Once everything was finalized, I was free to report to the university and finally begin my studies abroad.
"Hello, I just wanted to confirm if you’ve received the manuscript I sent?"
The professor’s voice was warm and filled with enthusiasm. They expressed their admiration for my work and eagerly asked when I could start.
I hadn’t shared this opportunity with Cohen, not with the pregnancy and wedding preparations weighing on my mind. I had planned to enroll in the fall, but I had delayed it until winter.
"I’ll be able to join soon," I said, my voice barely concealing the excitement that bubbled inside me.
The professor was kind, offering a warm welcome and even providing me with the contact details of someone in the overseas American association. To my surprise, I recognized the name immediately.
Having grown up in the Whitmore family, my world had always felt small, and my social circle was limited. I never imagined someone abroad would actually know me.
I dialed the number, my fingers trembling with uncertainty.
"Giselle, aren’t you still in the country?"
It seemed she truly did know me.
The news of the plagiarism accusation had spread like wildfire, and I was desperate to explain myself. I poured out my side of the story, hoping for understanding, but the line fell silent.
When I finished speaking, I added one final line, my voice steady but filled with resolve:
"You can inform the professor about the plagiarism, but I will prove I didn’t do it."
I thought all hope had slipped away, but then, to my surprise, a voice came through the line.
"I believe you. There’s no way you plagiarized."
"Giselle, don’t you remember who I am?"
I hesitated, the words tangled in my mind. Before I could respond, they continued,
"It doesn’t matter. I’ll come find you."
The call ended, leaving me breathless. Moments later, flight details appeared on my phone.
[I’ll be there soon. I’ll take you away.]
4
I wasn’t sure why they chose to stay anonymous, but at least the university issue had been put to rest.
I could finally leave this place behind, cutting all ties.
During my hospital stay, Cohen visited once. But that was all, just a fleeting visit.
He spent the majority of the time buried in work calls, barking orders at his secretary. He was so consumed by his own world that he never noticed I had lost the baby.
When he glanced at me, lying pale and fragile on the hospital bed, all he did was lean in and place a brief kiss on my cheek before leaving.
I turned my head, turning away from him.
"I’ve already issued a public statement. Your plagiarism issue is resolved," he said, his voice detached.
I had seen that statement. It wasn’t about me at all. It was solely a defense of Imogen, offering no rebuttal or clarity about the plagiarism accusations.
Instead, it only served to stoke the fury of journalists, who eagerly seized on more opportunities to tarnish my name.
And then there was the issue of my pregnancy.
Although Cohen had admitted I was the one he was engaged to, in the eyes of the public, I was nothing more than the unwelcome third party, using a child to tear apart his relationship with Imogen.
The public’s outcry against me only grew louder, fueled by the plagiarism accusations.
As if that wasn’t enough, someone unearthed my past as a foster child in the Whitmore family. I was mocked, called someone who deserved to be abandoned, and, shockingly, they even cursed the child I had lost.
"Giselle, consider this a lesson for you," Cohen said, his voice colder than ever.
"Take care of yourself. Once you're better, I’ll take you to Imogen’s exhibition."
"If you attend and apologize to her, we’ll go ahead with the wedding as planned."
When he left, he kissed my forehead, not in comfort, but as a command.
I had forgotten how Cohen could punish me.
He was vengeful, especially when it came to me being around others.
I remembered a time from my childhood when I had sneaked out to play with the other kids while Cohen was undergoing physical therapy.
I’d made sure to return before his session ended, but Cohen panicked. He searched for me for hours, asking why I hadn’t stayed home with him.
That day, despite never raising his voice at me, he made me stand in punishment for an hour. He told me I wasn’t allowed to leave without his permission.
