropping with every line. It isn't a simple thank you speech. It's a carefully worded narrative, my mother's own voice borrowed to describe a scholarship granted out of pure generosity, no mention of Foundation money laundering, no mention of an account opened without my knowledge, nothing but grateful, humble language desig







