Amara stumbled back to her dorm, her vision blurred with unshed tears. The night air was cold against her skin, but it did nothing to numb the ache inside her. Every step felt heavier, as if the weight of Rafael's betrayal had physically crushed her. He had taken everything—her last hope, her father's legacy. The very thing that had driven her to break into that abandoned house, to search desperately through dust-covered bookshelves and forgotten memories.
And now, it was gone.
She pushed open the door to her dorm room with trembling hands. Leah was seated on the bed, scrolling through her phone, but the moment she looked up and saw Amara's face, her expression shifted to alarm.
"Amara?" Leah shot up from the bed, closing the distance between them in seconds. "What happened?"
Amara opened her mouth, but the words wouldn't come. Her throat was tight, her chest felt as if it were caving in. The tears she had been holding back finally spilled over as she collapsed onto the edge of the bed, her shoulders shaking violently.
Leah knelt beside her, wrapping her arms around Amara without hesitation. "Hey, hey, breathe. What happened?"
Amara clutched at Leah's sleeve, her voice barely a whisper. "He took it, Leah. He took everything."
Leah's body stiffened. "Who? What are you talking about?"
"Rafael," Amara spat his name like poison. "My father's research… it was hidden in our old house. I found the library, but before I could take it… he was there."
Leah pulled back slightly, gripping Amara's shoulders. "Wait—you went back to your house? Alone?"
Amara nodded, fresh tears slipping down her cheeks. "I had to, Leah. It was my last chance. But he knew. He went straight to the hiding spot like he had always known where it was."
Leah's face darkened. "That bastard."
"He didn't even look at me," Amara whispered bitterly. "I was hiding, and he knew someone was there. He just… took it and left. Like it meant nothing."
Leah tightened her grip. "You don't know that."
"I do." Amara's voice cracked. "He's cold, Leah. Heartless. And I hate him."
Leah sighed and pulled her into another hug. "You're not alone in this, okay? We'll figure something out."
But Amara wasn't sure there was anything left to figure out.
The next morning, the university halls buzzed with their usual energy. Students hurried between classes, professors engaged in deep discussions with their protégés, and scholarship hopefuls whispered anxiously about their upcoming evaluations.
But Amara felt like an outsider in her own world.
She walked through the corridors in a daze, her thoughts clouded by anger and loss. Every face she passed seemed too preoccupied with their own ambitions to notice her turmoil.
Leah stayed close by her side, throwing occasional glares at anyone who looked at Amara for too long. But nothing could shield her from the moment Rafael entered the lecture hall.
The moment he stepped in, the atmosphere shifted.
He was different. Colder. Arrogant. Detached.
Dressed in a crisp black suit, his presence commanded attention in a way that was both infuriating and magnetic. The Rafael who had once gazed at Amara with something unreadable in his eyes was gone. This Rafael was ruthless.
He strode to the front of the lecture hall without sparing Amara a glance, his sharp gaze scanning the room before settling on the stack of papers in his hands. The very papers he had stolen.
Professor Graham, the department head, stood beside him with an approving nod. "Everyone, take your seats. Today's lecture will be delivered by Mr. Rafael, as part of our continuing discussions on 'The Evolution of Tragedy in Modern Literature.'"
Murmurs of excitement rippled through the room. Rafael was brilliant, and everyone knew it. But Amara felt nothing but a bitter rage simmering beneath her skin.
Rafael's voice was steady, authoritative. "Tragedy," he began, "is not simply the downfall of a hero. It is the weight of consequence, the inevitable unraveling of fate."
He paced slowly, his fingers tapping against the podium. "Dante's is often perceived as a journey through damnation. But what if I told you it was a love story?"
Several students leaned forward, intrigued. Amara's fingers dug into her notebook.
"Dante was a man obsessed," Rafael continued, his voice measured. "His love for Beatrice was not one of shared intimacy, but of distance. An unattainable ideal. A love so powerful that it dictated his entire existence."
His eyes flickered briefly in Amara's direction, but they held no warmth.
"And that," he said, "is where tragedy thrives. Not in the loss itself, but in the obsession. In the pursuit of something that was never meant to be."
A hush fell over the room.
Amara's pulse pounded. He was speaking to her. About her. And he knew it.
He continued the lecture without missing a beat, dissecting Dante's work with precision, weaving in theories and interpretations that left the students hanging onto his every word. And yet, through it all, he never once acknowledged her.
By the time the lecture ended, Amara felt drained. The moment the students began filing out, Rafael gathered his papers and turned toward the front row.
"Ava Montgomery," he called.
The blonde girl perked up, adjusting her pristine white blouse. "Yes, Professor?"
"Meet me in my office," Rafael said curtly. "We need to discuss your research proposal."
Amara's stomach twisted. She knew what this was about.
As Ava smiled and followed Rafael out, Amara clenched her fists.
He had taken everything from her. And now, he was handing it to someone else.
She wouldn't forgive him for this.
Not ever.
Amara stormed through the university hallways, her mind swirling with unspoken words and pent-up fury. She had been trying to reach Rafael all day, but he had been deliberately avoiding her. In the corridors, in the library, even in the cafeteria—every time their paths were about to cross, he turned away as if she didn't exist. It wasn't just infuriating; it was humiliating.
She finally spotted him near the lecture halls, standing by the window, his expression unreadable. For a moment, she hesitated, watching him. There was something different about him—colder, sharper. The Rafael she had known, or at least thought she had known, had been intense, brooding, dangerous in a way that made her stomach twist with something other than fear. But this Rafael? This version of him was distant, detached, as if she were nothing more than a stranger.
Summoning her courage, she marched toward him. "Rafael."
He didn't turn immediately. Instead, he let the silence stretch before finally casting a glance at her, his face void of any emotion. "Amara."
The way he said her name—impersonal, indifferent—sent a sharp ache through her chest.
"You've been avoiding me."
A faint smirk tugged at his lips, but it lacked any real amusement. "Have I?"
Her fingers curled into fists. "Don't do this. Don't pretend like nothing happened."
His gaze flickered, but he quickly masked it with that same detached expression. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Amara inhaled sharply. "Stop lying."
Rafael leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. "Maybe you should stop assuming, Amara."
Her chest tightened. This wasn't just avoidance—this was cruelty. And yet, she refused to back down. "Why are you acting like this?"
His eyes met hers then, dark and unreadable. "Like what?"
"Like you don't care."
His smirk returned, but this time, there was something bitter beneath it. "Maybe because I don't."
The words hit her harder than she had expected. She had braced herself for avoidance, for indifference, but not this. Not outright dismissal.
She took a step closer, searching his face for something—anything—that contradicted his words. "You don't mean that."
He let out a short, humorless laugh. "You think you know me, Amara?"
Her throat tightened. "I thought I did."
He pushed off the wall and stepped past her. "Then you were wrong."
She stood frozen as he walked away, her heart hammering in her chest. She refused to let this be the end of it.
Later that day, she found herself standing outside his office door. The frustration, the anger, the sheer helplessness clawed at her insides. She knew she shouldn't go in, that confronting him would only lead to more pain, but she couldn't stop herself.
Taking a deep breath, she pushed the door open without knocking.
Rafael was seated at his desk, scribbling something in his notebook. He didn't look up immediately, as if he had already known she would come. "You really don't understand boundaries, do you?"
Amara slammed the door behind her. "You don't get to push me away like this."
He finally looked up, his gaze sharp, calculating. "I'm not pushing you away, Amara. You were never close to begin with."
The breath left her lungs as if he had physically struck her. "You're lying."
He leaned back in his chair, regarding her with cool indifference. "Believe what you want."
She stepped forward, placing her hands on his desk, her voice shaking. "I trusted you."
His expression didn't change. "That was your first mistake."
Tears burned at the back of her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. "Why are you doing this?"
Rafael stood, rounding the desk until he was directly in front of her. He reached out as if to touch her, but at the last second, he withdrew his hand. "Because this—" his voice dropped to a whisper, "—was never real."
Her breath hitched. "You don't mean that."
He smirked, but there was no warmth in it. "Don't I?"
Amara took a step back, shaking her head. "You're a coward."
His jaw tightened, but he said nothing.
She let out a humorless laugh, wiping at her eyes. "You can lie to yourself all you want, Rafael. But one day, you're going to regret this."
His gaze flickered, just for a second, and she thought she saw something—remorse, hesitation. But then it was gone, replaced with that same cold detachment.
"Goodbye, Amara."
Her heart shattered at the finality in his tone, but she refused to let him see it. Without another word, she turned and walked out of his office, her hands trembling.
But as she stepped out, she froze.
Ava Montgomery was standing in the hallway, her expression unreadable. She was empty-handed.
Amara's stomach twisted. Had Rafael refused to give her what she came for? Or had she never needed it in the first place?
Before she could dwell on it, the sound of heels clicking against the floor caught her attention. She turned her head just in time to see Rafael walking past her, a female professor on his arm. They were talking in hushed voices, the woman laughing at something he said.
As he passed Amara, he didn't even spare her a glance. Instead, he paused just long enough to murmur, "You should go, Amara. I have a date."
And then, just like that, he was gone.
The walls of the university suddenly felt suffocating, the weight of everything pressing down on her all at once. Amara stood there, rooted to the spot, her vision blurred with unshed tears.
She had lost.
She had lost everything.