Sebastian Montgomery's grip on her arms was unyielding, a silent anchor in the chaos. His gaze dropped from her flushed face, down to the gleaming shears on the ground between them, and then back up. The air crackled, thick with unspoken questions. Other students, sensing drama, were starting to slow their walks, their curious glances turning into outright stares.
Alison instinctively tried to pull away, a surge of adrenaline and defiance making her muscles twitch. But his hold was like iron. A flicker of raw annoyance crossed her face. She hated being held, hated being restrained.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" she spit out, her voice low and ragged from running. "Let go of me."
Before Sebastian could reply, Brock and his friends arrived, skidding to a halt. Brock, ever the actor, was panting theatrically, clutching the side of his head.
"Dr. Montgomery! Thank God you're here!" he gasped, pointing a trembling, accusatory finger at Alison. "She attacked me! She's crazy! She came at me with those!"
His friends, catching their cue, murmured in agreement, a low chorus of false witness that solidified the lie. "It's true," one of them said. "She just went nuts."
Sebastian's gray eyes narrowed, his expression hardening as he processed Brock's accusation. The scene in front of him clicked into a simple, damning narrative: a disheveled girl, a weapon on the ground, an aggrieved star athlete. He released one of Alison's arms, but the gesture felt less like a release and more like a judgment. His gaze was a silent indictment.
"Is this true?" Sebastian's voice was deep, calm, and carried an unnerving weight of authority that instantly commanded the attention of everyone nearby.
Alison scoffed, a bitter, incredulous laugh escaping her lips. "You're seriously asking me that? Look at him." She jerked her chin towards Brock. "He was cornering Sarah Foster with his three stooges back there."
"Sarah who?" Brock feigned ignorance, his eyes wide with mock innocence. "We were just talking. This psycho came out of nowhere! Look what she did to my hair!"
Sebastian's focus remained entirely on Alison, his gaze unwavering. He wasn't looking at Brock. He wasn't looking for Sarah. He was only looking at her. "Violence is never the answer on this campus, Ms. Pennington."
The use of her last name sent a chill down her spine that had nothing to do with the cool autumn air. He knew who she was. He had already pulled up her file in his mind-the girl from the wrong side of the tracks, the one with the disciplinary warnings. He had judged her before she'd even spoken a word.
"My answer was entirely appropriate for the situation," Alison retorted, her chin lifting in defiance. She would not cower. Not for him, not for anyone.
"Assault with a weapon is 'appropriate'?" Sebastian's tone was laced with an icy disapproval that felt more personal than professional.
"It was a haircut," she said flatly, her eyes daring him to challenge her. "And he's lucky that's all it was."
A few of the onlookers gasped at her audacity. Challenging Brock was one thing. Challenging Dr. Montgomery was another.
Sebastian's jaw tightened, a muscle flexing almost imperceptibly. He saw her lack of remorse not as conviction, but as confirmation of a volatile, uncontrollable personality. "My office. Now," he commanded. His voice left no room for argument. It was the voice of a man who was not used to being disobeyed.
He bent down, his movements precise, and picked up the shears with two fingers, holding them away from his body as if they were contaminated evidence.
A surge of white-hot fury ripped through Alison. He hadn't listened. He hadn't even tried to listen. He had sided with the privileged athlete, the liar, because it was the easiest, most obvious conclusion.
"I'm not going anywhere with you," she said, planting her feet.
"This is not a request," Sebastian stated, his gray eyes locking onto hers. The storm in them intensified. "Principal Hayes will need to be involved. I'm sure he'll be very interested in this."
The threat of the principal, a man who already viewed her as a problem to be managed, hung in the air. Alison glanced at Brock, who was smirking, a triumphant, ugly look on his face. He had won. The system had worked for him, just as it always did.
She realized arguing here, in front of a growing audience, was a losing battle. The optics were a disaster. She was the aggressor, he was the victim. It was that simple.
Without another word, she turned on her heel. Her stiff back and clenched fists screamed defiance. She didn't wait for him to lead her. She stalked towards the administration building, where the health center was located, her steps sharp and angry on the stone path.
Sebastian watched her go for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, holding the shears firmly in his hand, he followed.
