Chapter 56 Chapter 56
Emily's POV
The chair across from the conference table felt too small, like it wasn’t built to hold everything sitting on my chest. I kept my hands folded neatly in my lap, my fingers were laced together just tightly enough to stop them from shaking. My posture was straight, and it was even perfect. My shoulders were pulled back my chin level. I kept my expression neutral. I had practiced this. The version of myself that walked into rooms like this and didn’t let anything slip. Across from me sat two people who had already made up their minds before I walked in.
Dr. Hensley, my department head, looked at me over a stack of papers, her expression was careful, yet not unkind, but not on my side either. Next to her was a university representative I had never met before was sitting. Either legal or public relations. Someone whose job was to minimize damage. I was damage right now.
“Emily,” Dr. Hensley began, folding her hands together on the table. “Thank you for coming in again.” She said it like we hadn’t already done this, like I hadn’t already explained everything, like my words hadn’t already been filtered, evaluated, and quietly set aside.
“Of course,” I said. My voice didn’t waver. I was proud of that, even if everything else inside me felt like it was barely holding together.
The representative glanced down at his notes before speaking. “We will be direct,” he said. “The situation has escalated more quickly than anticipated.” So it had escalated like this was a natural disaster, something unpredictable. I didn’t interrupt. I let him keep talking. “The media attention,” he continued, “Has placed both the university and your department in a difficult position.”
Of course it had, because perception mattered more than truth and headlines were easier to manage than facts. “We have reviewed the structure of your internship,” Dr. Hensley added. “And while your performance has been...” she paused slightly, “Exceptional…” The word should have felt like something but it didn’t.
“We can’t ignore how this situation reflects externally.” I let out a breath.
My jaw tightened just slightly. “I understand,” I said, because I did, even if I didn’t agree with it.
The representative leaned forward. “We are prepared to offer you a conditional continuation.”
My chest tightened. “Conditional how?” I asked. I remained calm.
He didn’t hesitate. “You will remain in the program under the following expectations." He slid a document across the table towards me. I didn’t reach for it immediately. “First,” he said, “You will significantly reduce public association with Noah Harris.” “Second, you will avoid any situation that could generate additional media attention.” I swallowed slowly.
“And third,” Dr. Hensley added, her voice was softer but no less firm, “You will maintain strict professional boundaries at all times.” That meant being professional, having boundaries and keeping a distance at all times.
Step away from him.
I picked up the paper and read it, even though I didn’t need to, because the words didn’t say anything I hadn’t already understood. “This is about optics,” I said quietly.
The representative nodded. “Yes.”
At least he didn’t pretend otherwise. “And if I don’t agree?” I asked.
Silence stretched for a second too long. Dr. Hensley met my eyes. “Then we will have to reconsider your position in the program.”
Reconsider was a polite word for removal for everything I had worked towards being taken away because of something I didn’t create. My fingers tightened slightly on the edge of the paper. I forced them to relax. “This was a university-approved arrangement,” I said. “I followed every requirement.”
“We are aware of that,” the representative replied.
“Then why am I being penalized for it?”
“You’re not being penalized,” he said.
“You’re being asked to adapt.”
Adapt to clean up something they were now distancing themselves from, to take responsibility for a narrative they had helped build. My chest tightened again. “Your recommendation,” Dr. Hensley added carefully, “Is still under review.” That was the real leverage. The thing they knew I couldn’t walk away from easily. “Your future,” she continued, “Is not out of reach, Emily. But it does depend on how you handle this moment.”
This felt like it was a test. As if my entire career could be reduced to how well I navigated their damage control. I looked down at the document again. The words blurred for a second, not because I couldn’t read them, it was because I didn’t want to. I already knew what they meant. This is what I wanted. I wanted to keep the distance between myself and Noah, to keep it professional because I disliked him. I wanted no distractions and no complications. That had been the plan from the beginning. But because I felt more for Noah, this felt wrong.
“I need an answer,” the representative said.
Decisions had to be made. Paths had to be chosen. Outcomes had to be controlled. I inhaled slowly, I held my breath for a few seconds before I exhaled. “I understand the terms,” I said.
Dr. Hensley nodded. “You can take time to consider.”
Time wasn’t what they were really offering. They wanted compliance. They just wanted it to feel like a choice. “I won’t create more problems,” I said instead. The words came carefully. “I will maintain professionalism.” That part was true. It always had been. I didn't say the rest because I wasn't ready to define it yet.
The representative nodded again. “We will expect a formal confirmation soon.” Everything was formal, and documented.
I stood up from my seat and so did they with polite smiles and professional nods. A meeting that looked clean on paper, contained and resolved. But nothing about it felt resolved.
I walked out of the office without looking back. The hallway felt too bright, exposed and open. Students passed by some of them glanced at me and some didn’t. I could feel the awareness and the quiet judgment.
“That’s her.”
“She’s the one.”
“She used him.”
I kept walking with my head held up and my posture straight until the doors opened and I stepped outside. The cool air hit me first. I just stood there for a few seconds, trying to breathe, trying to steady everything that felt like it was shifting too fast. This was all what I wanted to begin with, so why did it feel like I was losing something instead of gaining it?
I started walking, not to any specific place but because standing still felt impossible, thinking in circles wasn’t helping and I needed space to process what just happened. What it meant. What it required.
Reduce public association.
Avoid attention.
Maintain boundaries.
Distance yourself... from him.
My chest tightened again and I didn’t like how automatic that reaction was, I didn’t like how much it mattered. I turned the corner of the building and stopped because he was there, leaning against the low stone wall near the entrance with his hands in his pockets. His posture was relaxed like he had been waiting.
He looked up when he saw me and something in his expression shifted. Enough that I knew he had been paying attention and waiting for me. My steps slowed down. I didn’t know what to do next, because everything I had just been told, everything I had just agreed to consider, clashed directly with the reality of him standing right there.
This was the problem. This was the complication. This was the part I was supposed to step away from. And yet, I didn’t turn and create distance. I walked towards him slowly and deliberatly, because avoiding him would’ve been easier. It would’ve been the first step in following their terms, but I didn’t choose that.
He straightened slightly as I got closer. “How did it go?” he asked. His voice was steady and careful like he wasn’t going to push further than I allowed, like he was giving me space to answer honestly.
I stopped a few feet in front of him. “They want distance,” I said.
His jaw tightened slightly. “Of course they do.”
“They framed it as ‘professional boundaries.’”
He let out a quiet breath. “Same thing.”
“Yeah. They are reviewing everything,” I added. “My recommendation. My position.”
He nodded slowly. “Yeah.” He just acknowledged it like it was no surprise.
That helped me, because I didn’t need reassurance right now. I needed reality. “I can stay,” I said. “But only if I… adjust.”
He looked at me. “And what does that mean?” He asked.
I hesitated, because saying it out loud made it real. It defined it. It made it something I had to choose. “It means I’m supposed to step back,” I said. “From you.”
He didn’t react immediately. He didn't argue or step closer. He just stood there, processing it like he was giving the moment the weight it deserved, but this wasn’t his decision. It was mine and we both knew it.
“Okay,” he said. Just one word, but it wasn’t agreement. It wasn’t acceptance and understanding. And something inside me shifted again, because he wasn’t making it easier, he wasn’t making it harder either. He was letting me decide. That felt heavier than anything the university had said, because they gave me conditions and he gave me freedom, that was harder to walk away from.
I looked at him. He didn’t try to control the outcome. This was something I couldn’t control. I stepped closer, enough to close the distance I had been told to create, enough to make it clear, this wasn’t a decision I was making for them. It was mine. And whatever I chose next, it wasn’t going to be based on fear, optics or expectation. It was going to be based on something I hadn’t allowed myself to prioritize before. Him. It felt like the first real decision I had made all day.