Dirty Little Secrets

18.

SUMMER'S POV

My gaze darted back and forth between the shadowy corner where George stood and the cold, glowing text of the email on my screen. The voice in the back of my mind screamed at me to stay, to slip closer into the ivy and find out exactly what George was doing. But the word IMMEDIATE stared back at me from the screen like a loaded gun. If I didn't show up at the administration building right now, I wouldn't even have a scholarship left to defend.

Steeling my heart, I turned my back on George and ran.

I bolted down the wet stone paths, the cold rain stinging my cheeks as I sprinted toward the music department's main hall. On her way, still completely shaken by what she saw and heard, my mind was a terrifying, chaotic mess. Did you post it? George's voice echoed in my ears over and over. I couldn't process it. I couldn't wrap my head around the idea that my best friend—the only person who knew my secrets—could be tied to the video currently ruining my life.

I was so blinded by my racing thoughts that I didn't see the figure stepping out from the intersecting hallway until I practically slammed right into his chest.

Strong hands reached out, gripping my shoulders to steady me. I gasped, looking up into the stormy, dark eyes of Kingsley, his jaw clenched so tightly a muscle leaped in his cheek. He had followed me all the way from the studio.

"A chore, Summer? A means to an end?" he demanded, his deep voice shaking with a dangerous mixture of raw hurt and boiling fury. "Is that seriously all I am to you? After everything? You melt in my arms while we sing, and then you just throw venom in my face and run away?"

"Let go of me, Kingsley!" I hissed, twisting violently in his grasp. I channeled every ounce of the cold, defensive armor I had left. "I've told you the truth! It was just a rehearsal. It was just a stupid class assignment! I don't have time to play games with a rich, sheltered brat who thinks he can fix a life he knows nothing about! I have actual problems to deal with!"

Something immediately shifted in Kingsley’s eyes. The raw hurt hardened into an icy, unyielding stone. A cynical, bitter smirk played on his lips as he let go of my shoulders, only to grab my wrist in a firm, unbreakable grip.

Then he says to her, "Fine. You want this to be a class assignment? Then let’s treat it like one.”

Before I could even scream or pull away, he turned on his heel and dragged me down the remaining stretch of the hallway, immediately pulling her directly into the dean's office. He threw the heavy oak door open without knocking, marching us right into the lion's den.

---

The room was suffocatingly quiet, smelling of old paper and polished mahogany. Professor Finerty—our Dean—was sitting behind his massive desk, his eyes cold and severe beneath his spectacles.

He didn't look surprised to see us burst in. Instead, he slowly folded his hands over a thick folder.

The Dean, aware of the video, wasted no time. With a slow, deliberate movement, Dean Finerty slides printed screenshots of the forum video on the desk right in front of us. The grainy, printed images showed me with my hand clamped in Dira's hair, looking exactly like the violent, unstable stereotype the forum comments claimed I was.

“NYU doesn’t protect students who create campus chaos, Miss Walker,” Dean Finerty stated, his voice dripping with disappointment and bureaucratic coldness. He leaned back in his leather chair, tapping a finger against the desk. “This university has a strict code of conduct. Your actions today have disrupted the peace of the department.”

He pauses, delivering the ultimate threat. “As of right now, I am placing you on disciplinary probation, and your music scholarship is being put under immediate review.”

My heart stopped, a cold dread settling deep into my bones. I opened my mouth, desperate to tell him that Dira had cornered me, that Dira had pulled my hair first and called me a w***e. I wanted to scream that I was being targeted, that an anonymous stalker was trying to ruin me.

But the words died on my tongue. I can’t mention the blackmail without exposing Clyde. If I told the dean about the anonymous texts, the investigation would look into my phone, uncover the hospital photo, and ultimately unearth my "Dark Bird" double life at the club. Mr. Robert's threats flashed behind my eyes. If the truth came out, Clyde’s safety would vanish, and my life would be completely ruined anyway.

So I took the blame silently. I clamped my jaw shut, bowing my head as tears of pure, suffocating frustration pricked the corners of my eyes. I had to take the hit to keep my brother safe.

"I'm sorry, sir," I whispered hoarsely to the desk.

But the nightmare wasn't over. Kingsley, standing rigidly beside me, suddenly cleared his throat.

"Professor Finerty," Kingsley chimed in, his voice entirely devoid of the warmth he usually showed me. He didn't even look at me as he spoke. "Since Miss Walker views our collaboration as nothing more than a tedious chore, I would like to request a change in duet partners for the Fall Orientation Showcase. I shouldn't have to risk my own academic standing performing with someone who causes public brawls and doesn't want to be there."

My head snapped toward him, my chest heaving as pure, unadulterated betrayal ripped through my soul. He was actively abandoning me. He knew how much this scholarship meant to me, but because I had wounded his pride, he was pushing me right over the edge of the cliff.

Dean Finerty sighed, rubbing his temples. “Changing partners a week before the showcase is highly irregular, Mr. Robert, but given the circumstances, I will take it into consideration.”

The dean then turned his piercing gaze back to me. “As for you, Miss Walker, I am giving you one final chance to show remorse. You have 48 hours to submit a formal, written apology to Miss Dira and the department faculty. If not, your scholarship will be suspended before the Showcase even begins next week. Am I understood?”

"Yes, sir," I choked out, my voice barely a thread.

"Dismissed."

The moment the office door closed behind us, the suffocating silence of the room exploded into raw, blinding rage. I walked out into the empty, dim corridor,my heels clicking violently against the floor.

Kingsley stepped out right behind me, his face a mask of cold indifference.

I turned around to face him, my vision completely blurred with hot, angry tears. I was suffocating under the weight of his betrayal.

"Are you happy now?!" I screamed at him, my hands shaking at my sides. "You just couldn't let it go, could you? You wanted to ruin me! You wanted to ensure I lose everything I've ever worked for just because I didn't want to play your stupid little girlfriend roles! You are a monster, Kingsley! You're just like every other entitled piece of trash in this city!"

"Summer, I—"

Before he could finish his sentence, my restraint snapped completely. My hand shot out across the space between us.

SMACK!

The sharp, echoing sound of the slap rang through the empty hallway. Kingsley’s head snapped to the side, his cheek instantly flushing a violent crimson where my palm had struck him. He went completely still, his eyes wide with shock as he slowly turned his face back to look at me.

I didn't give him a chance to speak, to yell, or to explain. I walked away angrily, turning on my heel and sprinting down the corridor toward the exit, leaving him standing entirely alone in the dim light of the hallway as my life completely collapsed into ruin.