Jenna Hayes POV:

Professor Dunn was a godsend. A true luminary in the art world, he saw potential where others saw only trouble. His help was my only ticket out. With his backing, the bureaucratic hurdles for a study abroad scholarship would shrink, allowing me to flee this nightmare faster.

I had always strived for excellence. Straight A's, countless hours in the studio, pushing myself to the brink. Not because I loved the grind, but because I craved it. Craved the fleeting moments of acknowledgment from Doris, from Ethan, from Dillon. Any scrap of attention, any hint of pride.

It was all for nothing.

No one truly cared. My mother, Doris, obsessed with her social standing, her new husband, her perfect life, certainly didn't. Ethan, with his deep-seated resentment and twisted sense of justice, cared even less. And Dillon… Dillon was a viper in a sheep's clothing, a master manipulator who played me for a fool.

The phone clicked, the line going dead. Professor Dunn had promised to see what he could do. I felt the last vestiges of strength drain from my limbs. My body, already teetering on the edge, gave out. I collapsed onto my bed, the soft mattress a cruel comfort.

Sleep offered no escape. Nightmares clawed at the edges of my consciousness, pulling me down into a terrifying abyss. I thrashed, a silent scream caught in my throat.

I jolted awake, heart pounding, sweat slicking my skin. My entire body was burning, a fever raging beneath the surface. My head throbbed, each beat a hammer against my skull. I needed medicine.

I pushed myself up, groaning, but before I could reach the door, it burst open.

Doris stood there, framed by the bright hallway light, her face a mask of cold fury. She didn't wait for me to speak. She didn't ask about my fever, about the gala, about anything.

She just threw a stack of glossy photos at my face. They scattered across the floor, landing with sickening thuds.

"What is this, Jenna?!" Her voice was a low growl, barely controlled. "What have you done?!"

Her words were sharper than any blade. "You tramp! You slut! How could you be so utterly disgraceful?!"

I stared at the photos, my blood running cold. It was me. In various states of undress. My eyes were half-closed, my body limp. I remembered the heavy drinks Dillon had given me. The dizzying sensations. The hazy memories of him whispering sweet nothings in my ear, telling me how much he loved me.

These weren't just photos. They were a violation.

Jenna Hayes POV:

Doris's words sliced through me, each one a fresh cut. "Disgraceful! Promiscuous! You've ruined everything!" There was no concern in her voice, only disgust.

My gaze fell back to the photos on the floor. I recognized the sheets, the faint pattern of the wallpaper. It was Dillon' s dorm room. He had taken them. While I was unconscious.

The realization hit me with the force of a physical blow. A searing pain erupted in my chest, like an ice pick plunging deep into my heart. My vision blurred.

These photos, taken just last night, had already made their rounds. Someone had been eager to spread them, to humiliate me.

Dillon. Just days ago, he had held me close, whispering promises. He swore he loved me, swore we would get married after graduation. He had coaxed me, charmed me, plied me with alcohol until my resistance crumbled. He had played the part of the doting boyfriend, making me laugh, making me feel safe. He made me believe he genuinely cared.

He had dragged my semi-conscious body back to his bed, over and over, lost in his own twisted desire. And I, in my pathetic hopefulness, had believed he would love me forever.

"Who took these, Jenna?" Doris demanded, her voice cutting through the fog of my shock. She grabbed my arm, her grip tight. "Tell me! Who is it?"

Her eyes weren't searching for my pain. They were searching for answers, for damage control. Her reputation. Mr. Reynolds's reputation. That was all that mattered. Not me. Never me.

Jenna Hayes POV:

Her eyes, cold and calculating, searched mine. Not for hurt, but for information. She didn't care about the violation, only the fallout. Her world. Her status. Her husband's name.

"It was Dillon," I whispered, the name tasting like ash.

Doris froze. The anger, the frantic energy, drained from her face. A chilling silence filled the room. She stood there, unmoving, for a long moment.

Then, her voice came, quieter now, but laced with a new kind of terror. "Dillon? You fool! How could you get involved with him? Do you have any idea how powerful the Richardsons are?"

She paced, wringing her hands. "His family is untouchable, Jenna! Untouchable! Do you understand? We can't afford to offend them."

"But... he took these pictures," I stammered, my voice barely audible. "He drugged me. How is that my fault?"

Doris stopped, turning back to me, her eyes blazing. "Fault? You think they'll care about fault? He's a Richardson! Even if you had a thousand witnesses, nothing would happen to him. You were his girlfriend, weren't you? A normal couple, as far as everyone knows."

She threw her hands up in exasperation. "Why didn't you just say no? Why did you let him do it?"

My breath hitched. I stared at her, my mother, the woman who was supposed to protect me, to love me unconditionally. Her words were a new betrayal, deeper than Dillon's. The ice pick in my chest twisted.

She couldn't meet my gaze. She turned away, staring intensely at a spot on the wall. "I'll handle it. I'll make sure these pictures disappear. No one will remember this, Jenna. No one."

"Just... stay quiet. Don't cause any more trouble."

She walked toward the door, her back to me. "The Richardsons have too much influence. We can't risk everything for... this."

The door clicked shut, sealing me in. My gaze drifted to the hallway, where Ethan stood, leaning against the wall, a triumphant smirk on his face. He hadn't just known. He had orchestrated it. He had known exactly how this would play out, what my mother would say, how she would react.

The truth. It didn't matter anymore. Justice. It was a forgotten word in this house.

I slid down the wall, my legs giving out, until I was a crumpled heap on the floor. My body felt like petrified wood, stiff and cold. Two hot tears, the last remnants of my shattered hope, slipped down my cheeks.