The university library had become my sanctuary. Three weeks had passed since that devastating conversation in the café, and I'd thrown myself into academic work with a desperation that surprised even me. The familiar scent of old books and the soft hum of fluorescent lights created a cocoon where I could finally think clearly.
"Your analysis of the Byzantine trade routes is remarkable," Levi said, looking up from the stack of research papers I'd compiled. His dark eyes held genuine admiration, not the patronizing surprise I'd grown accustomed to from Troy. "I've never seen anyone connect the economic patterns to the political upheavals with this level of detail."
I felt heat rise to my cheeks. "Really? I wasn't sure if I was overthinking it."
"Dana." Levi set down his pen and leaned forward slightly. "You've identified three historical parallels that completely change our project's foundation. This isn't overthinking—this is exceptional analytical work."
The words hit me like sunlight after months of darkness. When was the last time someone had praised my intellectual capabilities? When had Troy ever looked at my ideas with anything other than polite disinterest?
"I used to love history," I admitted quietly, running my fingers along the edge of my notebook. "Before... well, before I convinced myself I wasn't smart enough for it."
"Who convinced you of that?" Levi's voice was carefully neutral, but I caught the edge of something sharper underneath.
I didn't answer directly, but we both knew. Instead, I pulled out another folder of research. "I found something else. Look at this pattern in the manuscript variations."
For the next two hours, we worked in perfect synchronization. Levi never talked down to me or dismissed my ideas. He challenged them, built upon them, treated them—treated me—as an equal intellectual partner. It was intoxicating.
"We should probably call it a night," he said finally, glancing at his watch. "It's almost midnight."
I blinked in surprise. Time had flown by without the usual anxiety that plagued my evenings. "I didn't realize... I haven't stayed up this late studying in years."
"You're enjoying it." It wasn't a question.
"I am." The admission felt like a confession. "I'd forgotten what it felt like to be... good at something."
Levi gathered his papers slowly, as if choosing his words carefully. "Dana, you're not just good at this. You're exceptional. Don't let anyone convince you otherwise."
The next morning, I was reviewing my notes at the campus Starbucks when Eve appeared at my table like a storm cloud. Gone was the sweet, vulnerable girl who'd charmed Troy. Her smile was sharp, calculated.
"Dana! What a coincidence." She slid into the seat across from me without invitation. "I've been hoping to talk to you."
"Have you?" I kept my voice level, not looking up from my research.
"I feel terrible about the whole project situation. I hope you don't think I was trying to steal Troy from you or anything." Her voice carried that familiar note of practiced vulnerability, but I heard the steel underneath now. "I know it must be hard, watching someone like me succeed when everything's always been handed to you."
Three weeks ago, those words would have sent me spiraling into guilt and self-doubt. Now, I simply raised my eyes to meet hers.
"Someone like you?" I asked calmly.
"You know what I mean." Eve's mask slipped slightly. "I had to fight for everything. Work three jobs just to afford textbooks while girls like you get BMW's for their sweet sixteens. I earned my place here."
"And you think I didn't?"
"Did you?" The question hung in the air like a challenge.
I closed my notebook and stood up, gathering my things with deliberate calm. "You know what, Eve? You're right about one thing. I did have advantages. But using your background as a weapon to manipulate people? That's not earning anything. That's just another kind of privilege."
Eve's face flushed red. "How dare you—"
"I'm not bullying you, Eve. I'm just not falling for it anymore." I shouldered my bag and looked down at her. "Good luck with your project."
I walked away without looking back, my heart pounding but my steps steady. For the first time in years, I felt truly powerful.
Across the coffee shop, I caught a glimpse of Troy at a corner table, his eyes following my movement with something that looked like surprise. He'd been watching the entire exchange.
Our eyes met for a brief moment, and I saw something flicker across his face—confusion, maybe even respect. But I didn't stop. I had work to do, and for the first time in fifteen years, that work was entirely my own.
