Cassian’s POV
I'm walking through the English building's main corridor, coffee in hand and lecture notes tucked under my arm, when I notice something's off.
Students cluster in small groups along the hallway, heads bent over their phones with the kind of intense focus usually reserved for major news events or celebrity scandals.
"Did you see the photos?" I hear one girl murmur to her friend. "I can't believe she went back to him after everything."
"I mean, some girls just have daddy issues, right?" her companion responds, and they both dissolve into the kind of cruel laughter that makes my skin crawl.
More clusters of students line the hallway, all engaged in similar conversations. The energy is electric with gossip, the particular brand of excitement that comes from witnessing someone else's downfall.
I spot some familiar faces from my class and casually approach them. "What are we gossiping about?” my voice reflects feigned lightness. “Did some Hollywood couple break up again?"
"Professor Harrison!" My student's eyes are bright with the thrill of having exclusive information to share. "Have you seen the news about Professor Lewis?"
She holds up her phone, and I can see headlines scrolling past, but the text is too small to read from this distance. "He got caught with one of his former students. Again. There are photos and everything."
The coffee cup in my hand suddenly feels too heavy. "Photos of what?"
"Him and some girl walking around holding hands. The university gossip blog has the whole story." She's practically vibrating with excitement. "Apparently she was one of his victims from the original scandal."
Something cold settles in my stomach, but I force my voice to remain steady. "Can you show me?"
She nods eagerly, pulling up the blog on her phone and angling it toward me. The headline hits like a physical blow: "PREDATOR PROFESSOR STRIKES AGAIN: Lewis Caught with Former Student."
But it's the photos that make my blood freeze. Grainy surveillance-style shots of Adrian and Sophie walking together, their hands intertwined, expressions soft and unguarded.
They look like any couple enjoying an afternoon stroll, completely unaware they're being documented for public consumption.
"Keep scrolling," the student urges, and I watch in horror as more posts load. "EXCLUSIVE: Sophie Hale Identified as Original Victim in Lewis Scandal."
Sophie's face stares back at me from the screen—a photo clearly taken from social media, probably her university ID picture. Below it, hundreds of comments dissect her appearance, her choices, her character.
"Wow," I manage, handing the phone back. "I need to... I have a meeting."
I stride toward my office, mind racing.
How had I not known? Sophie and I have been spending time together, getting closer, sharing intimate moments, and she never once mentioned that she'd had any kind of relationship with Adrian Lewis.
Never mentioned being involved in a scandal, being a victim, being anything more than a student who'd taken his class.
Why didn't she tell me?
But even as the hurt settles in my chest, I find myself making excuses for her. Maybe she was trying to move on, to leave that part of her past behind. Maybe she didn't want to be defined by what had happened to her.
Maybe she was protecting herself from judgment, from people who might see her differently if they knew. We all have secrets we’re not ready to share
I unlock my office door and close it behind me, pulling out my laptop to get the full scope of what's happening. The university gossip blog loads, and I scroll through post after post, each one more invasive than the last.
Someone has been watching her. Someone has been documenting her movements, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. The photos are too well-timed, too strategically chosen to be coincidental. This isn't just gossip—this is a coordinated attack.
Who benefits from this?
I think about the timing, about who has access to Sophie's schedule, who would know her patterns well enough to catch her in such a vulnerable moment.
Then I remember the conversation from the faculty meeting last week. Lisette mentioning she'd seen Sophie around campus, asking casual questions about whether I thought she was "handling everything well."
At the time, I'd assumed she was being professionally concerned. Now, those questions take on a more sinister cast.
The pieces click together with sickening clarity. Lisette has been spiraling since Adrian's return became public knowledge.
She's been asking about him constantly, fishing for information about his activities, his whereabouts. And she's the only person I know who has both the motivation to hurt Adrian and the resources to orchestrate something like this.
My phone buzzes against the desk. Speak of the devil—Lisette's name flashes across the screen.
"Impressive work," I say when I answer, not bothering with pleasantries. My voice comes out colder than I intended, but I can't bring myself to care. "Have you completely lost your mind?"
"Cassian, what’s gotten into you?" Her tone is light, almost cheerful.
"The photos, Lisette. The posts. Dragging Sophie into this publicly." I'm gripping the phone so tightly my knuckles have gone white. "Why? She's innocent in all of this."
"Innocent?" Her laugh is sharp, disguise drops immediately. "She chose to go back to him, Cassian. She made her bed, and now she gets to lie in it. With all the consequences that entails."
The casual cruelty in her voice makes me want to throw the phone across the room.
This is my cousin—the woman who used to braid my hair in my ‘want-to-be-a-rockstar’ era when we were children, who taught me how to identify different types of flowers in her mother's garden. But there's something broken in her now, something twisted beyond recognition.
"Where are you?" I demand.
"Faculty lounge. Having tea. You should join me—it's lovely this time of day."
I hang up and stride across campus, my mind racing with damage control strategies and growing concern for Sophie.
She's probably just now discovering what's happened, probably sitting somewhere reading these comments about herself, feeling exposed and violated in ways that make my chest ache.
I find Lisette in the faculty lounge exactly as she said, perfectly composed despite the chaos she's unleashed.
She's sitting by the window with delicate china and an expression of serene satisfaction, like she's just accomplished something beautiful instead of destroying someone's privacy.
But when I look closer, I see the cracks in her facade—the tremor in her hands as she lifts her teacup, the too-bright glitter in her eyes that speaks of sleepless nights and obsessive thoughts.
"Lisette," I say gently, settling into the chair across from her. "You're spiraling. This isn't you."
"You don't know what I am anymore."
Her voice cracks, and for a moment I see the wounded girl she's been hiding beneath all that calculated composure.
"He destroyed me, Cassian. Piece by piece. Took everything I was and twisted it into something unrecognizable. And now he's doing it to her."
I study my cousin's face, recognizing the signs I should have seen sooner—the obsessive fixation, the inability to distinguish past from present, the way her trauma has metastasized into something that's consuming everything in its path.
She's drowning in her own pain, lashing out at anyone unlucky enough to be caught in Adrian's orbit.
"Sophie isn't you," I say carefully. "What happened to you was horrible, but she wasn’t the one who put you through this."
Lisette stares at me for a long moment, and I can see the war playing out behind her eyes—the rational woman she used to be fighting against the obsessed creature she's become.
"I'll help you," I say quietly, the words surprising me even as I speak them. "I'll help you bring Adrian down. He took my position, my future—I want him gone as much as you do."
And I won’t let him take Sophie from me how he once did with everything else.
Lisette’s eyes sharpen with interest, suddenly focused in a way that's both encouraging and terrifying.
"But Sophie stays out of this," I continue firmly. "Whatever you do to Adrian, she doesn't get caught in the crossfire. Promise me."
The silence stretches between us, heavy with the weight of family loyalty and competing obligations. Finally, she nods slowly.
"Fine," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. "But Adrian burns."
"Adrian burns," I agree, already planning how to shield Sophie from the fire my cousin is determined to set.
Because regardless of who Sophie chooses, regardless of the mistakes she makes or the secrets she keeps, she deserves someone in her corner who actually gives a damn about her wellbeing.
And right now, that someone appears to be me.