Chapter 25

ARIA

“Aria Monroe?” the lawyer began, voice clipped, professional. “I’m here to review the upcoming hearing with you. It’s important you understand the process and the questions you may be asked.”

I nodded once, keeping my eyes forward, keeping my hands still. “Yes,” I said softly. My voice didn’t waver, but inside, my heart was racing.

“You understand the seriousness of these allegations,” he continued, tapping a folder in front of him. “The photo, the audio… you’re aware of the potential consequences if the Board finds any fault, correct?”

“I understand,” I said again, deliberately neutral. No trembling, no hesitation. I didn’t need him to see fear.

“Good. Now, your answers during the hearing should be concise. Avoid unnecessary elaboration. Stick to the facts. If a question is inappropriate or speculative, you are to remain silent. Do you understand?”

“I understand,” I repeated, almost mechanically. I knew this part. Keep it simple. Keep it cold. Keep it untouchable.

He leaned back in his chair, studying me for a moment. “The university has already received statements from various parties, including a witness—Jessica”—his eyes flicked sharply toward me, noting my reaction—“who has admitted to providing screenshots and messages to the Dean. This is standard procedure, but I want to remind you… any contradictions will be noted.”

I felt my stomach drop. Jess. My best friend. My confidante. The one person I’d thought I could trust. And she had handed over proof. Proof that could ruin me. Proof that confirmed the rumors, that confirmed the perception.

I took a slow breath, keeping my hands on my lap, grounding myself. I wouldn’t give him any hint of panic. “I understand,” I said, voice even.

He tapped his pen on the folder. “Do you know why Jessica did this?”

I looked at him for a long moment. “No,” I said finally, keeping it short. The truth was complicated. Betrayal hurt more than I wanted to admit. But he didn’t need my feelings. He didn’t need my interpretation. Facts only.

“Alright,” he said, flipping a page. “The Board will ask about your interactions with Professor Blackwell, specifically your whereabouts during the blackout incident. They may ask about any prior incidents that could be construed as inappropriate, your communication, and your relationship with other students. You are to answer minimally. Only what is asked. Nothing more.”

I nodded again. My throat was tight, but I kept my posture straight. I wasn’t going to give them anything extra. Not a reaction. Not an explanation. Not a story that could be twisted.

He leaned forward, pen in hand. “You must also understand… your demeanor will be scrutinized. Any perceived defensiveness, hesitation, or inconsistency could be used against you. Keep your composure. Do not engage emotionally.”

I swallowed hard, forcing my pulse to slow. I had rehearsed this in my head a hundred times, pacing my dorm room, whispering answers under my breath. Composure. Silence. Minimalism. Do not give them more than they are entitled to.

“Now,” he said, closing the folder, “I need to remind you—if questioned about Maya, her involvement, or any possible tampering, you are not to speculate. You will only answer what you personally know.”

I nodded once, almost imperceptibly. My mind was spinning, but I forced it to calm. I had no intention of pointing fingers. Maya had caused chaos, yes, but my focus now wasn’t revenge. It was survival. It was silence.

“You understand, correct?” he pressed, pen hovering over the folder.

“Yes,” I said firmly this time. The word felt like a shield, a promise to myself. No matter what came next, I would not break.

He gave me a long, evaluating look. “One final point. You may be asked about your own communications, texts, emails, messages. Anything deemed relevant. Be prepared to answer truthfully, but again, minimally. The less they have, the less damage can be done.”

I nodded again, keeping my lips pressed together. Minimal. Concise. Truthful, but only to the point. I repeated it in my head like a mantra. I could do this. I would do this.

After what felt like hours, he finally stood. “That’s all for today. Review your notes. Rehearse your answers. Keep calm. I’ll be present at the hearing to guide you, but you are responsible for your own conduct. Do you have questions?”

I shook my head. “No.”

“Good. Remember—your silence is your strength. The less you say, the less they can use against you. Do not give them an inch. Understand?”

“I understand,” I said again, voice steady.

After he left, the room seemed impossibly quiet. My backpack felt heavy on my shoulder, my notebook on my lap like a weight of its own. Jess leaned against the wall, looking guilty, hesitant.

“Aria…” she started, voice soft. “I—I gave the screenshots. I didn’t think it would get this… out of hand. I just…”

I didn’t look at her. Didn’t need to. The betrayal burned, but I had no energy for confrontation. Silence was more powerful than words right now.

“I know,” I said finally, voice controlled, calm. No tremor, no accusation, no emotion for her to cling to. “Thanks for being honest.”

She nodded slowly, looking smaller than usual. I could see the apology in her eyes, the regret, but it didn’t matter. Facts were facts. Actions were actions. And I wasn’t here to fix anyone else’s mistakes. I had to survive this.

I opened my notebook and started writing, drafting statements in my own words, rehearsing answers to questions I didn’t even know they would ask. Minimal. Concise. True. Nothing more. I wrote each word slowly, deliberately, feeling the power in controlling what I could.

Hours passed. The sun shifted outside the window, light falling unevenly across the table. I didn’t move. I didn’t eat. I didn’t speak. Silence was my ally. Silence would protect me.

Jess hovered nearby, muttering reminders, asking if I wanted water, if I needed a break. I shook my head every time. My focus was absolute. My control was all I had left.

Finally, I leaned back in my chair, stretching my fingers, letting them rest lightly on the notebook. I closed my eyes and imagined the hearing: the questions, the accusations, the whispers, the silent judgment in every glance. And I imagined myself sitting there, calm, unbroken, untouchable.

No tears. No excuses. Minimal words. Nothing to twist, nothing to misinterpret. Just truth—my truth, carefully measured, carefully controlled.

I opened my eyes and looked at Jess. “I’m not saying anything at the hearing. Nothing.”

She nodded slowly, understanding finally sinking in. “Nothing. Okay. I get it.”

I picked up my pen, scribbling one final note. One final rehearsal. One last preparation before stepping into the storm. I would not give them ammunition. I would not flinch. I would not falter.

The hearing could come. I was ready.

I folded the notebook neatly, sliding it into my backpack. Hands clenched lightly around the strap, I whispered to myself, firm and unwavering: “Silence is everything. They will get nothing.”

Jess didn’t say anything else. She just watched, cautious, aware that the girl she thought she knew was gone—replaced by someone sharper, quieter, colder.

I stood, taking a deep breath, letting the air fill my lungs. Calm. Steady. Prepared. The words would come, if necessary, but they would be minimal, controlled, and untouchable.

The storm was coming, and I would face it alone.

Silence, I promised myself. Silence was the only weapon left. And at the hearing, I would wield it perfectly.