Ellen's Point of View
The nurse's shoes squeak softly against the tiled floor as she removes the last IV tape from my
arm. The sting feels personal and I can't blame her.
"You're healing well, Miss Dumas,
" she says, her tone neutral but her eyes kind.
"Your father is
outside. He's eager to take you home.
"
Eager. That's one word for it.
I roll my eyes as I slip my legs off the bed and into my sneakers. The same ones I wore the
night of the accident. One lace is still stained brown from dried blood.
The door opens with a low creak. I don't need to look up to know he's there. My father's
presence fills the room before his voice does.
"Are you done?"
No greeting or a hug. Just that clipped tone, like I've wasted his time by surviving.
He signs the discharge form without glancing at me. I know I'm in deep shit of trouble.
"We'll talk in the car.
"
That single line drains the little warmth left in the air.
The drive is quiet for ten full minutes before his voice booms in the still.
"You've embarrassed
me, Ellen,
" he finally says, hands tight around the wheel.
I'm sure he dismissed our driver so he could vent his anger fully on me this way.
I stare at my reflection in the window.
"Father, I didn't mean—
"
"Don't speak.
"
His words slice through the air, controlled and calm.
"I warned you before, didn't I? About your behavior. About your associations.
"
"It wasn't about you,
" I whisper.
He scoffs.
"Everything is about me. You carry my name. You drag my reputation into whatever
mess you create.
"
My father continues, voice cold as ice.
"I spent years building respect in that university. And now, because of a single post, every
faculty member whispers behind my back.
'Professor Dumas's daughter sleeping with a
lecturer.
' You've turned gossip into gospel.
"
Tears sting my eyes, but I blink them back.
"I wasn't sleeping with anyone.
"
"Spare me the details. You will issue a public apology. Effective immediately.
"
He adjusts his cufflinks, as though that settles it.
The wipers drag across the glass again.
My phone buzzes in my lap. I glance down, half-expecting Sophia's name.
Instead, an unknown number:
You play dangerous games for someone who doesn't know the rules.
The words claw through my chest.
I open Truecaller. The name flashes instantly.
Ardito Martinelli.
My breath catches. Why would he text me? How does he even have my number?
I lock the screen quickly and slide it under my thigh, pulse racing.
At home, my father storms into the living room, coat dripping, anger simmering beneath every
movement.
"You've shamed me, Ellen. Do you have any idea what you've done?"
"Father, I—
"
"You've jeopardized my career, my standing, everything I built!"
He's really exaggerating at this point..
Our butler sets my bag down quietly in the corner, glancing between us.
I force myself to meet my father's eyes.
"It was just a post. No names or proof even.
"
"It doesn't matter!" he snaps.
"Perception is power, and you've handed mine to vultures!"
He rubs his temple, muttering.
"I knew Clara's death would unhinge you. I should've sent you
abroad when I had the chance.
"
The words hit harder than his anger.
"So your solution is to get rid of me?"
"I'm trying to salvage what's left of this family!"
"What family?" I bite back.
"You've never treated me like part of it.
"
He stiffens, jaw tightening.
"Careful.
"
I step back, heart pounding, but I've gone past caring.
"I'll deal with you when I return from campus tomorrow,
" he says finally,
"You're confined to the
house until then.
"
He walks out, slamming the door so hard the glass trembles.
I move upstairs slowly, aware of the housekeeper's sympathetic gaze following me. I needed to
shower and get rid of the hospital smell.
At some point, I hear the doorbell. Soft voices drift from downstairs. I expect it to be another
professor or one of Father's colleagues, but then a new voice entirely.
"Good evening, I'm here for Miss Dumas.
" My pulse drops.
I open my door a little and peer down the stairs.
She stands in the foyer like she owns the house donning a sleek black suit, red lipstick and an
aura of a landlady.
I'm sure the housekeeper leads her to the private waiting area. A few minutes later, there's a
knock on my door.
"Miss Ellen?" the maid whispers.
"The lawyer says it's urgent.
"
Lawyer?
I descend slowly, every step measured.
The woman smiles when she sees me.
"Finally. You're prettier than I expected.
"
"I wasn't expecting anyone,
" I reply cautiously.
She crosses one leg over the other, holding out a brown envelope.
"This is a statement your
father would like you to sign. A formal apology to the university.
"
My chest tightens.
"He sent you?"
"Of course Ellen.
" Her smile doesn't reach her eyes.
"It's a wise move. Quietly sign, and this scandal disappears. No one gets hurt.
"
Her words feel so weighted.
"What if I don't?" I ask.
Her gaze flicks up from the papers.
"Then, perhaps, Clara's name won't stay buried for long.
"
My blood runs cold. The woman smiles wider now, almost tenderly.
"Don't look so shocked. You're not the only one who keeps secrets.
"
Before I can respond, the door flings open.
My father stands there, confusion flashing briefly before he smooths it away.
"I didn't expect you
so soon,
" he says to her.
"I don't waste time,
" she replies coolly.
They know each other. The familiarity is unmistakable.
He clears his throat.
"I'll handle the rest.
"
The woman stands, smoothing her skirt. Her heels click softly against the marble floor as she
approaches me.
"I believe you'll make the right decision, Miss Dumas,
" she says, voice dipped in sugar but
sharpened with something venomous.
"It's in everyone's best interest.
"
She glances briefly toward my father.
"You have raised such… a spirited daughter, Professor.
"
The tone makes my hair to stand to its end.
He clears his throat.
"That will be all. Thank you.
"
Her smile lingers on him a second too long. It isn't the kind of look colleagues share. Like there
is history stashed between them.
As she walks past me, her perfume brushes against my shoulder and a scent that feels oddly
familiar hits me.
When the front door shuts behind her, the silence in the house becomes unbearable.
I turn to my father.
"Who was she?"
He doesn't meet my eyes.
"A lawyer.
"
"That wasn't a lawyer,
" I say quietly.
His head snaps up.
"Ellen, enough.
"
"You've known her for a long time, right?"
"Go to your room.
"
He doesn't shout, but his voice carries an edge that makes my heart pound harder than any
scream could.
I back away as my chest gets tighter.
By the time I reach the top of the stairs, I can still hear the faint murmur of his voice downstairs.
Low and controlled, talking to someone on the phone.
But there's something about his tone that changed, it isn't anger anymore.
It's fear.
I close my door and sink onto the floor, knees trembling.
That woman's words echo in my head: It's in everyone's best interest.
Everyone's.
The same phrase my father used whenever he made decisions that broke people.
And now it feels like she used it on him.
Which means, for the first time in my life, someone might actually have power over my father.
The thought should comfort me.
It doesn't.
Because if that woman can make him uneasy, I can only imagine what she'll do to me.