PLEASURED BY MY ENEMY'S FATHER

Chapter 8 Disciplined

Every eye in the room shifted to me. I inhaled slowly. Then spoke.

I explained everything, clearly, chronologically and with no exaggeration. No emotion overtaking the facts.

I couldn’t count how many times I swallowed as I tried my best not to look at Wilthon’s side. Why was I being distracted with that man?

I drew a slow breath and kept my hands still on the table before I continued, forcing my voice to remain clear and measured despite the memory pressing at the edges of it.

“The incident happened yesterday at approximately 9:55 a.m.,” I resumed. “It was in the east corridor of the Academic Building, near Room 204. I was on my way to my next class, and I had less than five minutes before it started. The hallway wasn’t empty… there were a few students passing by, but no one was close enough to me to interfere.”

I paused briefly, making sure every detail stayed precise.

“As I was walking, something was suddenly poured on me from above. It came from the second-floor railing directly overhead. I didn’t see who did it at that exact moment, but I heard movement and laughter immediately after. By the time I looked up, whoever was responsible had already moved away.”

My fingers tightened slightly, but I continued.

“The substance was not water. It was thick, had multiple colors, like mixed paint or dye, and had a very strong, unpleasant odor. It soaked through my clothes instantly, including my hair, my bag, and everything I was carrying. The smell was strong enough to cause dizziness and discomfort.”

I glanced briefly at the documents in front of the panel before continuing.

“My belongings were heavily affected. My notebook was soaked through and unusable. Several printed materials I needed for class were destroyed. My phone was exposed to the liquid… although it remained functional, it required cleaning. My bag absorbed the substance and retained the odor even after initial washing. I have documented photos submitted with my complaint.”

A short silence followed, then I continued.

“Because of the condition I was in, I could not proceed to class. I had to go directly to the clinic to clean myself. The process took approximately one hour due to the nature of the substance… it required multiple washes to completely remove both the color and the smell. As a result, I missed my scheduled class entirely.”

I shifted slightly in my seat, keeping my posture straight.

“This incident was not isolated,” I added. “Prior to this, I experienced a consistent pattern of behavior from certain students. This included being excluded from group activities without proper communication, being falsely reported as unresponsive, and being socially isolated in ways that directly affected my academic participation. These actions created an environment where I was singled out.”

My gaze moved briefly toward the group seated across from me before returning to the panel.

“While there may not have been a direct verbal instruction given for this specific act,” I said carefully, “the behavior aligns with ongoing intimidation. The individuals involved are closely associated with Mr. Wallace Rachford, and based on prior interactions, it is reasonable to conclude that their actions were influenced by his presence and approval… whether implicit or explicit.”

I let the words settle before finishing.

“My conclusion is that this was a deliberate act of harassment. It was intended to humiliate, disrupt my academic responsibilities, and reinforce a pattern of exclusion and intimidation. This is why I chose to formally report the incident.”

Then I stopped.

Not because I had nothing more to say, but because I had said everything that mattered.

The Dean nodded. “Thank you.” She turned to the other side. “You may respond.”

One of the girls spoke first… quickly and defensively.

“It was just a prank,” she said. “We didn’t think it would escalate like this.”

“Define ‘prank,’” the legal consultant interjected calmly.

She hesitated. “It wasn’t meant to harm her.”

“It caused physical distress, property damage, and academic disruption,” he replied. “That qualifies as misconduct under university policy.”

The boy beside her shifted uncomfortably.

“We didn’t mean for it to go that far,” he added.

“That doesn’t negate responsibility,” the Dean said firmly.

Then came the question that shifted everything.

“Was there any external influence or encouragement behind this action?”

No one answered. But I felt it, the tension. The hesitation. And slowly, all eyes turned toward Wallace.

He didn’t move at first. Didn’t speak. Then his jaw tightened slightly.

“I didn’t tell them to do it,” he said. Carefully and technically.

The Dean watched him closely. “But?”

A pause. Almost unnoticeable.

“They might have assumed,” he added.

That was enough. The discussion continued… structured, controlled, but firm.

Policies were referenced. Sections cited. Consequences outlined. This wasn’t a private matter. This was institutional. And institutions protected their integrity.

“The involved students,” the Dean stated finally, “will receive formal disciplinary sanctions.”

She listed them one by one.

“Immediate probation for the remainder of the academic year. Mandatory completion of behavioral and ethics intervention programs. Restitution for all damages incurred, including personal property. Suspension of eligibility for extracurricular leadership roles.”

“But–” one of the girls tried to reason out but stopped with the warning glance from the Dean.

“And a formal warning… any repeat offense will result in suspension or expulsion.”

The room was silent. Parents stiffened. Students looked… shaken. Because this… this followed them.

Records. Future implications. Reputation.

The Dean’s gaze shifted.

“Mr. Wallace Rachford.”

The air tightened again.

“While there is no direct evidence of instruction, your influence has been acknowledged as a contributing factor.”

She paused a bit.

“You will also be placed under disciplinary observation.”

That landed. Even he hadn’t expected that.

“Additionally,” she continued, “you are required to attend conduct evaluation sessions and will be restricted from holding any student authority positions until further notice.”

Not expulsion. Not suspension. But not nothing. Not even close.

“And finally,” she said, looking at me, “Miss Patterson… if you experience any further retaliation, you are to report it immediately. The university will take escalated action.”

“I understand, Ma’am,” I replied. “Thank you so much.”

The meeting began to close. Chairs shifted. Papers moved. Tension slowly unraveling but not disappearing.

Because the consequences didn’t end here. They started here, as people began to stand, I felt it again.

That presence.

I looked up and found Wilthon Rachford watching me. Not casually or dismissively, but with something far more focused.

Like he was assessing something. Or… recognizing something. I couldn’t explain it.

And before I could think too much about it, he looked away.

I stood, adjusting my bag. And walked out of the room.

Third Person POV

The moment the conference room doors closed behind them, the atmosphere shifted again… but this time, it wasn’t institutional.

It was personal.

Wallace walked a few steps ahead, his shoulders tense, his jaw locked so tightly it looked like it might crack under the pressure.

The hallway outside was quieter, more private, but it didn’t ease anything inside him.

“Wallace.”

His name, spoken once, was enough to stop him.

He turned slowly.

Wilthon Rachford stood a few feet away, composed as ever, his presence as controlled as it had been inside the room. But now, without the audience, there was no need for restraint in his gaze.

And it was sharp and disappointed. That alone hit harder than anger.

“You allowed yourself to become a liability,” Wilthon said, his tone calm but cutting.

Wallace scoffed under his breath. “It’s being handled.”

“No,” Wilthon corrected, stepping closer. “It has already been handled. By the university. Because you failed to do so yourself.”

The words landed cleanly.

Wallace’s hands curled slightly at his sides. “I didn’t tell them to do anything.”

Wilthon’s eyes didn’t shift. “And yet they acted in your name.”

“That is worse,” he added.

That… Wallace didn’t have an immediate answer for.

“You are not being judged for what you explicitly said,” Wilthon continued, his voice still even, “but for the environment you created.”

Wallace’s jaw tightened again. “It was a mistake.”

“No,” Wilthon said quietly. “It was carelessness. Stupidity and madness. Bullying a girl is no man’s doing, Wallace!”

The correction was immediate, precise and final.

For a brief second, Wallace looked like he might argue, like the words were already forming, but then Wilthon’s gaze sharpened just slightly.

That was all it took. Wallace stopped, completely.

Because that look… that single, controlled look, was not something you pushed against.

“You’ve already received your institutional consequences,” Wilthon continued. “That is one matter.”

He paused, before speaking in a viler manner.

“As for the rest… your allowance will be reduced.”

Wallace blinked, twice.

“What?”

“Seventy percent,” Wilthon said, as if discussing something routine. “Effective immediately.”

For the first time, Wallace looked genuinely caught off guard. He knew his father very well and this was a complete and utter disaster for him.