Chapter 13

Avery’s POV

The sun spilled golden light across the city when my obsidian black car arrived at the university gates. The engine slowed to a halt, and I stepped out, adjusting my jacket with the cold confidence that preceded me.

Avery Von Carter. The name carried the weight of privilege, power, and expectation, but today I had no patience for whispers or the stares that followed my entry.

My objective was singular: Ms. Rose’s office. I walked through the corridors, my footsteps echoing against the marble, cutting through the early morning quiet.

Most students had not arrived, which offered me a moment of unburdened peace—something I never expected to last. Peace, as usual, was not meant for me.

As I entered the classroom, sliding the heavy oak door open, something hard smashed against the back of my head. 

THUD.

The pain was a blinding shock, enough to make me stumble forward, sending a wave of nausea over me. My hand flew up, touching the sore spot, and I spun around, my composure shattered.

My eyes narrowed, focusing through the throbbing pain. And then I saw him.

That face. That smirk. That tilt of the chin. Rozer.

The boy from the cafeteria. The same boy who had raised his voice at his girlfriend, shoved her as though she were disposable, and had the audacity to threaten me weeks ago.

I had brushed it off back then, a minor annoyance, a gnat beneath the Von Carter notice. But today—today he brought the fight to me, right through my defenses.

For a second, my blood boiled hotter than the pain in my skull. I felt the Von Carter rage, the instinct to obliterate, surge through my veins.

“You,” I hissed, my voice low and laced with venom.

He grinned, the expression cruel and taunting. “What’s wrong, princess? Didn’t see that coming? Or did you think your family name would protect you even from reality, even from a simple stone?”

He nodded toward a piece of concrete that had rolled to a stop near my feet. I straightened, ignoring the nauseating ache, pushing my body upright with every ounce of Von Carter pride I had been taught never to let falter.

“You’ll regret this.” My words were sharp, each syllable a threat, my eyes locked on his, challenging him to blink.

“Oh? Regret?” He stepped closer, his smirk widening. Behind him, two other boys flanked him—his pathetic friends, providing backup. “You think you scare me with your suits and your fancy words? You’re nothing but a spoiled rich girl playing savior. I told you once, stay out of my business, but little heiresses don’t listen to simple commands.”

I clenched my fists so tightly my nails dug into my palms, every nerve screaming for retaliation, but my cultivated composure would not let me jump first. I waited, forcing an outward calmness that belied the storm within.

Then, as if following a rehearsed cue, the three of them exchanged quick, knowing glances and bolted out of the classroom, heading toward the open grounds, toward the garden area. A challenge. An invitation to a public confrontation.

I did not hesitate. My feet carried me forward in a sprint, my jacket flowing behind me like a cloak of fury as I chased them down the long corridor, out into the open grounds where the morning light glistened on the manicured lawns and the fountain.

The chase ended near the fountain at the center of the garden. One of Rozer’s friends slowed, turning to block me, but my rage fueled my speed.

I was faster. I swung my arm forward with a controlled force and struck him across the face, the crisp, sickening crack echoing as he staggered back and fell awkwardly to the ground, clutching his nose.

The second boy’s eyes widened—fear flashing in them—and without a second thought, he turned on his heel and ran, leaving both his friend groaning on the grass and his leader exposed. Now, it was just me and him.

Rozer. The boy who thought he could publicly humiliate the Von Carter name. He did not run.

He did not flinch. Instead, he smirked, the sheer arrogance of it shocking, and lunged forward, throwing a wild punch at my jaw.

The blow landed with a dull, sickening impact, snapping my head to the side. Pain seared through me, a fresh wave of agony, but I did not back down.

That was the last straw. I tasted blood on my lip—my own blood—but I smiled, darkly, fiercely, as my hand shot out and grabbed his collar with an iron grip.

“Wrong move, Rozer,” I growled, my voice rough and low.

I swung him down with the pent-up force inside me—the weeks of stress, the weight of the name, the fury of his attack. He hit the ground hard, the air knocked out of his lungs, but I did not stop.

My fists met his face, his chest, anywhere I could land a blow—every strike a savage release of the rage he had provoked. His attempts to fight back grew weaker, his sneering smirk gone, replaced by shock and pain.

And then—

“Avery Von Carter!”

The voice cut through the chaos like a cold blade. My fists froze mid-air, hovering over his defeated face.

My breath came in ragged pants, adrenaline rushing through my veins like fire, but that voice—that voice had the authority, the force of will, to stop me. I looked up.

Ms. Rose stood there, several yards away, her eyes wide, her usually composed, immaculate face stricken with shock. Behind her, a large group of students had gathered, whispering and gasping in disbelief.

And just as my heart sank, I noticed Dean Fletcher approaching from the opposite side, his expression carved in stone, a furious rigidity in his posture. The circle of onlookers tightened.

I was still hovering over Rozer, pinning him down, when the Dean spoke, his voice booming with disappointment. “I don’t expect this behavior from you, Avery.”

I stood, shoving Rozer away as if his touch were poison. My chest heaving, my hands bloodied—some his, some mine—and I faced the Dean and Ms. Rose, standing defiant.

“He was the first to hit me!” I protested, my voice shaking not from weakness, but from the uncontrolled storm of adrenaline and anger inside me. I pointed a trembling, bloodied finger toward Rozer, who was now wiping blood from his lip, his face already beginning to swell.

But he laughed. Actually laughed, a choked, wheezing sound that quickly turned into a manipulative, feigned cough.

“No, Dean. No, Professor,” he said, clutching his ribs with exaggerated pain, already the consummate victim. “She hit me first. She attacked me! Of course, coming from a… prominent family, she thinks she can get away with it. You’ve all seen it, right? The arrogance. The pure, entitled violence of the Von Carters.”

His words slithered through the stunned crowd like poison. Murmurs erupted.

Students exchanged doubtful, judgmental looks, their gazes flickering between my disheveled, aggressive state and his carefully presented victimhood. My jaw clenched, fury shaking my body.

“That’s a lie! You’re lying!”

Dean Fletcher stepped forward, his gaze fixed solely on me, not him. His lips pressed into a hard line of judgment.

“Violence has no place here, Ms. Carter. No matter the provocation. None.”

And then, I felt it. A warm sensation seeping down the back of my neck, running beneath the collar of my shirt.

My fingers reached back, brushing against the site of the first, cowardly blow—and came away vivid, startling red. Blood.

The moment I saw it, dizziness washed over me, sharp and overwhelming. The world tilted, the colors of the garden blurring into a confusing wash, but I straightened, refusing to show a hint of weakness.

Not here. Not in front of them.

The Dean’s voice was firm, final, cutting through the confusion. “Ms. Rose, take Rozer and Avery to the nurse’s office. I will handle the disciplinary reports.”

Rozer. The boy who had struck me first. I blinked, the blood loss making me numb.

Did I hear that right? Equal treatment for the victim and the perpetrator?

My eyes flew to Ms. Rose. She looked at me—looked right through me—with a profound disappointment that felt like a searing betrayal.

Her lips pressed together tightly, but when she walked past me to take Rozer’s arm, she made sure to make her judgment verbal. “I didn’t expect this from you, Avery.”

Her words stung more than the wound at my head. More than the blood trickling down my neck.

They pierced the core of the effort I had put into the TA assignment, the hours of work I had done to prove her wrong. I swallowed hard, my throat tight, dry.

My pride screamed at me to stand tall, to not let the injury or the betrayal show. But something inside cracked, the facade yielding.

As she passed, leading Rozer away like a wounded pet, my lips parted. A faint, desperate whisper escaped, one I had not meant to say aloud.

“Ms. Rose…”

My vision blurred, darkening at the edges. The world spun with speed.

And then—a consuming, heavy darkness swallowed me whole as I collapsed onto the vibrant green grass.

Darkness. That was the first thing I felt again.

Not the restful kind of darkness, but the heavy, suffocating kind that pulls you down, swallowing every thought, sound, and sensation. And then came the faint hum of voices—distant, distorted, like echoes from another, judgmental world.

“She hit him first, I swear…”

“No, he provoked her, I saw it, he threw something—”

“Doesn’t matter, she’s still Avery Von Carter. The Dean won’t touch her, she’s protected.”

“Or maybe he finally will, after this public display…”

Whispers. Judgments. Shadows twisting and forming around my unconscious body.

Then a sharper, unmistakable voice broke through, cutting through the murmuring with clarity. “Move! Give her space! Let her breathe—she’s actually fainted!”

It was Ms. Rose. Her tone carried an urgency, a surprising edge of panic, but even through the fog, a cynical, inner part of me wondered—was she worried for me, or merely for the reputation-damaging chaos this scene had turned into?

I tried to open my eyes, but the weight of my exhaustion and the blow was too much. My body felt heavy, like lead pressing me into the damp ground.

And then—a profound silence returned.

When I finally woke, it was not silence that greeted me. It was the scent of antiseptic, the cool, unfamiliar sheets beneath me, and the rhythmic beep of a monitor nearby.

My lashes fluttered, and I squinted against the white, sterile light above. The university nurse’s office.

I shifted, a sharp, immediate pain flaring at the back of my head. My hand moved to the bulky bandage there, and the memory of what had happened flooded back: The classroom. The fight. The garden. Rozer’s mocking laughter. The blood. And Ms. Rose’s words.

“I didn’t expect this from you, Avery.”

They stung now more than ever, a moral wound deeper than the physical one.

“Finally awake,” a calm, precise voice said, breaking the spell of my thoughts.

I turned my head, wincing at the movement, and found Ms. Rose standing by the door, arms crossed, her expression once again unreadable, all traces of panic gone. She stepped closer, her heels clicking against the tiled floor, the sound oddly comforting in its familiarity.

“You gave us quite a scene today, Ms. Carter.”

I winced at the bluntness, my pride bristling defensively. “I didn’t start it, Professor.”

Her brows arched, her lips pressed together in that way that told me she did not fully believe—or maybe did not want to believe, preferring the easier narrative. “That’s not what the Dean will write in his report from where he stood.”

Heat rushed to my chest, frustration bubbling up. “Of course it didn’t. Rozer made sure of that with his victim act. He hit me first, Ms. Rose. With a rock. I wasn’t about to stand there and take it like some timid debutante. You saw the blood, didn’t you? You saw the size of the knot. Or are you actively choosing not to?”

Her eyes flickered, just for a second. That infinitesimal movement confirmed it: she did see.

She knew the truth of the injury. But still—she held her professional, judgmental ground.

“Avery, do you even hear yourself? You fought him in front of half the student body. In the middle of the Dean’s prize garden. Do you realize what this means? Your reputation, the name your family spends millions protecting—”

“My reputation?” I snapped, my voice sharper than I intended, laced with raw bitterness. I pushed myself up onto my elbows, ignoring the throb in my skull. “You think I care about their whispers? They’ve been whispering about me since the day I set foot here. Von Carters, rich, arrogant, untouchable—that’s all they ever see. But today? Today someone finally crossed a line, a physical line, and I defended myself. That’s all this was.”

Ms. Rose sighed, a sound heavy with weariness, and for a moment, I thought I saw something soften in her gaze—a fleeting glimpse of empathy—but it disappeared as quickly as it came.

“You are strong, Ms. Carter,” she admitted, grudgingly. “Stronger than most students I’ve taught, certainly. But strength… strength isn’t just about fists and brute defiance. It’s about restraint. About knowing when to stand your ground, and when to walk away to let the system protect you.”

Her words cut differently—not sharp like before, but deep, resonating with a truth I hated. I looked away, jaw tight.

Restraint. I had been taught restraint my whole life, to smile when I wanted to scream, to bow when I desperately wanted to break free.

And yet—when he hit me, all those years of holding back snapped like a rope stretched past its limit. I did not answer.

I could not articulate the turmoil inside me. Ms. Rose stepped closer, lowering her voice, making it confidential. “Dean Fletcher is furious, Avery. He wanted to suspend you and Rozer on the spot, without a second thought.”

My head snapped toward her, anger overriding the pain. “Suspend me? For what? For not letting him beat me into the ground with a rock? For surviving?”

Her gaze hardened again, professional and unwavering. “For brawling in public, Avery. For turning the university garden into a chaotic spectacle. And for proving exactly what your enemies already whisper about you—that you think rules simply don’t apply to the Von Carters.”

The accusation burned in my chest, but underneath it was something worse: profound hurt.

“Is that what you think too, Ms. Rose?” My voice dropped, barely above a whisper, revealing a vulnerability I regretted. “That I’m just some spoiled Von Carter brat who thinks the world should bow to her whims?”

Her lips parted, as if caught off guard by the rawness in my tone. For once, her composed expression wavered, lost its footing.

“No,” she said at last, softer now, her voice a low acknowledgment. “That’s not what I think, Avery.”

Silence stretched between us, heavy with the weight of years of unspoken conflict, now cracked open by a moment of violence. Finally, she straightened, returning to her composed professor self with a visible effort.

“The Dean has called a disciplinary meeting for tomorrow morning. He wants you, Rozer, and myself present. And your parents. They have already been informed of the incident.”

She placed a small, cream-colored envelope on the side table beside me. “This came for you earlier. From your family, I assume. I believe it’s from Emily.”

Ms. Rose lingered a second longer, her eyes searching mine, as if waiting for me to break down, or perhaps, for me to speak a full, honest truth. But pride sealed my lips.

I would not give her the satisfaction of my collapse. She turned and walked toward the door, her figure poised and decisive, her voice calm when she finally spoke.

“Rest, Avery. Recover. Tomorrow… tomorrow will decide more than just a suspension.”

And then she was gone. Morning came far too quickly.

Since my father had dictated that I remain under the care of the university’s private medical staff, sleep had been shallow, restless, and haunted by fragments of yesterday’s chaos: the garden fight, Rozer’s mocking laughter, Ms. Rose’s cold voice, and the immovable judgment carved into Dean Fletcher’s face. By the time I entered the main administrative hall, the whispers had spread across every corner of the university.

Heads turned as I walked in, their eyes daring between me—the notorious fighter—and the closed door of the Dean’s office. My name—Von Carter—was murmured like both a curse and a dark fascination.

I straightened my posture, my chin held high, the bandage on my head hidden by my hair. Whatever storm awaited inside, I was a Von Carter, and Von Carters did not falter in public.

The large wooden doors opened, and I stepped in. Dean Fletcher sat nervously at the long mahogany table, his hands folded, his face pale with unease.

To his left sat Ms. Rose, her expression an impassive mask, her eyes betraying nothing. Across from her, lounging in his chair, was Rozer, his lip swollen but his smirk firm, the picture of the wrongfully accused.

And at the head of the table—my parents. My father, radiating the kind of natural, unyielding authority that made even the most powerful men sit straighter, surveyed the room with a piercing gaze, as though every inch of it belonged to him.

My mother, impeccably elegant in a charcoal suit, sat beside him, her hands folded, her presence both outwardly soft and inwardly commanding. The atmosphere tightened, thick with power and tension.

“Ms. Von Carter,” Dean Fletcher began cautiously, rising awkwardly, “please… take a seat.”

I did, sliding into the vacant chair across from Ms. Rose. I glanced at her briefly, seeking reassurance, but she meticulously avoided my eyes, her focus entirely on the Dean.

My chest tightened with hurt. Dean Fletcher cleared his throat, shuffling papers.

“We are gathered here today to discuss the unfortunate… incident… that occurred yesterday in the garden. A very public altercation that caused significant distress.”

“Unfortunate?” my father cut in sharply, his voice a steel-edged baritone that silenced the entire room. “Unfortunate is a stain on one’s tie before a meeting. What happened to my daughter was a calculated provocation, followed by an assault involving a weapon. Let’s call it what it is, Dean.”

Dean Fletcher paled further, wilting under the verbal assault. He glanced toward Rozer, who sat back in his chair with an air of feigned innocence.

“With all due respect, Mr. Von Carter, the accounts differ greatly—”

“Of course they differ,” my father snapped, his voice hard. “One side lies with ease. The other, my daughter, does not.”

The room went still, the tension spiking to an unbearable level. Rozer seized the opportunity, leaning forward, clutching his ribs with exaggerated care, his voice laced with mock pain.

“With respect, sir, your daughter struck first. She believes her money and name put her above the rules of fair play. She attacked me viciously after I simply tried to stop her.”

“That’s a blatant lie!” I shot back, rising halfway from my seat, unable to contain the fury at his continued deception. My fists clenched against the table edge, knuckles whitening. “You hit me with something the moment I entered class, and then you threw the first punch in the garden! You think everyone here is blind to your manipulation?”

“Sit down, Avery,” my father said, his voice gentle, but firm, a command with no space for argument.

I obeyed, sinking back into the chair, though my fierce, burning glare never left Rozer. Dean Fletcher raised a trembling hand, trying to steady the spiraling storm.

“Please, please. We are here to find a just resolution, not further escalation.” His voice wavered, thin and weak.

He was sweating now, caught miserably between my father’s dominance, my mother’s piercing, silent expectation, and the volatile tension burning between Rozer and me. Ms. Rose finally spoke, her tone even, professional, and devoid of personal opinion.

“What I observed was both students engaged in a physical confrontation. However… it was also clear that Rozer initiated the confrontation by throwing a projectile in the classroom. Avery’s resulting head injury further supports the claim of initial physical assault.”

Rozer turned sharply toward her, his feigned injury forgotten. “That’s biased! She favors her because of her family name and her TA status—”

“Silence,” my father said.

The word was not loud, but it was delivered with such cold, absolute command that Rozer’s mouth snapped shut, his face flushed. Even Dean Fletcher shifted uncomfortably, sinking lower in his seat.

The silence that followed was thick and suffocating, until my mother finally broke it. Her voice was soft, melodic, yet it carried more unassailable weight than anyone’s.

“My daughter has bled,” she said, her eyes fixed like lasers on the Dean. “In your university. Under your watch. You allowed this boy to taunt and physically harm her, and now she is the one facing disciplinary questions?”

Dean Fletcher swallowed hard, desperately trying to find his footing. “Mrs. Von Carter, I assure you, we take all violence seriously. I—”

“Then prove it,” my father cut in again, his tone like a final hammer blow. “What will you do with this boy, Dean? What is the consequence?”

The Dean hesitated, eyes darting nervously toward Rozer, then back to my father. He knew he had no choice.

“Mr. Rozer… you are hereby placed under a strict, absolute ultimatum. Any further misconduct, any provocation toward Ms. Carter or any other student, and you will be expelled, without appeal. You are on your final warning.”

The smirk slipped from Rozer’s face, leaving only resentment and a defeated shock. His friends were not here to back him; his lies had not worked, and with my parents present, he realized his pathetic game was over.

He nodded stiffly, accepting the judgment, though his eyes still burned with smoldering hatred. My father leaned back, satisfied with the immediate capitulation.

“Good. Now that this matter is settled, my daughter will not suffer further from your institution’s negligence or your inability to control your student body.”

The Dean nodded eagerly, almost bowing in his seat. “Of course, sir. We will ensure Ms. Carter’s complete safety and well-being. I am deeply sorry for the incident.”

Then, completely unexpectedly, my mother turned her full attention to me. Her voice softened, her eyes warm with genuine, maternal concern.

“Avery, my darling… are you truly okay? Tell me the truth.”

For a moment, the heavy steel armor I always wore cracked wide open. The sight of her eyes, filled with profound concern, and the sudden, unexpected gentleness in her voice disarmed me.

I felt the sharp, immediate sting of tears I had not allowed myself to shed yesterday. “Yes,” I whispered, my throat tight with emotion.

Then, forcing a return to my usual composure, I added more firmly, “Yes, Mother, I’m fine. Just tired.”

She reached over, her hand cupping mine, and then she pulled me into a rare, firm embrace. For the first time in what felt like ages, I let myself lean into her strength and warmth.

I sighed deeply, the immense tension in my chest easing, if only for a blessed moment. But my father’s voice came next, steady, resolute, and practical.

“You will stay at home for one week, Avery. No university campus. You will rest, recover, and allow your head to heal completely under the supervision of our medical team.”

“Father—” I began to protest, hating the thought of isolation, but his sharp, silencing gaze cut me off.

“This is not a debate, Avery,” he said.

Then he turned his commanding gaze to Dean Fletcher. “Ensure she has immediate, seamless access to all her classes from home. No disruption to her academics. Not one.”

Dean Fletcher nodded immediately, eager to appease. “Of course, sir. It will be arranged. Ms. Rose will personally oversee her remote access and academic progress.”

Both mine and Ms. Rose’s heads snapped up, eyes widening in matching shock.

“What?” Ms. Rose said, her brows furrowing deeply, her composure breaking. “Dean, I have numerous other responsibilities. I can’t possibly dedicate my time to one student’s remote study, even Ms. Carter—”

“It is my direct order, Professor,” he interrupted, shooting her a look that brooked no argument. “Ms. Rose will ensure Avery’s studies are not disrupted by this incident. Consider it a necessary part of the incident management.”

For the first time since yesterday’s terrible confrontation, I almost smiled. My gaze shifted to Ms. Rose, who looked at me with an expression that was half-annoyance, half-defeated resignation.

Her lips pressed into a thin line as if she were silently screaming, Why me? Why my eternal punishment?

And despite the dull ache still throbbing in my skull, a small, genuine laugh escaped me—quiet, pained, but truly, sincere. For just a heartbeat, Ms. Rose’s eyes softened, a tiny shift, as though she too saw the profound humor hidden in the absurdity of our new, forced partnership.

And in that fleeting moment, amid the overwhelming authority of my parents, the weakness of the Dean, and the silent, defeated hatred of Rozer—something unspoken, something fragile yet strong, passed between us. Not forgiveness. Not yet.

But perhaps… an unwilling, mutual understanding of the strange, unyielding fate that now bound us together.