Chapter 3 — Empty Halls

POV: Daisy

I didn't fully remember the walk back from the arena — just the rain, and Ethan's hand steady at my elbow guiding me through it, and then somehow I was standing in my own doorway, staring at a crisp white envelope taped to the door: Immediate Move-Out Notice.

I packed my entire life into two duffel bags in under an hour. The whole time, a campus security guard stood in my open doorway, his boots squeaking against the linoleum every time he shifted his weight. He was pretending to look down the hall, but I could see his reflection in the cheap vanity mirror.

I didn't blame him. He was just doing his job. Everyone in this building was just doing their job.

The housing coordinator had knocked at some point that evening, rain still hammering the window behind me, and handed me that envelope. I don't remember what she said. The guard watched out of the corner of his eye as I folded years of secondhand sweaters into a faded canvas bag that used to belong to my dad.

My hands did the folding, but my mind was still stuck in that wood-paneled disciplinary room, staring at the long table under the harsh fluorescent lights.

"The evidence is quite clear, Ms. Bennett," Dean Whitcombe had said, sliding the signed papers into a folder. The forged transcript. The recommendation letter my high school principal swore he'd never written. The financial aid waiver with a signature that wasn't mine.

"I've never seen these documents in my life," I had whispered, staring at the unfamiliar signature at the bottom of the waiver. "That's not my handwriting. Someone copied it."

"Please, Daisy," Madison Sinclair had interrupted from her seat near Victoria Kingston, whose face was as cold and unyielding as carved marble. Madison tilted her head, putting on a show of profound disappointment. "There's no point in lying anymore. We all know you couldn't afford the tuition here. I just didn't think you'd go this far to stay."

"I didn't do this!" I had turned to the Dean, desperate. "Ask her. She had access to my desk last week."

"I didn't touch her desk," Madison said, smoothing her skirt, her voice dripping with practiced innocence. "I only went into their room to drop off some sorority flyers. I never saw any files."

There was a half-second of silence before she said it. A tiny, jagged pause. I'd spent a year learning exactly how fast Madison could produce a lie when she needed one. Usually they slipped from her lips like silk. That one had come slow.

I never saw any files. The lie hung in the air, heavy and wrong.

"That's a lie," I muttered now, jamming a pair of worn sneakers into the bottom of the duffel bag. The zipper caught on a stray thread, snapping me back to the empty dorm room.

I couldn't breathe. The walls felt like they were closing in. I left the half-packed duffel bag open on the bed and slipped past the security guard before he could say a word, practically running down the concrete stairwell until I reached the heavy fire door at the bottom. I collapsed against the cold brick wall, pulling out my phone. My fingers shook so badly I almost dropped it.

I called my father.

"Dad," I gasped. My voice cracked around the single syllable, a sob catching in my throat. "Dad, they— I got—" The rest of the sentence dissolved before I could get it out, swallowed by another sob.

There was a pause on the other end. In the background, I could hear the low murmur of the TV — the same baseball game hum I'd grown up falling asleep to, the one he always switched on when the house got too quiet for his liking. I'd learned a long time ago not to ask why. He didn't ask me to finish. He never needed the whole sentence to know when something was wrong.

"Come home, sweetheart," he said.

That was all. No questions. No what did you do, no. Are you sure this isn't some terrible mistake? Just those four words, gentle as a hand resting on my shoulder. Somehow, that complete lack of doubt broke me worse than his anger ever would have.

"Okay," I whispered, wiping a tear away with the back of my wrist. "Okay, I'm coming home."

"I'll have the kettle on," he said softly. "Just get on the train, Daisy. Let your old man take care of the rest."

"I'm taking a cab," I said, looking down at the concrete. "I just... I need to get out of here fast."

"Don't worry about the cost. Just get here."

He didn't ask for details. He never made me feel like I owed him an explanation before he'd love me. That was the whole difference between my father and Victoria Kingston. Thomas Bennett loved first and asked questions never. Victoria asked questions first and called it love.

Ten minutes later — bags finally zipped, the last sweater crammed in without care — I dragged them out to the loading dock behind the dorm. The evening air was turning crisp, biting at my cheeks. The security guard, feeling some shred of pity, took the heavy bags from my hands and lifted them into the trunk of the yellow cab waiting by the curb.

"Wow," a voice purred from the shadows of the concrete overhang.

I froze. Madison was leaning against the brick pillar, her arms crossed over her designer trench coat. She looked perfectly timed, perfectly polished, as if she had scheduled this exact moment into her digital calendar.

"Guess the scholarship girl finally got what was coming to her," Madison said, stepping forward. A small, cruel smile touched her lips.

I looked at her for a long moment. For the first time all day, the frantic panic in my chest went completely numb, replaced by a strange, cold clarity. I didn't feel like the smaller person in the yard anymore.

"You said it took you a half-second to remember you'd never touched my desk, Madison," I said, my voice steady, cutting through the idle rumble of the cab's engine. "Most people don't need to pause to remember something that's actually true."

Something flickered behind her eyes. It was a sharp, sudden spark of panic — gone almost as soon as it arrived, instantly buried beneath the bored superiority she always wore like armor.

"You really thought you were going to marry him, didn't you?" she asked. Her voice dropped lower, becoming softer, almost thoughtful as she completely sidestepped my accusation. She took a step closer, her expensive perfume choking out the smell of damp asphalt. "A townie on scholarship. Marrying into the Kingston empire. God, Daisy. Some girls just don't know their own size."

"Is that what this was about?" I asked, gesturing vaguely between the two of us. "Jace? You helped Victoria forge those signatures just to clear the field?"

Madison laughed, a sharp, unfeeling sound. "You think I need to forge documents to beat you? Look at yourself, Daisy. You're packing your life into duffel bags. Victoria didn't need to invent anything; she just helped the university see what you really are. A fraud trying to climb a ladder that doesn't belong to you."

"I earned my place here," I said, my teeth chattering from the cold and the sheer venom in her tone. "I worked every single day for that scholarship. You wouldn't know hard work if it hit you in the face."

"And look where all that hard work got you," Madison snapped, her eyes narrowing into slits. "The Board believes us. The Dean believes us. And most importantly, Jace believes us. Do you honestly think he's going to risk his entire hockey career, his family's name, and a multi-billion-dollar franchise for a girl whose father works maintenance at the rink?"

The words felt like a physical blow to my stomach, but I forced myself to keep my chin up. "Jace knows who I am, Madison. He knows my heart."

"Does he?" Madison scoffed, stepping back toward the entrance. "News like that doesn't stay quiet for long around here. I heard exactly how it went in that locker room, even though I wasn't there to see it myself. You didn't even get a full sentence out before he walked away. You're an embarrassment to him, Daisy. A stain he's already scrubbing out."

I didn't push it further. I didn't have any spare breath left to give her, and some part of me understood that whatever Madison was hiding, I wasn't going to drag it out of her on a concrete loading dock while a cab meter was running.

"Enjoy the view from the top, Madison," I said quietly, turning my back on her. "It's a long way down."

I got into the back seat of the cab and slammed the door shut, cutting off whatever she was about to say next. I didn't look back at the brick dorm walls, or at her, or at the administration building where I'd left a piece of my soul on that long mahogany table.

Instead, I pulled out my phone. My fingers flew across the glass, typing his name. Jace.

My thumb hovered over the call button for a long, agonizing beat. Please, I prayed silently. Please, just answer. Just let me tell you the truth.

I pressed the button. I held the phone to my ear, listening to the silence.

There was no ringing. Just a flat, automated tone that sent a chill straight down my spine.

This number is no longer accepting calls from this contact. Please hang up and try your call again.

I stared at the glowing screen, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. No. It’s a glitch. A network error.

My thumb dragged across the glass, hitting the red disconnect button before frantically tapping his name again. I pressed the phone back to my ear, counting the agonizing seconds of silence, praying for the rhythmic swell of a normal ring tone.

Instead, the line clicked.

"This number is no longer accepting calls from this contact..."

The automated voice repeated itself, cold and mechanical. It wasn't a glitch. It was Jace Kingston blocking my number within hours of telling me we were done and walking away without once looking back.