Somewhere in the distance, I heard a bird singing. Such a normal sound in a world that had become anything but normal.
I walked away from the jail with nowhere to go. My phone had died days ago, and the clothes I wore carried the stale smell of incarceration. Each step felt like wading through concrete as I made my way back toward campus.
A notification awaited me when I finally charged my phone in a coffee shop that didn't immediately ask me to leave. An email from the Academic Integrity Committee requesting my presence for an emergency hearing—scheduled for yesterday.
"Miss Stevens," Professor Morrison's voice was ice when I entered her office an hour later. "How convenient that you've decided to join us now."
Four other faculty members sat in a semicircle, their faces masks of disappointment. On the table between us lay my thesis paper—the culmination of two years' work—with red markings slashed across every page.
"These passages," Professor Morrison pushed a document toward me, "match Teresa Hill's unpublished research with 89% similarity."
"That's impossible," I whispered. "I've never even seen her research."
"The timestamps don't lie, Harper." She removed her glasses, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "Her submission predates yours by three weeks."
I felt the walls closing in. "Professor, please—I would never—"
"The committee has already ruled." She wouldn't meet my eyes. "Your academic standing is revoked pending further investigation. Your teaching assistantship is terminated immediately."
As I left the building, I spotted Reece across the quad, walking with Teresa. She leaned into him, laughing at something he said. His arm slipped around her waist in a gesture so natural it made my stomach turn. He glanced up, caught my eye, and had the audacity to nod slightly before turning away.
Two weeks later, I stood behind the counter at Cornerstone Books, arranging a display of new releases. The owner had taken pity on me—the only person in three counties willing to hire the disgraced Harper Stevens.
"Excuse me," a woman approached, her eyes widening with recognition. "Aren't you the girl from Columbia? The one in those photos?"
I felt heat rush to my face. "Can I help you find something?"
"Oh my god, it is you." She turned to her friend, whispering loudly. "That's her—the one who tried to kill that other girl after the sex pictures leaked."
The whispers followed me throughout my shift. Customers pointing discreetly. College students snickering behind bookshelves. A man in his forties asking if I was "available for private photography sessions."
By closing time, my hands shook so badly I could barely count the register. The owner watched me with a mixture of pity and concern.
"Harper," she said gently, "maybe this isn't the right fit after all."
I understood. I was bad for business.
The night air felt heavy as I climbed the stairs to my tiny studio apartment—the only place I could afford after being evicted from university housing. I'd lost my scholarship, my reputation, my future. All methodically stripped away by the Wagner twins.
I was heating soup on a hotplate when I heard the scrape against my fire escape. The window slid open before I could scream, and a familiar figure climbed through.
Sawyer Wagner stood in my apartment, rain dripping from his hair onto my threadbare carpet.
"What are you doing here?" My voice shook as I backed away, gripping a kitchen knife.
"Harper, please." He raised his hands. "I need to talk to you."
"Get out before I call the police."
"They won't believe you." His voice softened. "No one does anymore. That was the point, wasn't it?"
I tightened my grip on the knife. "Say what you came to say, then leave."
Sawyer stepped forward, his eyes—so like Reece's yet somehow different—filled with an emotion I couldn't name.
"It wasn't supposed to be like this," he whispered. "It started as Reece's plan—I just went along with it. But something changed."
"Nothing changed except you got caught."
"No." He moved closer. "I fell in love with you, Harper. For real. Those nights—they weren't fake for me. Not after the first few months."
I laughed bitterly. "You expect me to believe that?"
"I know how it sounds." He ran a hand through his wet hair. "But I'm not Reece. I'm not calculating like him. What I felt with you—what I still feel—it's real."
"Get out," I whispered, tears threatening to spill. "Just get out."
"Harper, please." He reached for me. "Give me a chance to make this right."
The knife trembled in my hand as rain continued to beat against the window behind him.
