Chapter 4Framed As My Brother's Mistress

"Morgan," I said quietly, the amusement bleeding into my tone. "Whoever you just called, that wasn't Gabriel Langford's voice."

Morgan’s smug facade cracked for a split second, a flash of pure panic darting across her eyes. To cover it, she raised her voice to a screech.

"Still lying! You're unbelievable!"

Mr. Warren’s patience snapped. He slammed his palm against the wood with a deafening thud.

"Enough! Bridget, this is your final warning. Apologize to Morgan Foley, cover her medical expenses, or this goes into your permanent academic transcript as a major infraction."

Solve the problem by silencing the victim. Classic.

Morgan and her two athletic cronies stood smirking. Grace was clutching my sleeve from behind, her knuckles white with panic.

I looked back at Grace, gave her a reassuring squeeze, and reached forward.

I picked up the formal disciplinary citation from Warren's desk.

Before anyone could comprehend what I was doing, I gripped the heavy paper in both hands and tore it straight down the middle.

"Rrrrriiiip."

Then across. Then into quarters.

I let the shredded white confetti slip through my fingers, drifting like dead leaves onto Warren’s polished linoleum.

"I didn't steal," I stated, my voice dead calm. "I won't write an apology. And I will never apologize to her."

Before Warren could recover from the sheer shock, I spun on my heel and walked toward the exit.

Behind me, his voice cracked with fury.

"You're done! You hear me, Bridget? You walk out that door and you are expelled from this institution!"

I shoved the heavy door open. The crowd of onlookers flinched backward, parting like the sea to let me through.

I didn't look back. I took the stairs two at a time, Grace scrambling down behind me.

"Bridget!" she gasped, grabbing my elbow on the first-floor landing. "That was... unbelievable. But what do we do now? He's actually going to file the paperwork!"

"First, I’m getting a replacement phone," I said, wiping a crust of dried coffee from behind my ear. "Then I’m going to the police."

I went straight back to my dorm, retrieved my old backup device, and caught an Uber to the nearest emergency room. I checked in, had a nurse document the contusions on my abdomen, the swelling along my jaw, and the abrasions on my arms, and walked out with a certified clinical injury report.

Standing on the hospital steps, I dialed the local precinct.

"Hello. I'd like to file a formal report. I am a freshman at the university. A senior student assaulted me on campus, destroyed my personal property, and is circulating defamatory statements online. I have clinical documentation and digital evidence."

As I hung up, my screen refreshed with a notification from the campus forum.

Morgan had posted again.

[Justice may be delayed, but it always arrives. Thank you to our faculty for standing up for what is right, and thank you to everyone who reached out with love. Our campus should be a safe haven, not a playground for toxic, manipulative predators.]

Attached was a high-angle selfie of her holding an ice pack to her cheek, tears artistically catching the light.

The comments were an echo chamber of praise.

" - Queen handled business! Tear down the side-chick!"

" - Heard she’s facing expulsion. Good riddance."

" - Protect our seniors!"

Spinoff posts were already multiplying across the board like weeds.

[Exclusive: Freshman homewrecker assaults counselor after being exposed!]

[The anatomy of a gold-digger: Why Bridget Ross needs to be wiped from campus.]

Grace was red-faced with fury, spending the entire evening typing furious rebuttals under every thread until her account got temporary rate-limited.

"These people are brain-dead!" she yelled, throwing her pillow across the dorm. "They don't know a single fact!"

I squeezed her shoulder. "Let her climb."

The higher Morgan built her pedestal of lies, the further she would fall when the floor gave out.

At seven that evening, my phone finally rang with a familiar number.

"Bridget? Did you call me?"

Gabriel’s voice was raspy with exhaustion. In the background, the chime of an international terminal announcement echoed through the speaker.

"Gabe? You just landed?"

"Just cleared customs. How’s orientation? You settling into the dorms okay? You haven't started any fights yet, have you?"

His usual teasing affection hit my ears, and a sudden, sharp lump formed in my throat.

All day, facing Warren’s threats, Morgan’s violence, and the sea of sneering faces, my pulse hadn't wavered. But hearing my brother’s voice broke the dam behind my ribs.

I took a quiet breath, swallowing down the tremor.

"I'm fine. Grace is great. Just... hit a small snag on campus."

"A snag?" Gabe’s tone shifted instantly, the fatigue vanishing into sharp alertness. "Why does your voice sound raw? Did they run you too hard in drills?"

I paused, staring at the clinical bandage around my wrist. "Gabe... does your firm hire interns from our school?"

"Yeah. Two years ago we established a pipeline partnership with the business school. We pull top seniors for summer rotations, convert the best ones to full-time. Why?"

"Are you dating one of them?"

Silence fell over the line.

Heavy, prolonged silence.

Finally, Gabriel cleared his throat, sounding uncharacteristically flustered. "Uh... how did you find out about that?"

My blood turned to liquid nitrogen.

A hollow, sickening dread cratered through my chest.

Had I been wrong?

Was Gabriel really involved with Morgan Foley? Was the woman who had just dragged me across a football field and kicked me in the ribs going to be sitting across from me at Thanksgiving dinner?