I didn't look up when the whispers changed.
They didn't say "Look, it's Evelyn Morgan" anymore.
Now it was:
"Is that him?"
"Julian Vale?"
"The director of Parsons"
"Oh my God, what's he doing here?"
"He is so handsome "
"Any woman with him is indeed happy"
I knew before I saw him.
The air shifted.
The laughter softened.
Girls straightened their backs, tucked their hair, suddenly aware of their hands, their lips, their posture.
I kept eating.
A simple salad.
No dressing.
Just greens, tomatoes, a slice of lemon on the side.
I didn't need to impress anyone.
Not him.
Not them.
Not even myself.
Because I wasn't the girl he remembered.
The one who used to light up when his name popped up on her phone.
The one who canceled plans with Mom just to meet him for coffee.
The one who said, "Of course, Julian," before he even asked.
That girl was gone.
Now?
I let his calls go to voicemail.
Replied to his messages hours later — short, polite, empty.
"Busy. Talk later."
"In class. Can't talk."
"Okay."
Nothing more.
Nothing less.
But never rude.
Never cold enough to raise suspicion.
Because I knew why he still tolerated me.
It wasn't love.
It wasn't loyalty.
It was Harbor View Tower.
The largest investment property my father ever owned.
Left to me in his will.
And Julian had spent years trying to get his hands on it.
I remembered how he found out I got into Parsons — not from me.
From Mom.
He'd called her the day after I told her — all charm, all concern.
He called her to pretend to be the best and caring fiancé every mother in law hoped for.
It wasn't that he truly cared.
He called to make sure that things are still running smoothly for him.
Then along their conversation, this was said.
"Julian, has Eve mentioned to you that she finally got into parson? Since you are the director there. I am sure you two will get along more and know each other better. You could image how happy I was when I heard the wonderful news too. I just hope that as she starts this new career she's not overwhelmed. You know how sensitive she can be."
Then their called ended.
Still he didn't send me any message since then.
I truly wondered why I fell in love with such a man.
He didn't care about me.
He cared about access.
About control.
About the day I'd finally hand over the deed — like I had in the future.
And now?
Now he stood at the edge of the courtyard, scanning the tables.
Tall.
Impeccable suit.
Hair perfectly styled.
The kind of man who walked into a room and didn't need to speak to command it.
And for a second, I saw him as others did.
Powerful.
Desirable.
Untouchable.
Then I remembered:
This was the man who held my hair back when I threw up from stress — then used the same hands to sign my property over to his firm.
This was the man who whispered "I love you" while checking his phone for updates on the sale.
This was the man who broke my heart not once, but every single day.
And now he was here.
Looking for me.
His eyes passed over the students, the staff, the food tables — and landed on Serena.
Of course.
She was already standing, waving slightly, smiling like she'd been waiting for him.
He walked over.
She leaned in, said something I couldn't hear.
Then gestured toward me — not with warmth, but with precision.
Like pointing out a flaw in a design.
I kept eating.
He turned.
Walked toward me.
Every eye followed.
Not because of me.
Because of him.
Because of the unspoken question hanging in the air:
Are they together?
Is that Julian Vale?
Why is he going to her?
He stopped at my table.
No greeting.
No smile.
Just a quiet, practiced calm.
"Why aren't you sitting with Serena?" he asked.
Not "Hi."
Not "How are you?"
Just an accusation wrapped in concern.
I took a bite of my salad.
Chewed.
Swallowed.
Then I looked up.
Slowly.
And for the first time, I didn't see the man I once loved.
I saw the man who had already lost.
"I'm sitting here," I said.
Flat.
Simple.
Like stating the weather.
He didn't flinch.
But something in his jaw tightened.
"She asked you to get her food," he said. "You didn't help her?"
Ah.
So that's what this was.
Serena's little lie.
Her way of reminding me — and him — that I was supposed to serve her.
I almost smiled.
Instead, I picked up my glass of water.
Sipped.
Set it down.
Then I looked at him — really looked — like I was seeing a stranger who'd wandered into the wrong life.
"I believe I have hands," I said, voice calm. "And so does she. Don't disgrace yourself by pretending this is about friendship."
Silence.
Not just at my table.
Across the courtyard.
A girl dropped her fork.
Someone coughed.
A breeze slipped through, carrying the scent of lemon and cut grass.
Julian didn't move.
Didn't speak.
But his eyes — dark, unreadable — flickered with something I hadn't seen before.
Not anger.
Not control.
Surprise.
Like he'd walked into a room expecting silence — and found a voice.
He looked around.
Saw the stares.
The curiosity.
The sudden, unspoken shift in the air.
And for the first time, he wasn't the most powerful person in the room.
He was just a man who'd been corrected — publicly, quietly, completely.
He didn't say another word.
Just turned.
And walked away.
No dramatic exit.
No glare.
No final warning.
Just retreat.
And the moment he was gone, the whispers began.
"Who was that?"
"Wait, were they dating?"
"She just shut down Julian Vale."
"No way. Did you see that?"
"I heard they were engaged."
"She didn't even f6blinch."
I didn't look at them.
Didn't smile.
Didn't react.
I just finished my salad.
Wiped my mouth.
Stood.
And as I walked away, I thought:
Let them talk.
Let them wonder.
Let them build their stories around me.
All I have to do now,
Is just to sit and relax, then watch as my own plan unfolds.