บททั้งหมดของ The Professor’s Canvas : บทที่ 11 - บทที่ 20

My phone won’t stop ringing.I silence the seventh call from an unknown number and keep walking toward Café Zurich. It’s 7:45 PM. Fifteen minutes until I meet the woman who might destroy whatever is left between Mateo and me.Another call. This time it’s a number I recognize. My mother.I answer. “Mama…”“What have you done?” Her voice cracks. “Elena, what have you done?”I just know there is trouble. “What are you talking about?”“It’s on the news. Your name. Your professor’s name. Everything.” She is crying now. “Reporters came to the restaurant. They are asking about you, about our family, taking pictures…”“What? Mama, slow down…”“Your father had to close early. We are losing customers. People are saying terrible things…”“Put Papa on the phone.”Shuffling. Then my father’s voice, quiet and devastated. “Mija.”That one word breaks me.“Papa, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know this would…”“Is it true? What they are saying about you and this professor?”I could lie. Should lie. Instead:

My chest is too tight. “You shouldn’t have said that.”“Why not? It’s true.”“Because your family will use it against us. They will say you groomed me, that I can’t consent because I’m emotionally compromised…”“I don’t care what they say anymore.”“You should care. Your career…”“Is already over, you heard Morrison. I’m suspended pending investigation. Even if they don’t fire me outright, no university in Spain will hire me after this.” He accelerates past another car. “So I have nothing left to lose except you.”“That is not romantic, Mateo. That is terrifying.”“Why?”“Because what happens when the dust settles and you realize I’m not worth what you lost? When you look at me and see the student who destroyed your career instead of whatever you see now?”He pulls the car over again. This time on a deserted stretch of road. Kills the engine.“What are you doing? We need to get to Valencia…”He’s already unbuckling his seatbelt, then mine. Pulls me across the console onto his lap.“Ma

~Elena’s POV~My father looks smaller than I have ever seen him. Intubated, bandaged, machines breathing for him. The steady beep of monitors is the only sign he is alive.I sink into the chair beside his bed, take his hand.Mateo stands behind me, one hand on my shoulder.“I’m sorry, Papa,” I whisper. “I’m sorry for all of it. For the shame, for the reporters, for not coming home when you asked.” My voice cracks. “Please don’t die, please. I need you to meet Mateo properly, I need you to yell at him, interrogate him, all the things you should get to do.”The machines beep, my father doesn’t move.My phone buzzes. Sofia: *Just boarded the train. Will be there in 90 minutes.*Then another text. Unknown number.I open it.My blood turns to ice.It is a photo of me, naked on Mateo’s platform. High resolution, clearly identifiable. Below it:*Tomorrow’s front page. Thought you should see it first. Any comment for the article? - Javier Ruiz, El Periódico*I show Mateo.His face goes white.

We use a hospital conference room and spend five hours building our case piece by piece.At 2 AM, Marina leans back in her chair. “This is good. Really good. We can demonstrate David’s pattern of harassment, Rebecca’s conspiracy and the Sandoval family’s interference. We can show the relationship, while inappropriate, was genuinely consensual.”“But?” I prompt, hearing it in her tone.“But Mateo still had power over you. Still violated professional ethics. Still paid you cash for nude modeling while being your professor.” She looks at us both. “Best case scenario? Mateo gets terminated with severance. Elena gets academic probation but keeps her degree. Worst case? Both expelled, photos everywhere, neither of you works in academia again.”“What is the most likely scenario?” Mateo asks.Marina is quiet for a moment. “That depends on one thing neither of us has addressed yet.”“What?”She looks at me. “Are you currently in a romantic relationship with Professor Sandoval, or was this pure

~Elena’s POV~The protesters hit us before we even reach the building steps.“Predator!” someone screams at Mateo, a woman spits on the ground near my feet.Another group waves signs: “BELIEVE SURVIVORS” and “FIRE SANDOVAL.”But there is a smaller cluster holding different signs: “CONSENT MATTERS” and “ELENA MADE HER CHOICE.”I don’t know which group makes me feel worse.Sofia stands on my left side, Mateo on my right. Marina walks ahead, clearing the path. Cameras everywhere, reporters shouting questions that blur into white noise.“Miss Vega, did you see the photos?”“Professor Sandoval, any comment on the video evidence?”“Elena are you a victim or a willing participant?”We push through the doors into the administration building. Security checkpoint. Metal detectors. Like we are entering a courthouse instead of a university hearing.The hearing room is packed beyond capacity. Media occupies the back three rows, cameras set up on tripods. Faculty members I recognize line the sides.