Chapter Twelve: Carol's POV
Maurice St. Claire's voice was gentlemanly, ringing across the plaza.
Everyone turned. He'd come out of the Science building, none of us had noticed him.
He stood at the edge of our group, like a teacher who'd just happened upon students misbehaving. His expression was mild, with professional curiosity.
But his eyes—those deep blue eyes that haunted my nightmares—scanned each person carefully, noticing Seraphina's aggressive stance, my defensive posture, and Leon's ready-to-protect state.
Seraphina recovered first. Her expression immediately changed, becoming very polite. "Professor St. Claire. What a coincidence. I was just chatting with Carol about her becoming your research assistant. It's quite an unusual choice, and honestly, some of us are a bit curious about your standards."
Maurice raised his eyebrows slightly. The gesture seemed both amused and gently reproachful.
"Curious? That's a diplomatic way to express concern. I suspect these concerns are more about disappointment than actual academic interest." He looked at Seraphina, that gaze making her a bit unsteady.
"Miss Valodin's qualifications are outstanding. Her work on genetic variation shows not just technical proficiency but genuine insight, the kind of analytical ability I look for in research assistants."
"But she's only a sophomore," Caitlin interjected. "Surely there are more qualified, more experienced candidates—"
"Are you questioning my judgment?" Maurice's tone remained gentle, but carried an undercurrent of authority.
"If you have concerns about this school's academic standards, or about my research project, I suggest you file a complaint with the department. Otherwise, I suggest you focus on your own studies rather than speculating about matters that don't concern you."
The plaza fell very quiet. Other students were watching, some pulling out phones to record.
I saw Seraphina's face flush red, both angry and embarrassed. Her carefully maintained sense of superiority had been shattered by Maurice's few words.
"I just thought," Seraphina said tensely, as if holding back fury. "Someone in your position should know all the information about the people you choose. Carol's background isn't what you think. She's just adopted, basically a charity case. She was rescued from some situation—"
"Miss Valodin." Maurice's voice turned cold, cutting her off directly.
Several students flinched. "I'm well aware of Carol's academic record, her research abilities, and her potential as a scientist. Her family background has nothing to do with whether she's qualified for this position. Unless you have evidence of academic fraud or forged credentials, I suggest you stop making what amounts to harassment."
He turned, addressing the gathered onlookers, his voice carrying clearly.
"Let me make this clear to everyone: Carol was chosen purely based on her abilities. She demonstrated excellent understanding of complex genetic problems in class, and actively pursued independent research. These qualities, combined with her diligence and intellectual curiosity, make her an ideal candidate for this position. If any student feels they've been unfairly overlooked, my office hours are posted on the department website. I'd be happy to discuss your qualifications privately—or lack thereof."
The crowd gradually dispersed.
I saw Seraphina's friends quietly backing away, distancing themselves from her. Seraphina herself stood frozen, face full of fury, but holding it in.
I knew this wasn't over. She would find another way to make me pay for today's public humiliation.
Maurice turned to me, his expression softening somewhat. Someone who didn't know the situation might think it was concern.
"Are you all right, Carol?"
He asked me in such a gentle tone, it made me uncomfortable all over. How dare he? Pretending to care about me, playing the concerned mentor. But he was the one who violated me.
But I couldn't say any of this. Not here, not now, not with people watching.
Seraphina was still staring from the side, like a wounded animal, waiting for me to show weakness.
So I nodded, managing to squeeze out: "I'm fine. Thank you, Professor."
"Good." He glanced at Leon. Leon had moved closer during our confrontation. They exchanged a look—perhaps sizing each other up. "I trust this kind of unpleasantness won't become a pattern."
"It won't happen again," I said. But we both knew that was probably a lie.
As long as Seraphina and I existed in the same space, conflict was inevitable.
Maurice nodded slightly, checked his watch. "I have some time before my next appointment. Why don't you come with me to the lab? Leah will be there—she's my senior graduate student and will be working closely with you. Good to introduce you and familiarize you with the protocols and equipment we use."
"All right, Professor."
As we left the plaza, I could feel people watching me. Every face carried speculation and judgment. Leon followed behind, maintaining a discreet distance, continuing his silent vigil. It gave me some comfort, though my stomach still felt sick.
The research building was quieter than the main campus. The hallways were populated by focused graduate students and preoccupied professors rather than loud undergraduates. Maurice led me past a row of labs, pointing out relevant facilities.
I tried to listen to what he was saying rather than think about how his voice made me uncomfortable.
"The main sequencing equipment is in Lab 3B," he said, gesturing to a door we passed. "You'll have access once your credentials are processed. Leah will show you proper handling procedures—contamination is always a concern with genetic samples, so we maintain strict protocols."
I nodded, mechanically committing the information to memory. But my thoughts lingered on what had just happened in the plaza, on what Seraphina had said, on how Maurice had defended me.
He'd been so convincing, so perfectly reasonable, presenting himself as a professor who'd simply recognized talent and acted accordingly. Anyone watching would have suspected nothing inappropriate, would have seen nothing but a mentor protecting his student against unjust attacks.
It made me want to scream.
"Carol." His voice pulled me back to the present. I realized we'd stopped walking. We stood in a quieter section of the corridor, away from main traffic.
Maurice turned to face me, expression I couldn't quite read. "I want you to know that what just happened—those accusations—they reflect poorly on the student making them, not on you. You earned this position. Don't let anyone make you doubt that."
These words coming from him were unbearably ironic. "I understand, Professor."
"Do you?" He studied me for a moment, gaze making me feel stripped bare, as if he could see through all my carefully constructed defenses to the fear and anger beneath. "You seem troubled."
This was it. The opening I'd been waiting for. The chance to confront him about that night, to demand answers, to force him to acknowledge the truth between us.
My pulse quickened as I gathered my courage, choosing my words carefully. "Professor, I've been meaning to ask you something. About that night—"