"Why even do this?" Liz frowns between bites of her sandwich.

"Why not just skip the whole project instead of trying to extort 10%? It doesn't make sense," she mumbles, chewing.

I'm pacing like mad around her kitchen, wondering how the hell she can even think about food at a time like this. The moment Coopers left my office, I came straight here in full panic mode—and the first thing Liz said was, "Let me eat something. I'm wiser when I'm full."

"Elizabeth, think! I need to know exactly what's on that video before I make a move," I snap.

"Mmm, this feta cheese is orgasmic," she sighs, eyes closed like she's on a beach in Mykonos.

"Liz. Focus."

She sighs dramatically, reluctantly tearing her gaze from her plate. "Okay. He came up to our table that night—right after you left—with that kicked puppy look. He was devastated about his mom. Begged me for your address. I made some stupid joke about him wanting to 'sex you up,' and he didn't even smile. Just kept saying he needed to make things right. I honestly don't remember every word."

"There was no talk of us being together after he became a student, right?" I press.

"Wait—were you?"

"No."

"Then no. Why would we say anything like that?"

"But someone could definitely conclude you two were intimate before he enrolled," she admits, frowning.

"Yeah," I sigh, sinking into a chair. "God, I'm screwed."

"We need to acknowledge the obvious," she says, licking her fingers. "He left to protect you. It was kind of... sweet?"

"Sweet? It was stupid," I snap, still swirling in emotion. "Why didn't he tell me? Why run off like that?"

"Because he thought it was the best way to protect you, Ashley." She leans forward now, serious. "Let's not pretend he came to university to get a degree. He came here for you. And when your career was on the line, he took himself out of the equation. Was it immature? Sure. But it came from love. That's not nothing."

I close my eyes and exhale deeply. "Elizabeth... what do I do?"

She raises a finger. "Last bite—and then I'm yours."

I let out a tired laugh despite myself. She's always the calm to my storm.

"You know what's odd though?" she says after chewing. "That Coopers chose now to reveal the video. And the whole 10% thing still makes no sense."

"Because it's not about the assignment," I mutter. "People like Noah, they get off on control. He doesn't want to not do the work—he just wants me to bend. He wants me to sweat. It's a power trip."

"And he hates Harry," she adds, catching on.

"He loathes the attention Harry got in class. And he fancies Rebecca, but she's not biting. She's close with Harry, and he can't stand it. This—this blackmail? It's the only card he had to play. And he's loving it."

Liz is quiet now. Calculating. Already in damage-control mode.

"But you can't give him the 10%, Ash. The system won't let you. You'd have to go to the dean."

"I'm not giving him anything," I say firmly.

She blinks. "Wait... what are you saying?"

"I'm saying I'm not giving in. I'm not playing his game."

Her eyes widen. "But if he goes to the dean, you're—"

"He won't," I cut her off.

"You don't know that!"

"Yes, I do," I insist. "If he tells on me, he has to admit he blackmailed me. That he stalked Harry. Filmed him. He exposes himself, too. That video doesn't just implicate me. It implicates him. That's not what he wants. He just wants control. To scare me. But I won't let him win."

"I need to see that video," I mutter.

Liz nods slowly. "Then call him."

She hands me my phone, her eyes gleaming now with a spark of pride.

"Call Harry."

I take the phone from Liz, scrolling to find Harry's number, when we hear the sound of the front door opening.

"Hey," Niall says softly, stepping into the flat, a bag of groceries dangling from his arm.

"Hi, Niall," I offer quietly.

"I heard what happened," he says, placing the bag on the counter. "Liz told me what that wanker pulled. I'm sorry you both had to go through that."

"You knew," Elizabeth blurts. "You knew why Harry left, and you didn't say anything. You didn't tell her. You didn't tell me."

"I was sworn to secrecy, Liz," he sighs, sounding exhausted.

"Did Harry ask you not to tell her?" she challenges.

He nods, eyes down.

"Well he didn't say anything about me. You could've told me. I would've told her. No harm done," she argues, as if it's the most rational logic in the world.

"It doesn't work that way, Elizabeth," I interject, not lifting my eyes from my screen as I finally find his name. I hesitate, then swipe the contact and press the call button.

The number you have dialled is currently unavailable...

"He's busy," I murmur, barely above a whisper. Maybe to them. Maybe just to myself.

"You're calling Harry?" Niall asks, unloading cans into the pantry like this is any normal day.

"Yeah."

"He's not available right now," he replies evenly.

"Still filming?" I ask, trying not to sound like I've been keeping tabs.

"He took a couple of days off," Niall says, shutting the cupboard. "He's on his way to London. I told him what happened."

"Why did you do that?" Elizabeth turns on him.

"You didn't say not to," Niall shrugs, and I nearly smile at the absurdity of the moment—her logic versus his.

But I don't smile.

Harry's coming back.
He knows.
And he's coming home.

+++

I'm at home, pacing, contemplating what to do with the whole damn situation, and the only thing that makes sense anymore is to tell the dean the truth.

My grandmother used to say, "If you lie once, you'll have to lie ten more times to cover it up." I won't do that—not even to save my job. The truth is: Harry and I started before he was my student. But we did sleep together afterward, even if it was only once, and even if he withdrew from the course immediately after. That doesn't make it right. I was ready to keep going, keep it quiet, risk it all... and now, I have to face the consequences.

My options? Find a small office in London and build a private practice. I have contacts, reputation, and I'm good at what I do. I've saved for rainy days like this. It'll be fine... eventually. But two things terrify me.

One—what do I tell Anzette?
Two—what if it leaks?

The NDA protects Harry, but not me. I can see the headlines now:
"Distinguished Professor Loses Career Over Famous Toyboy."

I'd be ridiculed. I'd undo everything—the campaign, the respect, the work. And for what? A mistake? But that's the thing... was it a mistake?

I don't think it was.

The feelings Harry awakened in me weren't artificial. They weren't wrong. They were needed. I was alive again, after so long in the dark. If I want to blame someone, I can't. Not even Noah. I gave him the ammunition. I crossed the line. And Harry—stupid, noble Harry—left to protect me. To protect my daughter. To protect my name.

I take Jason's photo off the wall. He's laughing in it, wind in his hair, his eyes full of light.

"What should I do, J?" I whisper. I look into his frozen smile like it might hold answers. But it doesn't.

Just then, I hear her voice.

"Mum?"

"Yes, darling?" I call back, grateful for the interruption.

"There's someone here to see you."

I step into the doorway as she opens it just a crack, peeking in.

"Harry Styles is here to see you," she says, practically glowing.

My breath catches in my throat.

"Should I let him in?" she asks, eyebrows raised mischievously.

I nod, unable to form words.

"Ask for an autograph!" she whispers with glee, vanishing from sight.

I barely register her excitement—my mind is already spinning as I brace myself, pulling in air I can't quite hold.

And then he walks in.

The only thing I manage to say is—

"Your hair!"