Chapter 65
Chapter 65
Elise's POV
The moment those photographs fell, I knew it was over.
Not Benjamin—it was over for him, yes, but what truly shattered was the carefully maintained normalcy I'd spent years constructing: the "well-behaved foster cousin in the Miller household," the "sensible girlfriend of the Sterling heir," the "ordinary student at State Arts University." All these identities disintegrated the instant those white fragments hit the ground.
But I didn't run.
I stood there, watching the last few photographs drift down and land at my feet. Then I bent down and picked them up, one by one.
The noise around me grew louder. Someone was laughing. Someone gasped. Someone held up a phone, pointing it at me.
I didn't look up.
One. Two. Three.
I gathered them all, clutching them in my fist. The paper edges cut into my palm, but I felt no pain.
Then I straightened, stepped over the scattered remnants on the ground—I didn't bother picking those up, let them lie there—and walked toward the academic building.
The voices behind me surged like a tide. But I didn't turn back.
---
The hallway was more crowded than usual.
Or perhaps it was always this crowded. I just never noticed before.
Today, every step felt like pushing through an invisible wall. Eyes shot at me from every direction—curious, excited, contemptuous, and something else that made my stomach clench.
That kind of gaze, I knew it too well.
It was the way men looked at certain things. Not at a person. At something stripped bare.
"Hey, that's Elise, right?"
"Is it real? Is that really her in those photos?"
"Look at her face, acting all calm—"
"I heard her uncle was on his knees begging, tsk tsk—"
"Did you see those photos? My friend sent me a few—"
"Stop it, disgusting."
Disgusting.
The word pierced my ear like a needle.
I didn't stop walking. Eyes forward, pace steady, expression blank. Just like any student hurrying to class, utterly indifferent to everything around her.
But I knew my palms were sweating. The photographs clutched in my hand were already damp, their edges crumpled into a soggy mass.
Someone deliberately bumped into me.
The instant shoulder met shoulder, a wave of body odor mixed with tobacco hit my face.
"Sorry." A male voice, carrying no trace of apology. "Didn't see you."
I stumbled slightly, steadied myself, and kept walking.
Another person approached from the opposite direction, shoulder slamming into mine again. Harder this time. My arm throbbed with pain, and I staggered sideways.
"Oops." Another laugh. "This hallway's too narrow, huh?"
They were starting to close in on me now, deliberately.
Three or four guys. Wearing hoodies and jeans, holding phones or skateboards. Their faces wore expressions somewhere between joking and testing—like cats batting at a mouse already cornered.
"Elise," one of them called my name, "heard you run a tattoo shop off campus?"
I ignored him.
"What, not talking?" Another one moved closer. "We were thinking of getting some ink from you. Can you take those kinds of photos for us too?"
Laughter exploded around me.
I felt something rising from my stomach, but I stood perfectly still.
"Why so cold?" A hand reached out and landed on my shoulder. "We're all classmates here—"
I shook his hand off.
Quick. Hard.
The guy froze, apparently not expecting resistance. His expression shifted from mockery to something uglier.
"Fuck, got quite the temper."
"She's the Sterling heir's girlfriend, of course she's got attitude—oh wait, heard she switched guys? Who's the new one?"
"With someone like her, could be anyone, right? Hahaha—"
"Move."
My voice was quiet. But they heard it.
The guys exchanged glances. The one who'd touched my shoulder smirked and stepped aside half a step—less like making way and more like a gesture of "you're lucky I'm letting you pass."
I walked through the space between them.
Didn't run. Didn't quicken my pace. Step by step, steady, moving forward.
Not until I turned the corner and they were out of sight did I feel my legs trembling.
---
The classroom door stood open.
When I walked in, the previously noisy room fell silent for exactly one second.
Like someone had pressed mute.
Every gaze in the room turned toward the doorway simultaneously. Dozens of eyes. Some averted, some stared, some pretended to look at their phones while their peripheral vision tracked my every move.
I walked to my seat in the back row, pulled out the chair, and sat down.
I shoved the sweat-dampened wad of photographs into the bottom of my backpack.
Pulled out my textbook. Opened it. Stared at the words.
The whispers around me started up again, quieter than before but more concentrated. Like a swarm of mosquitoes buzzing in my ears.
"That's her..."
"Oh my god, can't believe it..."
"Are those photos real?"
"Shh, she's looking—"
I stared at the book in my hands. Not a single word registered.
"Elise Vance."
A voice came from above my head.
I looked up. The department chair stood in the doorway. A woman in her fifties, wearing glasses, gray-white hair, her face wearing that familiar adult expression of complex restraint—the "I already know but I must maintain decorum" look.
"Come to my office, please."
---
The department chair's office wasn't large. Shelves overflowed with files and books, a half-dead pothos sat on the windowsill. The air carried the scent of aging paper and bitter coffee.
She gestured for me to sit in the chair across from her desk, then held her tea cup without immediately speaking.
The silence lasted about ten seconds.
"Elise," she finally began, her tone gentler than I'd expected, "you know why I called you here today."
I didn't answer.
"What happened at the campus gates this afternoon has been reported to the college administration." She took a sip of tea. "I've also been briefed on the content of those photographs."
My fingers gripped the armrest tighter.