Chapter 46 Chapter 46
Emily's POV
The chair outside the office was too hard. It was the first thing I noticed. It wasn't the whispers or the way people slowed down as they walked past. It wasn't the way my phone kept vibrating face-down in my lap like it was trying to force me to look at something I wasn’t ready to see. It was just the uncomfortable chair.
I sat with my back straight, with my hands folded neatly over my bag, my posture was perfect in a way that had been drilled into me over years of trying to be taken seriously in rooms like this.
Control your presentation.
Control your tone.
Control how people perceive you.
The irony wasn’t lost on me, because right now, I had never felt less in control of how I was being perceived. “That’s her.” The whisper drifted from down the hallway.
“She’s the one from the article.”
“I thought she was supposed to be smart.”
I didn’t react or turned to see who has said it. I stared straight ahead at the frosted glass door with my department’s name etched into it like something permanent and respectable. Something I had worked toward. And now, something I wasn’t even sure I still belonged to.
My phone buzzed again. I didn’t flip it over to check it. Because if I did, I knew I would see the messages and headlines. The Oopinions from people who didn’t know me but had already decided who I was. So I kept it face-down and Ignored it. I pretended that if I didn’t look, it wasn’t getting worse.
“Emily?" I looked up. The assistant stood by the door, a polite smile in place, but her eyes were different, like she wasn’t sure how to treat me now. “They are ready for you.”
I stood up. Smoothed my blazer and adjusted my posture before I stepped inside. The room was colder than I had expected, by that I mean emotionally cold. There was a conference table with two people seated across from the empty chair waiting for me.
Dr. Lawson, my department head and someone I didn’t recognize. Someone who was older, administrative, and at university level, this wasn't just internal, this was bigger. “Emily,” Dr. Lawson said. His tone was neutral. “Have a seat.” I took a seat in the empty chair. I set my bag down carefully beside me and placed my hands on the table. “This is Ms. Carter,” he said, gesturing slightly towards her. “She represents university administration.” Of course she did, because this wasn’t just about my internship anymore. This was about optics and reputation, also damage control.
“Thank you for coming in,” Ms. Carter said. Her voice was smooth.
“I was told this was urgent,” I replied.
“It is,” she said. She cut straight to it. “We are concerned about your professional conduct.” I felt that immediately, not like it was an attack but as something worse.
“This situation reflects poorly on the department,” Dr. Lawson added.
I inhaled slowly and steadily. “This situation was structured by the university,” I said carefully. Neither of them reacted, which told me everything. That wasn’t the point.
“We are aware of the internship parameters,” Ms. Carter said.
“Then you understand that I was fulfilling assigned responsibilities.”
“We understand that there was an arrangement.”
“But the nature of that arrangement,” she continued, “Has now been publicly misrepresented.” Misrepresented. I nearly laughed because that was the closest they were going to get to acknowledging the truth. “And that misrepresentation,” she added, “has implications.”
“For me,” I said.
“For the institution,” she corrected.
Of course.
I nodded. Arguing with words wasn’t going to help me here. “I maintained professional boundaries throughout my involvement,” I said. “My role was clearly defined. My work was documented. My responsibilities were-”
“We are not questioning your technical performance,” Dr. Lawson interrupted. That stopped me because that was the part I had built everything on. My word, my results, my capability, and now that wasn't the focus.
“We’re questioning your judgment,” Ms. Carter said.
“My judgment?” I repeated.
“Yes.”
“In what way?” I asked.
She leaned back slightly, studying me. “Your proximity to a high-profile athlete,” she said, “Combined with your public visibility… creates a perception.”
“I didn’t seek visibility,” I said.
“But you have it,” she replied.
“That doesn’t mean I misused it.”
“No,” she said calmly. “But it does mean others may interpret it that way.”
My hands tightened slightly on the table, it was barely noticeable. “I didn’t manipulate anything,” I said.
“We are not saying you did.”
“You’re implying it.”
“We are acknowledging how it appears." The room felt smaller, like the walls had shifted closer without me noticing.
“You understand how this looks,” Dr. Lawson said. It just didn't matter what I said next, because they had already decided what mattered.
“I understand that it’s being misrepresented,” I said.
“That distinction doesn’t always hold,” Ms. Carter replied.
I wasn’t defending my work. I was defending my credibility. And that was already compromised in their eyes. It was enough to make this meeting necessary and enough to make my future uncertain.
“We are pausing your recommendation review,” Dr. Lawson said. The words were delivered evenly, like it was a procedural step. I felt that deeply.
“That’s not-” I stopped myself. “That’s based on this situation?”
“It’s based on a need for further evaluation.” An evaluation on me and of everything that I had built.
“And my internship?” I asked.
“We are considering all options,” Ms. Carter said, including termination. They didn't even have to say it directly. My throat tightened, but I didn't let anything show. If I cracked here in front of them, then everything they thought about me would feel justified.
“I followed the structure that was given to me,” I said.
“Yes,” Ms. Carter said. “But you also made choices within that structure.”
“I made professional choices.”
“Others may not see it that way.” It was their perception.
I nodded slowly, because pushing harder wasn’t going to change this. “Is there anything else?” I asked.
Dr. Lawson looked at me for a moment, like he was trying to see something. “We will be in touch,” he said. Of course they would, after they have decided and evaluated the situation. After they had determined whether I was still worth the risk.
I stood up. “Thank you for your time,” I said. The words felt automatic. I picked up my bag, turned around and walked out.
The hallway felt louder when I stepped back into it. It probably just felt more. Every whisper was sharper. Every glance was heavier. I just continued to walk and didn't stop. I didn't even look at anyone. I didn’t let myself think too much.
I pushed through the building doors, back into the open air. Only when the space widened around me, I let myself breathe. I wasn't safe anymore. The system I trusted, the one I believed would recognize effort, discipline, and results wasn’t solid. It was conditional and fragile. It was dependent on perception. And perception was no longer in my control.
My phone buzzed again and it was more insistent. I looked down at it and hesitated because whatever was waiting there, I knew it would make everything worse. I flipped it over. Notifications flooded the screen, but one stood out. It was pinned.
Noah.
He posted something. My stomach dropped, because that meant escalation and visibility. That meant whatever control I had left was about to shift again. I stared at the notification. But I didn't open it yet. I just needed one more moment before everything changed again. I knew whatever he did… It wasn’t small and quiet. I exhaled slowly. And finally tapped the screen, because there was no avoiding it anymore.