“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Thomas hissed, his voice a furious, dripping sneer. He looked at my soaked hair and the simple black gown I wore over my dress. “You’re going to ruin Haley’s photos looking like a drowned rat. I told you yesterday, you’re just an assistant. You don’t belong in the VIP entrance. Go wait in the car. Do not embarrass us in front of these wealthy doctors!”
Victoria walked past, flanked by Haley. She paused just long enough to look me up and down with an expression of sheer, unadulterated disgust. She gave a cold, dismissive little laugh as she adjusted a stray lock of Haley’s perfectly styled hair.
“Listen to your father, Clara. Let your sister have her moment. Go dry off somewhere out of sight.”
Thomas released my arm with a final, forceful shove toward the bottom of the exterior stairs. My heel slipped on the wet stone, and I stumbled, barely catching my balance on the freezing bronze railing.
I stood completely alone in the freezing downpour. I watched the heavy, magnificent bronze doors of the grand hall swing shut behind them, cutting off the warm golden light from inside. The absolute, staggering betrayal fractured something deep within my chest. They weren’t just oblivious; they were actively, joyfully cruel. The rain mixed with the hot tears spilling over my eyelashes, blurring the world into a gray smear.
Wiping the cold rain from my face with a trembling hand, I turned away from the doors. My spirit felt scraped hollow. Maybe I couldn’t do this. Maybe I should just walk away.
But before I could take a single step down into the flooded street, the relentless pelting of rain on my head suddenly stopped.
A shadow fell over me. I looked up, startled, to find a massive, black umbrella held firmly over my head. Standing beside me was the imposing, aristocratic figure of Dean Jonathan Bradley, the head of the university’s medical board. He was impeccably dressed in his full academic regalia, the purple velvet of his station rich and dry.
He stared down at me, his silver eyebrows drawn together in an expression of absolute, bewildered shock.
“Dr. Hensley?” Dean Bradley’s deep, resonant voice cut through the noise of the storm. “Why on earth are you standing out here in the freezing rain? The board of trustees has been frantically looking for you backstage for thirty minutes!”
The air backstage was entirely different from the rest of the world. It was thick with the scent of polished leather, ancient paper, and the expensive, hothouse floral arrangements that lined the corridors. It was the scent of untouchable, institutional power.
The moment Dean Bradley ushered me through the private faculty entrance, the atmosphere shifted from panic to synchronized, hyper-focused action. Two administrative assistants practically materialized out of thin air, rushing toward me with thick, heated cotton towels. They gently draped them over my shivering shoulders, dabbing the rainwater from my face with careful reverence.
“We have her! Dr. Hensley is here!” one of the assistants called out down the hall.
