Jenna Hayes POV:
Professor Dunn was a godsend. A true luminary in the art world, he saw potential where others saw only trouble. His help was my only ticket out. With his backing, the bureaucratic hurdles for a study abroad scholarship would shrink, allowing me to flee this nightmare faster.
I had always strived for excellence. Straight A's, countless hours in the studio, pushing myself to the brink. Not because I loved the grind, but because I craved it. Craved the fleeting moments of acknowledgment from Doris, from Ethan, from Dillon. Any scrap of attention, any hint of pride.
It was all for nothing.
No one truly cared. My mother, Doris, obsessed with her social standing, her new husband, her perfect life, certainly didn't. Ethan, with his deep-seated resentment and twisted sense of justice, cared even less. And Dillon… Dillon was a viper in a sheep's clothing, a master manipulator who played me for a fool.
The phone clicked, the line going dead. Professor Dunn had promised to see what he could do. I felt the last vestiges of strength drain from my limbs. My body, already teetering on the edge, gave out. I collapsed onto my bed, the soft mattress a cruel comfort.
Sleep offered no escape. Nightmares clawed at the edges of my consciousness, pulling me down into a terrifying abyss. I thrashed, a silent scream caught in my throat.
I jolted awake, heart pounding, sweat slicking my skin. My entire body was burning, a fever raging beneath the surface. My head throbbed, each beat a hammer against my skull. I needed medicine.
I pushed myself up, groaning, but before I could reach the door, it burst open.
Doris stood there, framed by the bright hallway light, her face a mask of cold fury. She didn't wait for me to speak. She didn't ask about my fever, about the gala, about anything.
She just threw a stack of glossy photos at my face. They scattered across the floor, landing with sickening thuds.
"What is this, Jenna?!" Her voice was a low growl, barely controlled. "What have you done?!"
Her words were sharper than any blade. "You tramp! You slut! How could you be so utterly disgraceful?!"
I stared at the photos, my blood running cold. It was me. In various states of undress. My eyes were half-closed, my body limp. I remembered the heavy drinks Dillon had given me. The dizzying sensations. The hazy memories of him whispering sweet nothings in my ear, telling me how much he loved me.
These weren't just photos. They were a violation.
