PLEASURED BY MY ENEMY'S FATHER

Chapter 10 Moving forward

“I mean it,” he continued, his voice steady, lacking the edge I expected. “What happened… shouldn’t have happened.”

I watched his face closely, searching for the usual signs… mockery, manipulation, anything that would confirm this was just another game.

But there was none of that. His posture was different, too. Less rigid. Less… dominant.

It was subtle, but it was there.

“They acted because of me,” he admitted after a brief pause. “Even if I didn’t tell them to do it directly… I know that.”

That caught me off guard more than the apology itself. Because it wasn’t deflection. It wasn’t denial.

It was acknowledgment.

“I should’ve stopped it before it got that far,” he added. “I didn’t. That’s on me.”

Silence stretched between us again. I didn’t respond right away. Because part of me didn’t know how to.

This wasn’t the Wallace I had been dealing with.

This version of him was… controlled, yes – but not in the same way. There was no performance in his voice, no audience to impress. Just a quiet kind of sincerity that didn’t quite fit the image I had built of him.

Or maybe, I just didn’t trust it yet.

“You expect me to believe that?” I asked finally, my tone still guarded.

“No,” he said.

The answer came without hesitation.

“I expect you not to,” he added, almost evenly. “But I’m saying it anyway.”

That… wasn’t what I expected either.

I held his gaze for a moment longer, weighing everything… his words, his expression, the way he carried himself now compared to before.

It would have been easier if he had stayed the same. Arrogant. Cruel. Predictable.

This?

This was harder to read.

“I’m not asking you to forgive anything,” he continued. “And I’m not asking you to withdraw the complaint.”

My brows drew together slightly.

“Then what are you asking for?” I said.

A brief pause. Then…

“A chance to fix what I can.”

I let out a quiet breath, something between disbelief and restraint.

“You don’t fix something like that with an apology,” I said.

“I know.”

His answer was immediate. And for a second, neither of us spoke again.

Students passed by, conversations continuing around us, completely unaware of the shift happening in this small space between two people who, just yesterday, stood on opposite ends of something far more volatile.

I adjusted my bag again, grounding myself.

“I heard what happened after the hearing,” I said. “About your father.”

Something flickered in his eyes… quick, controlled.

“That doesn’t change anything,” I added.

“It’s not supposed to,” he replied.

Another pause. Then I nodded once. Not acceptance. Not forgiveness. Just acknowledgment.

“Good,” I said.

I stepped past him this time, and he didn’t stop me.

But as I walked away, I could still feel his presence behind me. Not heavy or threatening. Just… there.

And for reasons I didn’t fully understand yet, that unsettled me more than everything else he had done before.

The shift in atmosphere the next day was impossible to ignore. Conversations seemed louder, lighter, threaded with a kind of excitement that hadn’t been there before.

As I walked into the building, groups of students were gathered in small clusters, talking over each other, checking their phones, some even laughing a little too eagerly for a regular weekday.

Posters had appeared overnight along the walls… sleek, professionally printed, stamped with the university crest and a title I hadn’t seen before.

University Gala.

I slowed slightly, scanning one of the posters as I passed. It mentioned dates, sponsors, a list of events… but nothing that fully explained why everyone seemed unusually invested.

I hated not knowing. So I asked.

Lyna Stealth was the closest thing I had to a friend here so far. We didn’t share everything, but she was one of the few people who treated me like I belonged without making it feel like a favor.

I found her near the courtyard benches, scrolling through her tablet with the same composed expression she always carried.

“Hey,” I said, approaching her. “What’s the University Gala?”

She looked up, mildly surprised. “You don’t know?”

I shook my head. “No one told me.”

“That’s… surprising,” she muttered, setting her tablet aside. “It’s one of the biggest events this university holds every year.”

I frowned slightly. “A school fair?”

She tilted her head, considering. “That’s part of it. But it’s more than just a fair.” Her tone shifted, more thoughtful now. “It’s also a fundraising initiative. Most of the proceeds go to partnered foundations… primarily for children with chronic illnesses. Cancer treatment programs, rare disease support, long-term care funding. Things like that.”

Something in my chest softened at that.

“Oh,” I said quietly. “That’s… actually meaningful.”

“It is,” Lyna replied. “That’s why it gets a lot of attention. Not just from students, but from donors, sponsors, even media sometimes.”

I glanced back at one of the posters in the distance. “So what happens during it?”

Lyna leaned back slightly, crossing her arms as she began to explain. “It runs for a full week. Each day has a different focus, but the main structure revolves around student organizations. Every club, department, and recognized group sets up their own booths or activities across campus.”

I listened closely.

“You’ll see academic clubs hosting interactive exhibits,” she continued. “Engineering students usually build prototypes… robots, small-scale innovations, sometimes even functional systems you can test. The business clubs run simulations, mock trading floors, startup pitching booths, things like that.”

“That sounds… intense,” I said.

“It is,” she replied. “But there’s also lighter stuff. Arts and literature groups host live performances, spoken word sessions, short film screenings. Music organizations set up mini-concerts throughout the week. Some of them get surprisingly big crowds.”

I nodded slowly, trying to picture it.

“And then there are the recreational booths,” she added. “Games, food stalls, themed setups. Some are simple… ring toss, shooting games, but others go all out. Escape rooms, haunted setups, even interactive story experiences.”

“That’s a lot for one event,” I said.

“It’s not just one event,” Lyna corrected. “It’s the event.”

She picked up her tablet again, scrolling briefly before turning it slightly toward me. “There’s also a charity auction on the fourth day. Students and sponsors donate items… artwork, custom pieces, even services. Last year, someone auctioned off a private dinner hosted by a well-known chef.”

I raised a brow. “Seriously?”

She nodded. “All proceeds go directly to the partnered foundations.”

I considered that for a moment. “What about participation? Do you have to be part of a club?”

“Not necessarily,” she said. “You can volunteer. They always need people… logistics, registration desks, event coordination. Or you can just attend and participate in activities. But…” She paused briefly. “Scholars are usually encouraged to join in. It reflects well on your record.”

Of course it did.

I exhaled softly, glancing around at the students who were still buzzing with anticipation.

For them, this was excitement. For me… it was something more. An opportunity. To be part of something bigger. To contribute.

“To help,” I said quietly, more to myself than to her.

Lyna studied me for a second before giving a small nod. “If you’re thinking of joining, you should decide soon. Registration for volunteers closes in two days.”

I looked back at the poster again, this time with a clearer understanding of what it represented.

A week-long event. A chance to belong. A chance to give something back.

For the first time since I arrived here, the idea of participating in something beyond survival didn’t feel distant.

It felt possible.

“I think I will,” I said finally. And this time, I meant it.

By late afternoon, I found myself standing in front of the registration hall, reading through the list of participating organizations posted on a digital board near the entrance.

The options were… overwhelming. Engineering demonstrations, business simulations, performing arts, media production, logistics teams… each one demanding a different kind of commitment, a different set of skills.

I didn’t belong in most of them.

Not because I wasn’t capable, but because I knew where my strengths actually were.

I moved closer, scanning more carefully this time, until something caught my attention.

Academic Support and Outreach Initiative. I tapped the screen to expand the details.

The program was part of the university’s volunteer arm for the gala… focused on organizing a series of educational booths designed for visiting children, particularly those from partner foundations.

It included interactive learning stations… basic science experiments, storytelling corners, reading sessions, and guided tutorials for foundational subjects like mathematics and language comprehension.

My chest tightened slightly. This… I understood. This wasn’t about performance or influence. It wasn’t about impressing anyone.

It was about patience and clarity. The ability to break things down so someone else could understand them.

I had done that before… back in the orphanage, helping younger kids with their assignments, turning complicated lessons into something less intimidating.

I exhaled slowly. This was something I could do well.

Without overthinking it further, I entered the hall.

Inside, the space was organized into multiple registration counters, each assigned to a different category. Volunteers were seated behind long tables, checking names, handing out forms, answering questions.

The atmosphere was structured but busy… efficient, almost corporate in execution.

I approached the counter labeled Outreach and Education Programs, took a form, and began filling it out.

Name.

Year level.

Scholarship status.

Preferred role.

I paused briefly at the last part before writing: Instructional Volunteer – Literacy and Basic Mathematics.

When I finished, I stepped forward and handed the form to the person at the desk.

“First time joining?” the staff member asked, skimming through my application.

“Yes,” I replied.

They nodded, then gestured slightly to the side. “Final approval goes through the overall chairperson. Please wait there.”

I blinked. “Chairperson?”

“Yes.”

I followed the direction they pointed, and that was when I saw him.

Wallace.