Chapter Four

Imogen's Pov.

I force my legs to move, pushing myself through the campus gates. I can feel eyes on me, a heavy, scrutinizing weight.

The whispers start up again, a low, venomous hum just like on the bus. Every gaze feels like a physical blow, a harsh reminder of everything I've lost. My confidence, once a steady flame, is snuffed out. The night before, I cried until I was empty, as if tears could somehow erase the past or bring him back. They didn't. They just leave my eyes swollen and my heart raw.

I've covered the puffy redness with a thick layer of makeup and a pair of dark glasses, hoping to hide my despair. But even with the disguise, their words find me in the hallway. I hear their jabs, sharp and cruel, cutting through the low hum of the crowd.

“And she looks so innocent, getting fucked by Mr. Salvatore.”

“I wonder what he sees in her, she's so average.”

“What do you expect? She gave herself away, it's free, but I'm sure he could manage it.”

I blink away the hot tears that threaten to fall. I've already lost my dignity, and I tell myself it's a small price to pay if I can just keep my admission and graduate with my degree. Dante couldn't have just left without an explanation. It wasn't like him. I should hate him, I know I should, but I don't know how to start. I don't know how to turn the love I feel into a weapon against him.

The whispers, however painful, couldn't prepare me for what I walk into. The panel conference room is a silent, suffocating space. Three people sit waiting, and the chairperson is Christine George. My stomach churns, a cold knot of dread forming as I meet her gaze. The animosity in her eyes is palpable.

She always had feelings for Dante, feelings that almost tore us apart. I remember the faculty match, how she forced a kiss on him right in front of everyone. He pushed her away, of course. I was frozen then, unable to process the betrayal and confusion. He came after me, and soon after, filed for a restraining order against her. Did she suspect something back then? I find myself praying for even a drop of conscience in her as I take the seat left for me.

“Good morning, Miss. Darcy,” the first woman, Professor Theresa, greets me dryly. It’s not a courtesy but a harsh reminder that I should have greeted them first. I quickly get up, bowing my head and greeting each person individually before they urge me to sit back down.

“So, why are you here?” the third woman asks, Mrs. Ruth, the committee's assistant chairman. Her tone is direct and unwavering.

“To clarify the press' claims about Mr. Salvatore and myself.”

“No, you're here because you slept your way through the academic chain while your colleagues worked hard for it,” Christine spits, her voice laced with venom.

“Calm down, Chris, let the girl speak,” Professor Theresa interjects, her voice hushed but firm. “Miss. Darcy, what was your relationship with Mr. Salvatore?”

I take a deep breath, steeling myself. “I am his girlfriend. We've been dating since the fall two years ago. We always kept our personal lives separate from our academic lives.”

“Show her the images, Ruth,” Theresa says, her face a mask of stone.

Ruth passes a tablet to me. “Scroll.”

My breath hitches. My eyes widen in horror as I scroll through a series of photos. There we are, me and Dante, caught in stolen moments. Kissing in the locker room. Me straddling him in his office. Then, a deeply explicit one, me on his desk with his head between my legs. The intimate moments, the ones meant only for us, are laid bare for everyone to see.

“These images were captured by surveillance,” Theresa says, the coldness in her voice chilling me to the bone. “It'll interest you to know that in under twenty-four hours, 15,000 students and counting have already signed the petition for your expulsion.”

I try to regain my composure. “I apologize if our romance may have crossed into school grounds, but how can I be expelled for having a relationship as a consenting adult?”

“You're at least the twentieth best student in all of your classes, but at the top of Mr. Salvatore's. Care to explain that?”

“I study like I should and—”

“Give him blowjobs in his car, or maybe his house,” Christine cuts me off, her laugh sharp and cruel.

“Excuse me?” I stare at her, stunned.

“You heard me. It's high time we call it what it is. Where else did he fuck you aside from his house? In his car? In the classroom? You liked his tongue on you, didn't you?”

The words hit me like a physical assault. My head is spinning, and I can't breathe. “I'm sorry, but I can't answer that,” I manage to choke out. I didn't realize I was crying until I wiped a tear from my face. My defenses are crumbling.

“I knew there was something up with the way you both looked at each other,” Christine laughs, a triumphant, deranged sound.

“Yes,” Theresa chirps in, her voice now a sickening echo of Christine's. “And the way he praises her and gives her his morning coffee.”

“Because I'm his girlfriend. And that's what boyfriends do.” The words feel weak and hollow.

“Yes, boyfriends leave you after a passionate night for the media to expose your true nature,” Christine says, the finality in her voice a crushing blow. “It's been decided already, Imogene. Your expulsion memorandum would be published by noon.”

***

“You'll leave here! And never show up again!” my father yells, his voice a roar of fury as he tosses out another one of my bags. It feels like my life has turned into a horror movie. I'm screaming and begging, but no one listens. My pleas are lost in the chaos.

My brother grabs me, lifting me up onto his shoulder and setting me down roughly outside. People are standing on the sidewalk, watching the scene unfold, but no one helps. It’s as if they all believe this is something I deserve. I can't breathe. My head is aching, a dull throb behind my eyes, and I can barely see through the tears. It feels like the day I heard about my uncle's death, but now it's the death of my life, my dreams, my hopes—all in just two days.

My father threatens me with his gun, the cold metal glinting in the sunlight. Moments later, I am wheeling my luggage away from home. I don't know where to go, so I decide to book a hotel. I pull my hoodie low over my face, trying to conceal my identity as I find the cheapest one on my GPS.

The room is small, a cramped box with peeling wallpaper, but I can work with that until I get my life together. I hand the black card Dante gave me to the receptionist. I've always used a joint family account, which is why he gave me this. At least he left me with money; it doesn't compensate for how miserable I am, but it's something to help for now.

“This card has been blocked, Miss,” the receptionist says, uttering the life-altering words with a detached tone.

“What? Please try it again.” I frantically plead, and she does. A beeping red light flashes—a beeping reminder that my life is finally over.

He left me with nothing but a post-it-note. He ruined my life as if I were his sworn enemy. A breakup would have been better than this, but he broke me, not just our relationship that is now apparently a joke to the entire world.

I find myself going back to his apartment building, knocking on Mr. Reginald's door. He is the only person who has helped me softly since this all began.

“Why would Dante do this?” he muses, letting me in.

His wife, Lolita, is sympathetic to my condition. “Someone must have had a hand in this... it's just crazy that they would do something like that to you.”

I cry in her arms that night until I fall asleep. “You'll be okay,” she assures me, but her words feel hollow.

No, I won't. I'm a wreck. I don't have any money to even file a lawsuit, and the public is obviously not interested in my story.

I find out that both their children are still at school for the session at Westminster, so they let me sleep in their room until they get back. The Reginalds aren't exactly wealthy. Their apartment complex was run down before Dante came; his unit was the only appealing section of the building after he renovated it thoroughly. For the next two weeks, I spend my days on the couch, crying and staring into space while they go to work. Lolita is a nurse, so I usually enjoy her company when she has night shifts and comes back in the afternoon.

My I*******m account is suspended after a mass reporting, and I delete the app, grateful that I can't read the hate comments anymore.

My head bangs wildly the following morning at breakfast, and I'm getting weaker than usual.

“It's okay... it's probably just the weather, you should eat something,” Lolita assures me as she hands me the plate of oats. The smell makes my stomach churn, and in seconds, I drop it on the table and rush to the bathroom, emptying its contents.

What is happening to me? I finish cleaning up as she gets into the bathroom. Lolita stares at me, and then her gaze drops to my breasts. They've been fuller than usual. She holds my hand. “Have you used a pregnancy test kit before?”

Pregnancy? I can't be pregnant. I'm on birth control. My mouth goes bitter as I recall that I didn't take my pills that night of the incident. The reality hits hard when I see two lines on the test strip. I am pregnant. Expelled, shamed, penniless, and now, pregnant?

I try to accept the reality as I lie on the couch that night, holding back my tears, which turn into sobs.

“I know I said yes, Reggie, but a pregnancy? We can't raise the girl and a baby. We're barely surviving on our own. I'm sorry, but she has to go.” Lolita's voice echoes from their bedroom, and my heart shatters into a million pieces.

My stay here is over. My life is over. And the man that I had given everything to is the monster that ruined it all.