Chapter 4

The next week, there was a large mandatory departmental seminar. Psychology students, faculty, everyone was there.

Suddenly, the doors burst open.

Jessica strode in, a piece of paper held high like a trophy. She was dressed dramatically, her face a mask of righteous anger.

"I have my health report!" she announced, her voice ringing through the auditorium. "From a reputable off-campus clinic! It' s clean! Completely clean!"

She marched towards me, where I sat with Olivia.

"Emily Porter slandered me! She spread vicious lies! She' s a jealous, vindictive nobody!"

The room went silent. All eyes were on us.

Dr. Peterson, who was seated on the stage with other faculty, stood up.

"Jessica, Emily," he said, his voice smooth, authoritative. "This is neither the time nor the place. Both of you, please come to my office after the seminar." He gave a superficial admonishment, making it sound like a petty squabble.

My heart pounded, but I kept my face calm.

Later, in Dr. Peterson' s office, Jessica sat fuming.

I took a deep breath. I had a plan.

"Dr. Peterson," I began, my voice trembling slightly, "I am so, so sorry. I... I let my unfounded suspicions get the better of me. I feel terrible for the distress I' ve caused Jessica." I looked at Jessica, feigning extreme remorse. "I truly apologize."

Jessica looked surprised, then smug.

Dr. Peterson leaned back in his chair, a look of relief spreading across his face. This was what he wanted, for the problem to just disappear.

"Well, Emily," he said, his tone magnanimous. "It takes a big person to admit their mistakes. Perhaps this was all just a misunderstanding. I' ll... I' ll speak to the Dean about your disciplinary warning. See if we can get it smoothed over."

"Thank you, Dr. Peterson," I said, my voice full of fake gratitude. "You' re very understanding."

As I got up to leave, I discreetly activated the voice recorder on my phone. I "accidentally" bumped my bag against his side table, letting my phone slip out and land near the slightly ajar office door, partially hidden by a stack of journals.

I murmured an apology for my clumsiness, then left.

I waited outside, down the hall, for exactly one minute. Then, I walked back, feigning I' d forgotten something.

"So sorry, just my phone," I said quickly, retrieving it from where it lay.

Neither of them seemed to notice.

Later, I listened to the recording. It was muffled, but through the thin door, I' d captured distinct sounds. Whispers, a low chuckle from Peterson, a giggle from Jessica, then a series of soft, unmistakable moans.

The sounds of intimate activity.

It was sickening. But it was proof.