Chapter 3

Ellie Stanley POV:

Jace was true to his word. The very next day, I was summoned to the Dean' s office.

Dean Albright was a stern, no-nonsense woman in her late fifties, with sharp eyes that seemed to see right through you. Jace was sitting in the chair opposite her desk, looking calm and composed, as if he owned the place. He probably thought he did. The Robertson family was a major donor to the university.

"Ms. Stanley," the Dean began, her voice neutral. "Mr. Robertson has brought some... concerning information to my attention. He claims you are here under false pretenses."

I met her gaze directly, refusing to be intimidated. "With all due respect, Dean, my admission was based on my academic record and my tuition is paid in full. What Mr. Robertson claims is a personal matter, not a university one."

Jace scoffed. "A personal matter? Ellie, you abandoned our wedding. You broke a legally binding contract between two of the most powerful families in the state. You think you can just hide out in a classroom and pretend that didn't happen?"

"It' s not a classroom, Jace. It' s my life," I said, my voice low and steady. "A life I am finally choosing for myself. And for the record, the contract wasn't broken. It was fulfilled. You' re married to Cassidy. She is your wife."

The word 'wife' hit him like a physical blow. His composure cracked, and a flicker of raw anger crossed his face. "That was a trick. A childish, spiteful trick. You know she was never meant to be..."

"She was never meant to be your mistress? She was never meant to be the one you loved while you were engaged to me? She was never meant to be the one you saved while you let me get hurt?" The words tumbled out, colder and sharper than I intended.

Jace fell silent, his jaw tight.

Dean Albright looked from me to him, her expression unreadable. She steepled her fingers on her desk. "Mr. Robertson, while your family' s contributions to this university are greatly appreciated, we do not get involved in the domestic disputes of our students. Ms. Stanley' s academic standing is impeccable. Unless you can provide evidence of academic misconduct, there is nothing for me to do."

"I can pull our funding," Jace threatened, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.

The Dean' s eyes narrowed. "You could. And then the press would have a very interesting story to report: 'Billionaire Heir Jace Robertson Attempts to Expel Ex-Fiancée from University After Marrying Her Cousin.' How do you think your board of directors would react to that headline?"

Jace' s face went white with fury. He was cornered, his power rendered useless by simple logic and the threat of bad PR. He stood up so abruptly his chair scraped against the floor.

He glared at me, his eyes promising retribution. "This isn' t over."

Then he stormed out of the office, slamming the door behind him.

I let out a breath I didn' t realize I' d been holding. My hands were shaking.

"Thank you, Dean Albright," I said, my voice trembling slightly.

She gave me a small, rare smile. "Focus on your studies, Ms. Stanley. It seems you have a bright future ahead of you, with or without the Robertson name."

Jace didn't give up. He couldn't use his influence to get me expelled, so he resorted to harassment. He started showing up on campus, waiting for me outside my classes. He would try to talk to me, his tone shifting wildly from pleading to demanding. He sent lavish bouquets of flowers to my apartment with notes begging me to come back. He even had my mother call me, her voice a cocktail of disappointment and thinly veiled threats about cutting me off.

I ignored it all. I changed my walking route, threw the flowers in the dumpster, and blocked my mother' s number. I poured all my energy into my studies, finding solace in the clean, predictable world of economic theories and case studies.

It was in my advanced microeconomics seminar that I met Forrest Callahan.

He wasn' t like Jace. He wasn' t flashy or overwhelmingly handsome in that polished, corporate way. He was quiet, grounded, with warm, intelligent eyes and a smile that reached them every time. He was a PhD student, the teaching assistant for the class, and he was brilliant. He could explain complex arbitrage pricing theory in a way that made it seem simple, intuitive.

He started noticing me, not for my family name, which he didn' t know, but for the questions I asked in class. He would linger after the seminar, and we would fall into easy conversations about everything from game theory to the terrible coffee in the university library.

He came from a modest background, the son of a high school history teacher and a librarian. He was working three jobs to put himself through his PhD program. He was kind, genuinely kind, without any ulterior motive. He saw me, just Ellie, a student who loved to learn. It was a novel feeling.

One evening, I was leaving my part-time job waiting tables at a small diner near campus. I was exhausted, my feet ached, and I had a midterm to study for. As I stepped out into the chilly night air, I saw him sitting on a bench across the street, a book in his lap.

It was Forrest.

He looked up as I emerged, and a slow smile spread across his face. He closed his book and walked over.

"I was just in the neighborhood," he said, though we both knew it was a lie. The diner was miles from his apartment.

"Stalking your favorite student, Callahan?" I teased, a genuine smile touching my lips for what felt like the first time in weeks.

"Guilty," he admitted without shame. "I figured you' d be hungry. And I didn't want to eat alone." He gestured to the diner I had just left. "I hear their pie is terrible, but their company is excellent."

My stomach grumbled on cue, a loud, embarrassing protest. I felt my cheeks flush.

Forrest just laughed, a warm, gentle sound. "I' ll take that as a yes."

I hesitated for only a second. Jace' s shadow still loomed large, a constant threat of chaos. But looking at Forrest, at his open, honest face, I felt a sense of peace I hadn' t realized I was missing.

"Okay, Callahan," I said, my voice softer than I expected. "But you' re paying. I just spent eight hours serving people like you."

His smile widened. "Deal."

We went back inside and sat in a booth by the window. The diner was quiet, the late-night lull. We talked for hours, long after the pie was gone. He told me about his dream of becoming a professor, of making economics accessible to everyone. I told him about my passion for business strategy, carefully omitting the parts about my family.

With him, I wasn't Ellie Stanley, the runaway heiress. I was just Ellie. And it was more than enough. When he walked me home later that night, a comfortable silence settled between us. At the door to my building, he paused.

"I know you' re going through... something," he said, his gaze serious. "You don' t have to tell me what it is. But I want you to know you' re not alone in it."

His simple words of support, offered with no expectation of anything in return, were more valuable than all the Robertson money in the world. They were a lifeline.

Before I could stop myself, I leaned in and pressed a quick, soft kiss to his cheek. "Thank you, Forrest."

I hurried inside before he could see the blush creeping up my neck, my heart beating a little faster than it had any right to.