Tia's eyes twitched, and her jaw locked as she fought to keep her temper on a leash. "Why are you asking me that, for goodness' sake? I clearly said no yesterday. What part of that is so hard to wrap your head around?"
Michael scoffed, looking away for a fleeting second before snapping his gaze back, his eyes narrowing. "Wait... you mean you didn't even reserve a backup copy for me? At all?"
Tia simply nodded. She watched his face contort—the disbelief melting into a simmering, ugly rage. A surge of pure, unadulterated joy leaped in her chest. Seeing him this unsettled, this small, was the first real payment for the fifteen years of agony he had put her through. She wanted to laugh in his face, to howl at the absurdity of his entitlement, but she forced her expression into a mask of stone.
"What am I supposed to submit now?" Michael demanded, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper.
"I don't know. That isn't my problem, is it?" Tia replied. A small, involuntary giggle bubbled up. She couldn't help it.
Michael's fist clenched tightly on the edge of her desk. "You think this is funny?"
Tia didn't trust herself to speak. She knew if she opened her mouth, the laughter would pour out, so she just stared at him, her eyes dancing with silent mockery.
From the periphery, Stella watched the drama with a predatory smirk. She was the cat waiting for the mouse to realize it was trapped. She wanted Michael to see Tia as a heartless monster first; only then would her "rescue" feel like a miracle.
Marcus chose that moment to slide into the fray, his eyes darting between the three of them. "What's the problem now?" he muttered to himself before stepping forward. He placed a steadying hand on Michael's shoulder. "What's going on, man?"
No one answered. Marcus shook him slightly. "Talk to me, Mike."
"Tia told me that she has nothing for me to submit today," Michael finally spat, the words tasting like venom.
Marcus let out a sudden, bark-like laugh, but he cut it short when Michael shot him a look that could kill. He cleared his throat, trying to play the loyal wingman. "Come on, Tia. Why the sudden strike? You're usually so nice..."
"Well, I've changed, Marcus," Tia snapped, cutting him off. "And that's the end of it."
Marcus sighed, giving Michael a sympathetic pat. "Let's go, Mike. There's no use talking to a brick wall. She clearly didn't do it."
As they turned to retreat, Stella's hand shot out, grabbing Michael's wrist. "Michael, wait," she said, her voice dropping into a soft, melodic coo. "I have something for you."
She reached into her notebook and handed him the extra sheet, watching his face like a hawk.
"What... what is this?" Michael stammered. He scanned the lines, his eyes widening as the realization hit. "You did my assignment?"
"I did," Stella whispered, her eyes welling with performative tears. "I just couldn't bear the thought of you being in class with nothing to submit."
Michael looked at her, his confusion momentarily overriding his ego. "And how did you even know I wouldn't have one?"
"Tia told me she wasn't going to help you anymore."
Michael whipped his head around to glare at Tia, but she was already looking past him, as if he were a ghost. Stella waited for a flash of jealousy, for Tia to gasp or cry, but Tia remained maddeningly indifferent. She wasn't surprised; she had smelled this desperation on Stella since the moment she sat down.
"Thank you, Stella," Michael said, a wide, triumphant smile spreading across his face. He pulled Stella into a deliberate, lingering hug. He did it for an audience of one—Tia—hoping to see her crumble.
For Stella, the hug was paradise. She had spent years angling for this kind of intimacy. Marcus, however, just rolled his eyes. He knew Michael was using her to spite Tia, and the pettiness of it made his stomach turn.
Michael kept his hand firmly on Stella's. "Come sit with me today," he invited, his voice loud enough for the whole row to hear.
"Really?" Stella beamed.
"Yeah. Let's go."
Stella shot one last, gloating look over her shoulder. "I guess I won't be sitting with you today, Tia." She followed Michael and Marcus to the back of the room like a prize trophy. Tia watched them go, feeling nothing but a profound sense of relief. The seat beside her was finally empty of people she didn't want.
A moment later, Professor Clifton marched in. The assignments were collected in a blur of paper. Usually, the lectures started immediately, but today, the Professor paused. He lifted a single script from the pile.
"Michael Blaze."
Michael's heart hammered against his ribs. A cold sweat broke out on his neck. Did he know someone had done my assignment? He asked himself.
"Yes, Mr. Clifton?" Michael stood, his legs feeling like lead.
To his surprise, Mr. Clifton wasn't scowling. He looked genuinely impressed. "Please, come to the front and read your article to the class. It's a very... interesting perspective."
Michael and Stella exchanged a panicked, high-speed glance before he walked to the podium. He cleared his throat, the paper trembling slightly in his hand. He started well enough, but as he hit the second page, he ran into a wall. Stella had been so rushed she had left glaring grammatical errors and nonsensical sentences in the middle of the text.
Michael read a particularly botched sentence out loud, and the classroom erupted into laughter. His face burned a bright, humiliating crimson. He tried to power through, stumbling over the words to make them sound correct and his confidence was gradually evaporating with every snicker.
When he finished, he tried to bolt for his seat, but Mr. Clifton stopped him. "Excellent reading, Michael. Now, give us a quick summary. In your own words—without looking at the script."
The silence that followed was deafening. Michael stared at the Professor, his mind a complete, terrifying blank.
"You want me to... summarize it?" he managed to whisper.
"Yes. I'm sure you know your own work well enough for that," Clifton assured him, his tone turning suspicious.
Michael stood there, a frozen statue of a man who had never read the paper he just submitted. Seconds ticked by. The students began to whisper. Finally, Mr. Clifton's expression soured. He snatched the script back. "Sit down, Mr. Blaze."
Michael slunk back to his seat in total silence. Neither Stella nor Marcus dared to look at him; the aura of pure, vibrating rage coming off him was enough to keep them at bay.
Mr. Clifton picked up the next script. "Tia Draven."
Tia stood up and walked to the front with a poise she had never felt before. She took her paper and began to read. Her voice was steady, fluent, and commanding. She hadn't just written the words; she understood them. When she finished, she provided a concise, brilliant summary without a single glance at the page.
The classroom erupted—not in laughter, but in genuine applause. Even the Professor was beaming.
"Exemplary work, Miss Draven," Mr. Clifton said. "I would advise the rest of you to look to Tia as a standard for academic integrity."
Tia returned to her seat, her heart soaring. She had never been applauded by her peers before. In her past life, she was always the invisible girl behind Michael's shadow. But today, the shadow was gone. She realized then that by stopping her "sacrifices" for Michael, she hadn't lost anything—she had finally found herself.