Chapter 37: Chapter 37
The next morning, Celeste walked across campus with a hoodie pulled over her head.
She hadn’t worn makeup. She hadn’t even brushed out her curls properly. She looked like a shell of herself.
Whispers followed her. Two girls in the quad scrolled past her picture and snickered as she walked past them.
She passed the media van parked outside the admin building waiting for her.
She walked in, checked in with the front desk, and was led upstairs.
Dean Calloway waited at the end of the corridor, arms folded.
"Miss Monroe," he said curtly.
"Dean," she replied, forcing herself not to shrink.
He lead her in, and inside the office sat two more faculty members. One was from Student Affairs, and another from the Scholarship Board.
Celeste sat.
She hated to make things all about her, but this was suffocating. She knew no one to talk to, or what to do. This would never go back to normal.
"We are not here to condemn you," the Dean began, hands steepled. "We are, however, concerned."
She didn’t speak.
"Your face has been plastered across every major entertainment blog. You are currently trending on Twitter. Your name is associated with not one, but two high-profile men. And regardless of truth or fiction, you’re now a topic of public spectacle."
She nodded slowly.
"Your scholarship is performance-based and reputation-sensitive," added the scholarship board member. "That means your public image matters."
"I didn’t do anything wrong," Celeste finally said, her voice low but steady.
"We’re not saying you did," Dean Calloway replied. "But perception matters. Especially for someone holding two prestigious placements in this university."
Celeste swallowed. "So what now?" she asked.
"For now, you will refrain from all social media posts. We will issue a media blackout on our end, but you must stay out of the press. No statements. No rebuttals. Nothing."
"And my scholarship?"
"Still yours," the woman said. "For now."
That "for now" hung heavy in the air.
Celeste stood.
"Thank you for the meeting."
She walked out. Her head high was held high, but her chest burned. When she got back to her apartment, she locked the door.
And for the first time since the photos surfaced, she let herself fall apart. Tears ran hot and silent down her cheeks as she slid down the back of the door.
She didn’t know if she wanted to scream or sleep for a year.
Dominic hadn’t called.
Landon hadn’t either.
She was completely, and utterly alone, while they lived their lives normally.
.....
Dominic parted his lips to speak. He wasn’t yelling. He didn’t need to.
His voice was low, measured, and clipped. That was more effective to him than any outburst.
"You called a scholarship student into your office for pictures she didn’t release, over headlines she didn’t control," he said. "Do you know what that sounds like to me?"
There was shuffling on the other end.
"Mr. Cross, please understand...." came Dean Calloway’s voice. He sounded weary but defensive. "This university has a code of conduct. Public representation is part of that."
"And does that code of conduct extend to other students trending for scandals?" Dominic asked, his tone slicing clean. "Or does it only apply when a woman becomes fodder for media attention?"
His question met silence.
Dominic turned away from the window.
"I am funding six departments across your institution. I’ve donated more than a million in endowments over the past five years. I’ve personally championed your innovation lab in front of two major government panels. And now... now you’re going to discipline a young woman over being seen with me?"
"She’s also been linked to Landon Cross," said a new voice from across the room. The woman from the scholarship board, no doubt.
Dominic laughed once.
"And? That’s your concern?"
"She’s trending," the woman replied. "That’s dangerous for her profile as a scholarship student."
"Then change the narrative," he snapped. "Isn’t that what you academic types love to preach? Evolution? Context? Do not touch her scholarship. Do not harass her under the pretense of concern. If there’s an ounce of retaliation for her proximity to me—or to Landon—I will make an example out of your board."
"Mr. Cross...."
"I won’t say it again."
He ended the call.
Behind him, his assistant lingered by the doorway, having heard enough of the call to understand the storm brewing.
"Should I prepare a statement?" she asked softly.
"No."
"Then should I—"
"Check on her."
"Sir?"
"Keep staying around her." he said. "Send someone she won’t recognize. I want to know how she’s doing. If she eats, if she sleeps, and if she breathes like she did before this whole mess."
The assistant hesitated, then nodded.
"And don’t call me unless it’s about her."
.....
Celeste barely touched her food. She stirred a half-bowl of soup on her couch. The television was running in the background, though she wasn’t watching.
She kept refreshing her school email, half-waiting for another notice. Nothing came.
There was a strange silence. An eerie kind. As if the storm had paused... but not passed.
The next morning, she expected the worst. A formal letter. A revocation. Or worse—another humiliating summons.
Instead, her inbox sat quiet. It was as if the school just ghosted her. It was too quiet. She scrolled through her university portal again. Nothing had changed.
Her name was still listed on the scholarship page. Her internship portfolio was untouched. The blackout was still in place, but no action had been taken against her. Also, she was still set to graduate in two weeks time.
Had the board changed their minds overnight?
She stared at the screen, confused.
The weight on her chest didn’t lift, but it shifted slightly. Just enough for her to breathe.
The silence was maddening.
And Dominic... he hadn’t reached out.
She told herself that was fine. She didn’t need him. She didn’t need anyone. This wasn’t about him. It was about her.
But still... part of her wanted to know if he cared. If he regretted it. If he’d say something. Just anything.
Or even an apology.
.....
Later that afternoon, a knock came on her apartment door. She had left her school dorm because of the stares and gossip.
She opened the door, only to see a middle aged, balding man before her door. He had a soft voice.
He wore a khakis and a button-down shirt that made him look more like a parent nore than anything else.
He introduced himself as Mr. Hale from Facilities. Said he was checking on the heating units in the building. Asked if everything was working okay.
Celeste blinked. "Um... yeah. It’s fine."
He smiled politely, looked around the room briefly, and nodded.
"Well, if anything’s off—please let us know. We’re just doing a round of welfare checks. A lot going on these days."
And just like that, he left.
She didn’t think much of it.