My hands were shaking.
I would need to be honest with Liam, about how I think about him constantly. About how watching him row makes my chest ache. About how I ended it because I was terrified of wanting him more than I wanted my father’s approval.
I kept typing, I couldn’t stop.
I would need to face what I did to Ethan. Really face it. Not just apologize and hope he forgives me. Accept that I hurt him.That I violated his trust. That I used him and then tried to take something he didn’t want to give. Accept that some things can’t be fixed.
The cursor blinked at the end of the paragraph.
I would need to stop lying under oath to my own life.
I stared at what I’d written. Pages of it now. Raw and honest and terrifying.
None of it was the legal brief, and none of it would help me pass Morrison’s assignment, but it was the only thing I could write.
I saved the document in a hidden folder. Password protected it. Titled it “What It Would Take.”
Then I sat there, staring at the screen, feeling lighter and heavier at the same time. My eyes burned. My shoulders ached. The third-floor study room felt too small suddenly, the air too thick.
I needed air. Or caffeine. Or something. I stood up and headed for the stairs.
The vending machines were on the ground floor, tucked into an alcove near the media lab. I tapped my card on the machine, watched an energy drink tumble down into the dispenser.
That’s when I saw Ethan through the glass door of one of the editing rooms—a figure hunched over a computer, multiple screens glowing in the dim space.
It was the first time I’d seen him since the night at his dorm.
He was alone, working on what looked like the crew recruitment reel—I could see the Kingswell colors.
My hand moved toward the door handle.
Stop.
What was I doing?
My hand fell away from the handle.
Ethan shifted in his chair and rolled his shoulders like they ached. I wanted to go in. God, I wanted to walk through thatdoor and apologize again. Offer to help with the editing, or do something to prove I wasn’t the person who’d violated his trust.
Walking in there wouldn’t be about Ethan. It would be about me and easing my conscience and making myself feel less like a monster.
I’d spent so much time taking from Ethan—his time, his emotional labor, his friendship—without ever really seeing him. Without asking what he needed. Without respecting when he said no.
He’d be here for hours probably. Grinding through work he didn’t want to do because he needed the stipend. And there was nothing I could do about it. Nothing I should do about it—not anymore.
I turned away from the glass and walked back toward the stairs.
The best thing I could do for Ethan was leave him alone. Let him work in peace without my guilt hovering in the hallway and let him make his own choice. It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough to make up for what I’d done.
I climbed back up to the third floor, energy drink in hand, and sat down at my cubicle.
The legal brief was still open on my laptop. Due in less than twelve hours. I opened a fresh document and started typing about perjury and false testimony and the legal consequences of lying under oath.
One word at a time. Even if those truths were only about legal theory and case precedent and things that had nothing to do with the mess I’d made of my own life.
It was all I could do right now.
All I could control.
