Chapter 66

Chapter 66
Elise's POV

"Before this incident, someone had already reported you." Her tone remained steady, as if she were stating a fact that had nothing to do with me. "They said you were running a tattoo shop off-campus, associating with questionable individuals from outside the school. The academy chose to turn a blind eye at the time—after all, your grades were good, and you weren't affecting anyone else."

She set down her teacup and looked at me.

"But now the impact of this matter is too widespread. The content of those photos—involving a minor—and they were distributed in a public place on campus. Regardless of the truth, the outside world has already started paying attention. The school's reputation will be affected."

I understood.

"So?"

The department chair sighed.

"I suggest you take a temporary leave of absence."

Leave of absence.

Those words landed in my ears heavier than the jeers from those boys earlier, heavier than the sound of those photos hitting the ground.

"This isn't a punishment," she added, as if trying to console something. "We just hope that after the public opinion dies down, you can decide what to do next. The specific timeline can be discussed. If you need it, the school can also provide you with documentation for your leave—"

"Okay."

She froze for a moment, apparently not expecting me to agree so readily.

"You... agree?"

"I agree."

When I said those words, I felt a strange sense of relief. As if a stone that had been suspended for a long time had finally dropped.

No more pretending to be normal. No more walking into that classroom every day to face those stares. No more maintaining an identity that never really existed.

"There's one more thing." The department chair's tone shifted, becoming somewhat more formal. "More than one person filed a police report. Many students and parents reported it. The police have gotten involved."

I remained silent.

"The man who distributed the photos at the school gate—Benjamin Miller—was just taken away by the police."

Benjamin had been arrested.

I should feel happy. Or at least relieved. But I felt nothing. Just empty.

"Regarding the content of the photos, the police will need you to give a statement. If you're willing, you can apply for legal aid—"

"Not necessary."

The department chair looked at me, seeming to want to say something, but ultimately didn't.

"Then go back and pack your things. If you need anything, contact the academy anytime."

I stood up, nodded slightly, and turned to leave.

As I reached the door, she said from behind me:

"Elise, this isn't your fault."

I didn't turn around.

---

The dormitory hallway was very quiet.

Most students were either in class or had gone to the cafeteria. I used my own key to open the door. Everything in the room was exactly as I'd left it this morning—the bed neatly made, a few textbooks spread out on the desk, yesterday's washed clothes hanging on the rack.

It looked like a normal student's room.

But I would never come back.

I pulled out my suitcase and started packing.

Clothes. Books. Toiletries. Charger. One item after another, stuffing them in. My movements were quick, mechanically repetitive, my mind thinking nothing.

Then I felt a metal tin box under the bed.

A small box with a faded sticker on top. Inside were a few pieces of paper—copies of my parents' estate documents, original records of the trust account, and some old photographs. This was my complete backup of evidence materials.

I opened the box, confirmed everything was inside, then closed it and stuffed it into the very bottom of the suitcase.

The moment I zipped it up, my hand stopped.

I just crouched there on the floor, facing a suitcase packed with all my belongings. The entire life of nineteen-year-old Elise Vance, compressed into a twenty-inch space.

About the same size as the one Anna had been dragging that night.

My eyes suddenly stung.

Not that surging, uncontrollable kind of crying. But rather something heavy slowly rising from deep in my chest, stuck in my throat, unable to swallow down or spit out.

All these years, I had always known.

If I wanted to fight back against Benjamin, there would be this price to pay eventually.

Those photos he held were his most effective tool for threatening and controlling me over the years. Every time I wanted to escape, he would use those things to remind me—as long as you dare step out, these things will see the light of day. Everyone will know what kind of filthy thing you are.

I had always known this day would come.

I thought I was prepared.

I thought I could face it all calmly, could walk through the crowds with my head held high, could turn a blind eye to all those stares.

But I was wrong.

I had only lived a few days without fear. A few days. Living in Victor's house, where no one pushed open my door in the middle of the night, no one looked at my body with disgusting eyes, no one used phrases like "we raised you" to kidnap my will.

Only a few days.

Then someone yanked me right back to my original form.

Those photos. Those images. Those memories that woke me up every single night—they had never disappeared. They had been there waiting all along. Waiting for Benjamin to pour them all out one day, letting the whole world take a look at Elise Vance's most degrading appearance.

I hugged my knees, crouching on the dormitory floor, burying my face in the crook of my arm.

My shoulders shook once.

Then again.

Without making a sound.

I couldn't make noise. There might be people in the next dorm room. Couldn't let anyone hear.

I just curled up quietly like that, letting that heavy thing seep out from my eyes, dripping onto the back of my hand, dripping onto the floor, dripping onto that damn suitcase.

I don't know how long passed.

A commotion came from downstairs.

Someone was speaking loudly. Then came hurried footsteps. And then—

"Elise!"

That voice.

I froze.

Familiar yet strange. A voice that had been roaring on the other end of the phone just days ago. Carrying a flavor I had never heard before—anxious, almost pleading.

I lifted my head from my arm and looked toward the window.

A man stood on the open ground below.

His suit was wrinkled, his tie askew, his hair disheveled as if he'd just climbed out of bed. But he was looking up, face raised, his gaze locked dead onto this window.

Liam Sterling.

He was breathing hard, as if he'd run a long way to get here.

Our gazes collided across the distance of two floors.

Then I saw him open his mouth. From this far away, I couldn't hear what he said. But I could read his lips.

He was saying:

"I found you."