Chapter 206
Chapter 206
Stella:
I'd spent four years preparing for the possibility of exposure.
I knew the Title IX procedures, the faculty handbook policies on conflicts of interest, the ethics review process that could be triggered even without a formal Title IX complaint.
The university had multiple pathways to investigate faculty conduct. Title IX was just one of them.
I started mentally cataloging my defense.
Noah had never been in my class after freshman year. All his subsequent work had been evaluated by other faculty. Office hour logs would show nothing unusual beyond normal advising. We'd been meticulous about separation of our personal and professional lives.
But I also knew that meticulous didn't mean invulnerable.
If they dug deep enough, if they wanted to find something, they would.
---
Noah found me twenty minutes later.
I don't know how he knew where I was—maybe he'd been looking, maybe Emily had told him—but suddenly he was there, sitting beside me on the bench outside the psychology building.
His graduation gown was discarded, his face pale.
"I saw it," he said quietly.
I didn't look at him. "Your family?"
"Still at the ceremony. I told them I needed to check on something." He reached for my hand, then stopped himself, glancing around.
Even now, even with everything falling apart, we were still calculating. Still hiding.
"Don't," I said calmly. "Not here. Not now."
"Stella—"
"This is exactly what we knew could happen." I kept my voice low, professional. "We planned for this. Emily's handling the narrative. The photo will be debunked."
"But they're saying—"
"They're speculating. Let them." I finally looked at him, my expression carefully neutral. "You need to go back to your family. Act normal. Celebrate your graduation."
"I'm not going to just—"
"Yes, you are." My tone was firm but not unkind. "Because if anyone sees us together right now, if anyone gets another photo, it confirms every suspicion."
His jaw tightened. "And you?"
"I'm going to finish packing up here, go home, and prepare for my meetings on Monday." I stood, brushing off my skirt. "We'll talk later. At my place. After dark."
For a long moment, he didn't move.
Then he stood, his hands clenched at his sides.
"I'll fix this," he said.
"We'll fix this," I corrected. "Together. But not here."
He walked away, and I went back to work.
---
Emily's damage control was swift and surgical.
Within two hours, the original post was gone.
In its place, a new one appeared from a verified moderator account.
Moderator: The photo circulating about Dr. Morrison was deliberately cropped to create a false narrative. The FULL photo (attached) shows a FAMILY GROUP including Morrison's friend (the graduate's sister), the friend's fiancé, and the graduate's parents. Morrison was volunteering at the photo station and posed with multiple families throughout the day. The user who posted the cropped version has been permanently banned for targeted harassment and malicious defamation.
Below the text was the full, uncropped photo—all six of us, clearly a family group, clearly innocent.
The comments began to shift.
Oh my god, I feel terrible for jumping to conclusions.
This is why we need to see the full context before we destroy someone's career.
Whoever cropped that photo is seriously messed up.
But not everyone was convinced.
Even if this photo is innocent, there's been rumors about them for years.
Where there's smoke, there's fire.
I still think something's going on.
Emily's second post came thirty minutes later, from a different anonymous account.
Anonymous: PSA: I was working the photo station this morning. Dr. Morrison took pictures with 40+ families. She was completely professional. The person who posted the cropped photo has been obsessed with the graduate since he rejected her JUNIOR YEAR. She's been escalating ever since—showing up in his classes, following him around campus, making people uncomfortable in study groups. This is targeted harassment from someone with a documented history of not accepting rejection. Check the receipts.
The narrative was starting to turn.
People began sharing their own stories of Chloe's behavior—the way she'd fixated on Noah since freshman year, how she'd made the explicit move junior year and been rejected publicly, how the rejection had only intensified her obsession into senior year.
Screenshots appeared of her old posts about him. Messages she'd sent to mutual friends asking about his schedule. Evidence of a years-long fixation that had finally found an outlet.
By evening, the conversation had shifted from my supposed misconduct to Chloe's obsessive behavior.
The gossip had turned on itself.
---
I sat in my apartment, monitoring the feeds and mentally reviewing procedures.
The immediate crisis was contained, but I wasn't naive enough to think it was over.
I pulled out my faculty handbook and started flagging relevant sections. Conflict of interest policies. Professional ethics guidelines. The appeals process if disciplinary action was recommended.
My phone buzzed. A text from Emily: Zoe just called me. She saw the posts.
My stomach dropped, but I kept my expression neutral even though I was alone.
What did she say?
She's asking questions. I told her I'd call her back.
What are you going to tell her?
A long pause. Then: What do you want me to tell her?
I stared at the message.
This was it. The moment when our carefully constructed cover story either held or collapsed entirely.
Tell her the truth, I typed. That you ran into Noah and me on a trip. That you figured it out. That you've been covering for us.
Are you sure?
She's going to find out eventually. Better it comes from you, framed as recent discovery, than from campus gossip.
Okay. I'll call her now.
I set my phone down and poured myself a glass of wine.
Then I waited.