In the hallway just outside the lecture room, students formed circles, their eyes glued to their phones and their voices muffled with excitement as they read an anonymous post on the campus forum, claiming to know the “real” reason for Blair Wilson’s estrangement from her family. The post alleged that she had gotten pregnant by an unknown man, who then disappeared, leaving her to face the Wilsons’ wrath alone. Now, she was struggling to raise a child by herself.
As Ezra walked past, snippets of their conversations reached his ears, laced with disdainful judgment.
“This is crazy!” one girl hissed.
“Do you think she didn’t transfer to our department voluntarily, but was actually kicked out?” another person replied, rolling her eyes dramatically. “They probably couldn’t handle the scandal and just passed her over to us.”
A guy in the group leaned in and whispered, perhaps louder than he intended, “I can’t believe she would even show her face after something like that. She should just stay out of sight.”
Another girl scoffed, crossing her arms. “We’re talking about the Wilsons. They probably disowned her the moment they found out.” She chuckled derisively.
Ezra clenched his jaw as he looked at Blair. She sat a row ahead, her shoulders slumped and her gaze fixed on her notebook. Her appearance, normally so put-together, seemed neglected, and her expression was distant. She looked pitiful. The Blair he knew always faced the world head-on, never one to cower under anyone’s scrutiny. But this time, it was as if she had locked herself in a shell, refusing to let any misinformation or harsh criticism reach her ears.
The classroom buzzed with whispers of absurd gossip, energizing the third-year business students. The murmurs rippling through the room only quieted with the thud of their department head’s footsteps. As his eyes swept across the room, the students scrambled to adjust their seats properly.
“As most of you know, the campus’s annual festival is just around the corner,” Mr. Flenn announced in a firm voice. “This year, we’ll do things a little differently.”
“To foster creativity and provide real-world marketing experience, each of you will be required to collaborate with a stall from any department on campus. This could be anything from a coffee stall to a crafts booth or even a game stall. Your task is to partner with them and develop a unique plan to promote and sell their products.”
A few students exchanged glances; some whispered excitedly, while others appeared less enthusiastic.
“Consider this an opportunity to practice real-world skills,” the professor stated. “Once you’ve found a group to collaborate with, get creative. Use a marketing techniques, special offers, and social media promotions—whatever you believe will attract customers. And remember, your grade will depend not only on your effort but also on your results.”
His sharp gaze swept across the room, pausing briefly on Blair. There was no malice in his expression—only a silent reminder that she was not exempt from the challenges ahead.
“Alright. Make sure you’ve chosen your partners by the end of the week, and if you have questions, come see me.”
As soon as the door clicked shut behind Mr. Flenn, the students wasted no time reforming their circles and resuming their heated conversations. Their whispers filled the room like a thick, suffocating fog, each word stinging Blair’s ears like needles from which she couldn’t escape.
“I heard she told some of her old friends that she was engaged to him,” another chimed in, her voice dripping with disbelief. “Can you believe that? As if Ezra would ever propose to her.”
“I know, right?” someone else sneered. “She must be so desperate for his attention that she abandoned her medical studies just to be near him.”
The group chuckled, reveling in their own cruelty. Meanwhile, Samantha observed the scene unfold, a sly grin curling at the corners of her lips as absurd rumors swirled around Blair.
“But get this,” the first girl added, leaning in conspiratorially. “Someone said she even tried to convince Ezra to claim her child—as if it were his or something.”
A stunned silence lingered for a moment, then laughter erupted—muffled behind hands yet sharp with mockery.
Ezra sat in silence, his jaw clenched as the gossip spread like wildfire. He despised the mockery, the lies, and the way they distorted Blair’s life into mere entertainment. His hands clenched into fists beneath the desk, and for a moment, he considered standing up, silencing them all by revealing the truth. But then Blair’s voice echoed in his mind: “Promise me that no matter what you see or hear—no matter how much I struggle—you won’t help me. I need to face this on my own.”
Ezra exhaled through his nose, resisting the urge to intervene. She had asked him to stay out of it and to let her handle things her way. However, as the laughter grew louder, something inside him snapped. Just as he was about to rise from his seat, a sudden thud echoed through the room.
Blair’s books had tumbled off her desk, scattering across the floor with a loud clatter. The room descended into an uncomfortable silence, the cruel whispers dissipating in the sudden tension.
Blair bent down to collect her fallen books, her movements unhurried, as if she felt no urgency to escape their stares. Ezra held his breath, his heart twisting as he watched her straighten up, balancing the books in her arms. Then she looked up at them, meeting their gazes directly. There was no trace of shame or anger in her expression. Instead, her lips curled into a bright smile—one so warm and genuine that it seemed to illuminate the entire room.
“May God bless you,” she said sweetly, her voice soft yet powerful enough to pierce the silence.
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For a moment, the lecture hall was frozen in stunned disbelief. Then, out of nowhere, a student at the back—one of the very individuals who had been mocking her just moments earlier—let out a dazed sigh.
“Dude...” he whispered to his friend, his eyes wide and glassy. “She’s so beautiful.”
Ezra’s gaze followed Blair as she confidently strode toward the door, her head held high and shoulders squared. There was no hint of defeat in her posture; quite the opposite. It was as if the whispers and sneers had only stoked a fire within her.
When she reached the door, Blair paused with her hand on the doorknob. Then she turned back. Her bright smile vanished in an instant, replaced by a fierce, burning glare that could melt steel.
“I am not deaf, you know?” she said, her voice sharp and clear.
Blair didn’t allow them a moment to recover. With a dramatic roll of her eyes that unmistakably conveyed her irritation, she turned the knob, swung the door open, and exited the room without a backward glance.
A cold knot of intimidation coiled in their stomachs. A few students exchanged guilty glances, realizing that Blair Wilson was not a fragile, tragic figure they could easily dissect for entertainment. She was a mystery enveloped in quiet strength, far more complex than they thought.
From the moment Blair had pleaded with Ezra to stay out of her troubles, he felt compelled to respect her wishes. It wasn’t easy, as every instinct within him urged him to intervene, to silence the malicious rumors, and to eliminate that abhorrent anonymous post from the campus forum—a task he could have accomplished in an instant. Yet Blair’s voice echoed in his mind like a persistent reminder.
“Please promise me that no matter what you see or hear—no matter how much I struggle—you won’t help me. I need to face this on my own.”
So, he complied with her request, forcing himself to remain on the sidelines as a silent observer. It felt strange—almost wrong—to let her endure it alone, especially since she acted as if he didn’t exist. In class, Blair never cast a single glance in his direction. She treated him no differently than the other students—just another face in a sea of strangers.
Still, Ezra watched her quietly, noticing the subtle details that others overlooked. She was always the first to arrive for class, taking a seat before anyone else entered the room. As soon as the lecture concluded, she slipped out the door, disappearing before anyone could catch up with her. He wondered where she went and what she did when no one was watching. She had become a mystery even to him, and that fact gnawed at the back of his mind.
Then there were the subtle signs—small, easily overlooked details that heightened his concern with each passing day. One morning, he noticed a thin bandage wrapped around her fingers. She kept her hand hidden beneath her notebook, but when she thought no one was watching, she flexed her fingers cautiously, as if even the slightest movement caused her pain.
On another day, she was limping, her steps cautious and stiff. She moved as if her feet were swollen, each step weighing her down; yet she made no complaint and maintained a carefully blank expression. The sight of her struggle twisted something painstakingly inside him. He clenched his fists under the desk, battling the urge to approach her, to ask if she needed help, and to demand to know what was happening.
But he did not.
Instead, he sat quietly, observing her from the shadows as promised, wondering what battles she was fighting beyond what little he could perceive. The Blair he knew—tenacious, defiant, and optimistic—was still present, though veiled beneath a quiet anguish and restrained sorrow.
Ezra wondered how much longer she could endure this situation. Even more, he questioned how long he could continue watching her suffer without intervening.
…..
The Taylor mansion felt different from what it once was. The grand entrance hall stood in eerie silence, the kind that seeps into the bones. Ezra had avoided returning for months, but tonight, something had drawn him back, like a magnet he couldn’t resist.
He made his way to the living room, pausing by the large couch—Blair’s favorite spot. He could still picture her there, curled up and sound asleep, or laughing while watching her favorite cartoons on the tablet she had borrowed from him. Ezra sat down, reached into his bag, pulled out a cold can of beer, and cracked it open. He took a long drink, letting the bitterness coat his tongue and feeling the burn as it slid down his throat.
A few minutes later, the sound of footsteps approached—heavy and deliberate. Damon entered, his eyes narrowing as he surveyed the scene. His frown deepened, clearly reflecting his disappointment at what he observed.
“Your secretary and the executives of your company have been calling me because they could not get through to you.”
Ezra remained silent, his gaze fixed on the can of beer as if he neither saw nor heard his father.
Damon let out a sigh, his posture stiff as he crossed the room and stopped a few feet from his son. “You know, Mr. Flenn assured you that you only need to attend classes once or twice a week,” he continued. “He designed these modules specifically for you, separate from the standard curriculum, to give you more time to focus on what truly matters in your business.”
Ezra responded with a soft sigh, his gaze drifting off into the distance.
“You should use this time to secure your own future,” Damon said, his tone softening slightly. “Build something independent of the Wilsons. I know how much you loathe them, and this is your chance to break free—to marry someone you truly love.”
Damon paused, watching Ezra for any reaction, but his son’s expression remained impassive, even as his eyes darkened with emotion.
“If you don’t act now, the Wilson Group will ensnare you again once Blair returns to the family, and you’ll lose your only chance of living your own life.”
Ezra’s expression remained impassive as Damon spoke, yet a flicker of something dark and weary flashed in his eyes.
“Don’t worry about it. Blair is determined to sever all ties with Wilson and Taylor.”
A flicker of surprise and concern crossed his father’s face.
“Did you know she transferred to our department because she is determined to live life on her own terms? Even though I see her in class every day, to her, I am just a stranger.”
Damon raised an eyebrow, visibly skeptical, but Ezra appeared unfazed. Calmly, he picked up his tablet, opened a file with steady hands, and placed it in front of his father.
“Look at this,” Ezra said, his voice tense. “It’s the report from the hospital.”
On the screen, a hospital document detailed Blair’s emergency admission and her critical condition. The line that stood out was in bold: Patient declared deceased, revived after 55 seconds.
“Blair came back to life… only to find herself utterly alone and abandoned.” His words grew heavier, each syllable imbued with the weight of everything he had learned. “For months, she struggled, being repeatedly admitted to the hospital. And yet, not a single person from the Wilsons or the Taylors—the family she thought cared—ever visited her. Not one.”
Damon’s face paled as he stared at the screen, the weight of Ezra’s words pressing down on him like a slow, suffocating gas. His eyes darkened with guilt and misery.
Ezra took a deep breath, his gaze fixed intently on his father’s face. “Do you know where Blair was rescued?”
“It was the secret playground,” Ezra said, his voice strained. “Right at the back of this mansion. For two days,” he continued, his tone growing more intense, “she stayed there. Without food, without water. Just… waiting. Waiting for someone—anyone—from the Taylors or the Wilsons to come and find her.”