Isabelle's POV
The morning sun hitting the admin wing was way too bright, like the world had decided everything was fine again.
The hallway was cold and way too quiet. That weird silence that comes after something big goes wrong and nobody knows about it yet. Dmitri and I walked down the corridor together. Students actually pressed themselves against the lockers to get out of our way. Their whispering stopped the second we got close.
We were almost at the Director's office when the heavy oak door swung open.
Julien stumbled out. For a second I barely recognized him. He looked like absolute hell. The "Golden Boy" vibe was gone, replaced by a pale, sunken face. His blazer was wrinkled. His hair looked like he'd been pulling at it all night. Dark circles sat under his eyes like bruises. When he saw me, he froze.
"Isabelle." His voice cracked. "I need to talk to you. Alone."
Dmitri stepped half a pace in front of me, his hand landing on the small of my back. "Anything you want to say," Dmitri said, calm and flat, "you can say in front of me."
Julien looked at him for a moment. Normally that would've turned into some stupid power fight. Not today. He looked defeated. "No. This is for a Valois. After this, you'll never have to deal with me again. I promise."
I touched Dmitri's arm. He hesitated. I could feel the tension in his shoulders, but after a second he gave a short nod. "I'm right here," he muttered.
I followed Julien onto the stone balcony. He was clutching a scorched leather bag, his hands shaking so hard he almost dropped it.
"I found it," he said. The words sounded like they'd been scraped out of his throat with a rusted spoon. "I found out why my dad wanted you gone so bad. I thought he was just obsessed with tradition. I thought he was just a coward hiding behind the Volkovs."
He opened the bag. His movements were jerky. He pulled out a stack of documents on that thick, official Academy paper. The dates were from fifteen years ago. The signatures at the bottom were his father's.
"My dad didn't just know about the fire," Julien said. A single tear ran through the dust on his cheek. He didn't bother to wipe it. "He gave them the blueprints. He moved the security guards away from your house that night. He made sure the 'clean-up crew' had an open door. The Schuylers paid for it, but my father built the map."
The world tilted. The "nice" Director with his fake smiles. The guy who told me I had "potential" while he sat in an office paid for with my parents' blood. The betrayal was so deep it actually felt peaceful. There was nobody left to trust. It was a weird relief.
"He did it for the job," Julien said. "The Schuylers promised him the Director's chair for life. A seat on the global board. He traded two lives for a title and a window view."
He handed me the papers. I took them. The paper felt like nothing, but the words were pure poison.
"I'm not asking for forgiveness," he said, stepping back. "I was blind because it was easier. It was comfortable in the light. But I couldn't let him win. Not after seeing what it cost."
"Julien," I said, clutching the folder. "Why now?"
He looked down at the courtyard. Students were wandering around like lost sheep. "Because you were right. This place isn't a school. It's a pretty lie. I think it's time someone opened the doors and let the draft in."
He didn't wait for me to say anything else. He just walked away and disappeared into the crowd. He didn't look back once.
Dmitri was beside me a second later. He looked at the papers, then at the spot where Julien had been.
"He did the right thing," Dmitri said. He sounded like he actually respected the guy.
"Yeah," I said. "Doesn't change the fact that his father is a killer."
"Then we don't wait for the board to meet," Dmitri said. His eyes were dark, full of a mean, clean kind of anger. "We take it to the students. Let them see what this place is actually built on. Let them decide."
"When is the engagement announcement party?" I asked.
"Friday," he said. "That's the best time to expose them. Not just the students will be there. The press and the donors will be there as well. You'll be dressed as Althea De Valois. That alone should be enough to get their attention."
I closed the folder. This was it. The last piece. Schuyler, Volkov, Rousseau. Every single one of them was rotten. Every legacy was written in blood.
Julien's POV
I walked back into my father's office. The bag was empty, but it felt ten times heavier. He was standing by the window, looking out at the campus like he owned the sun.
"You should be studying for finals, Julien." His voice was the same as always. Calm. Rational. The voice of a guy who thinks he's better than everyone.
"How could you do it?"
He turned around slowly. He put on that "confused dad" face. "Do what, son?"
I threw the documents onto his desk. "How do you plot a murder? How do you look at Isabelle every day knowing you sold the map to her parents' graves?"
The mask didn't just crack. It fell off. His eyes went grey, like stones. He didn't even try to deny it. He looked at the evidence like it was a boring tax return.
"I protected our family," he said. His voice was empty. "The Valois were in the way. They were holding onto a past that didn't exist anymore. The Schuylers and Volkovs? That was the future. I picked the side that was going to win."
"You picked being a murderer!" I yelled. The sound echoed off the walls. "You talked to me about honor! Legacy! And you were just a bookkeeper for killers!"
"I'm the reason you're wearing that blazer!" he hissed. He leaned over the desk, and I finally saw the man underneath. The "best dad in the whole world" was gone. "I'm the reason you aren't a nobody. Every door that opened for you was paid for with those papers. Don't you dare preach to me about morality while you're sitting in the house I built."
"Fine. Then I'm leaving the house." My voice was steadier than I expected. "I'm done being your heir. I'm done being a Rousseau."
He laughed. A short, nasty sound. "You'd throw everything away for a girl who chose a Volkov thug? You're a moron. You're ruining your life for a fantasy."
"I'm not doing it for her," I said, looking him straight in the eye. "I'm doing it so I can look in the mirror tomorrow and not see a piece of shit. Copies of these will be with the Trustees and the DA soon. Your 'future' days are numbered."
The color drained out of his face. He looked like a ghost. He reached for the phone. It was dead. I'd cut the line on my way in. He stared at the receiver, and for the first time, I saw him look scared. Not because he felt bad. Because he was caught.
I didn't wait to hear what he had to say. I turned and walked out. I could hear him slamming his fist on the desk and screaming, but the further I got, the less it mattered.