She stared at him, stunned. Something in her broke.
She lifted the tray and handed it to him with trembling fingers. He took a sip, set the cup down.
"Why is it late?" he asked, without looking at her.
It was a small cruelty. But it shattered her.
She stepped back, chest rising in shallow breaths. "So everything we shared meant nothing to you?" Her voice shook with fury now. "The nights, the kisses, twice we slept together. Twice." She held up two fingers. "All of it was just... fun?"
"I didn't love you," he said.
The words landed like a slap.
Tasha gasped. Her knees buckled slightly, and she reached for the wall to steady herself. "No..." she whispered.
She turned away, lips trembling, eyes with disbelief. "How could you say that?"
She backed toward the door, each step slower than the last.
He watched her, something unreadable in his eyes.
She left the tray, turned the handle, and slipped out.
The soft click of the door echoed.
Clinton leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring at the coffee. He rubbed his face, then dragged his hand down over his mouth.
He had hurt her.
And yet... he didn't know why he couldn't say the words.
He did love her. But not enough. Or maybe not in the way she wanted.
He sat there, unmoving, haunted by her tears and the silence that had filled the room long after she left.
**********
Ms. Georgina sat on the edge of the bed in her daughter's room, a room Anna had slept in since coming home from the hospital, swaddled in pink and possibility. Now, the air was quieter. Heavier.
Across the room, Anna stood before the mirror, smoothing a short woolen dress over her frame, fingers trembling slightly as she tied her hair into a ponytail. She met her mother's gaze with a small, uncertain smile as she adjusted the hem of her dress.
Georgina stood, crossing the room in two steps. She reached for her daughter's arm, her touch tender, steady. With one hand, she brushed a strand of hair from Anna's cheek, her eyes fierce with protectiveness.
She hadn't expected her daughter to recover so quickly, if recovery was even the word. After everything, Georgina had braced herself for therapy, months of silence, maybe longer. But here was Anna, insisting on returning to school. To sit for her exams. To face the campus that had fed on her name.
"I'm proud of you," Georgina whispered, her voice tight with emotion. She managed a soft laugh and squeezed her daughter's hand. "You're brave."
Anna didn't respond. She didn't need to. Her silence was full of meaning.
Georgina's fear was a live wire inside her—especially knowing he might be there. Samuel. But Anna had made up her mind. No more hiding.
"I'll be home," Georgina added as her daughter reached for her backpack. "I'll cook your favorite tonight."
She pressed a kiss to Anna's forehead. It lingered—warm, hopeful, terrified.
———
At the university gates, the whispers began.
Anna felt them before she heard them, the eyes that followed her, unblinking and cruel. Voices didn't bother lowering themselves.
"That's her. The girl from the news."
"The one who accused Samuel Boron."
"She lied."
"She just wanted attention."
"She wanted the Borons' money."
Anna's stomach turned. Her steps quickened, fists clenched at her sides. It felt like walking through fire, except no one saw her burns.
The memory hit again, raw and vivid. The sharp crack of her breath as Samuel zipped up his trousers, helped her down the stairs with an unreadable expression. Her muscles sore, her limbs leaden. The tinted car door clicking shut behind her. The blur of a driver's face. The silence. The smell of leather.
Back then, she'd said nothing. Not until the shame soured into resolve.
Now, walking through campus was a daily crucifixion. And still, she kept walking.
The lecture hall fell into hush the moment she entered. Heads turned. Eyes didn't blink.
She made her way to a desk near the window, keeping her gaze low. Her hands trembled as she unpacked her bag. The whispers followed.
"They say she made it all up."
"Even her best friend testified it was consensual."
"Maybe she's just jealous. He's Samuel Boron, for God's sake."
Anna closed her eyes. Her pulse thundered in her ears. The sting of betrayal hurt worse than the disbelief.
Vivian.
She'd known her since childhood. And yet, when the time came, Vivian stood beside Samuel. Her voice calm, certain, rehearsed.
It wasn't rape. Just a mistake. A misunderstanding.
Anna blinked rapidly, refusing to cry. Not here. Not in front of them.
They think I lied.
The thought repeated, jagged and brutal.
But she didn't run. She didn't leave. She opened her textbook and stared through her tears at the first page, though the words blurred.
She had come for the exam.
She would stay.
Not for them.
For herself.
For the truth.
——-
Meanwhile, in the library, Harrison moved toward the bookshelf, his polished shoes silent on the glassy floor. The group had gathered, their conversation drifting to Samuel's father's funeral, planned for the following year. As graduates and future heirs of powerful families, they were expected to attend. Adulthood loomed, marriage, responsibility, but none of them were ready to face it.
Harrison had other thoughts. Crouching beside the shelf, he peered through the narrow slats. From this angle, the entire room was visible. Someone could have watched, unnoticed. Rising, he dusted off his slacks and turned to the others.
"It's all visible from there," he said quietly. His gaze shifted to the door. Testing the handle, he added, "The door was open that day. If someone had shut it properly, maybe they wouldn't have dared to come in."
All eyes turned to Clinton.
He shrugged. "Okay, fine. Maybe I forgot to close it. So what?" His tone was defensive, casual, too casual. "They'd have come in anyway. Even if it was locked."
Daniel frowned. "No, they wouldn't. They'd have assumed it was off-limits."
Clinton rolled his eyes. "Whatever."
Harrison gestured to the center of the room. "That's where it happened, right?"