Chapter 4

The video call had ended abruptly, but the chaos remained. Mark stood panting in the middle of my ruined portfolio, his chest heaving. The acrid smell of ink filled the small room.

Suddenly, a new voice, calm and authoritative, cut through the tension.

"What in God' s name is going on in here?"

An older man stood in the doorway, his sharp suit a stark contrast to the mess on the floor. His face was etched with concern and disapproval. It was Mr. Harrison, the renowned art curator. He was one of the panelists on the Kensington admissions board. I had recognized him from the start of the call.

His eyes took in the scene: me, kneeling amidst the ruined art; Mark, standing over the destruction like a conquering warlady; the ink-stained floor. He knelt beside me, his gaze gentle.

"Are you alright, my dear?" he asked, his eyes falling on my hand. In the scuffle, I had scraped it against the desk, and it was bleeding. "You' re injured."

"I' m fine," I whispered, though my hand throbbed.

Mark scoffed. "She' s not the victim here. She' s a thief!"

"I saw what you did, young man," Mr. Harrison said, his voice dropping to an icy calm. He stood up, towering over Mark. "I saw you destroy her work. I saw you assault her."

"I didn' t touch her!" Mark blustered, his face turning red. "She... she fell."

"We have it on video," Mr. Harrison said flatly. "The entire interview was recorded. Your attack, Ms. Hayes' s slanderous interruption... all of it."

Mark' s face went pale.

Mr. Harrison looked at me, his expression softening with pity. "Lily... I' ve been following your work for years. Your father... he was a dear friend of mine. He would have been so proud of this portfolio." He gestured to the ink-soaked mess. "This is a tragedy. With these accusations, and now this... I' m afraid your application to Kensington..." He trailed off, his meaning clear. My dream was officially dead.

A wave of despair so profound it felt like drowning washed over me. Tears I had refused to shed now streamed down my face.

"It' s not fair," I sobbed, the words torn from my chest. "He' s lying. They' re all lying."

Just then, Tiffany appeared in the doorway behind Mr. Harrison. She had a look of calculated concern on her face.

"Oh, my goodness, what happened?" she exclaimed, rushing to Mark' s side. She shot me a look of pure venom before turning back to Mr. Harrison.

"Mr. Harrison, this is all a terrible misunderstanding," she said, her voice smooth as silk. "Mark is just... emotional. He feels so betrayed. We all do."

She then turned her attention to me, her eyes cold despite the placating smile on her lips.

"Lily, listen," she said, lowering her voice. "We don' t want to ruin your life. We can make this all go away. Just... agree to pay Mark back, and we' ll drop the police report. We' ll even put in a good word for you at a... smaller, local college. It' s the best you can hope for now."

It wasn' t an offer of peace. It was a threat, wrapped in a condescending package. Pay them money I didn' t have, admit to a crime I didn' t commit, and in return, they would allow me to scrounge for scraps while they walked away with their reputations and their stolen money intact.

The injustice of it all, the sheer, unadulterated arrogance, ignited something in me. The despair receded, replaced by a cold, sharp-edged fury.

I looked at her, at Mark' s guilt-ridden face, at Mr. Harrison' s watchful eyes. I saw my opening.

I slowly got to my feet, my injured hand held carefully at my side. I met Tiffany' s gaze, letting her see the tears on my face. I let my shoulders slump in defeat.

"You' re right," I whispered, my voice thick with false resignation. "It' s over."

I saw the flicker of triumph in her eyes. She thought she had won.

I took a shaky step towards her, as if I was going to accept her poisonous deal. But as I passed the desk, my eyes locked on Mark' s phone, which he had carelessly tossed there when he burst in.

In a single, fluid motion, I snatched it.

Before Mark or Tiffany could react, I turned and bolted. I flew past a stunned Mr. Harrison, out the door, and down the hallway.

"Hey! My phone! Get back here!" Mark roared behind me.

I didn' t stop. I ran, clutching the phone-my only hope for evidence, my only chance at justice-like it was my own heart. I could hear their footsteps pounding down the hall behind me, but I didn' t care.

They had started this war. Now, I was going to finish it.