Chapter 134: Denial

NORA’S POV

Knox, Priya, and I walked from Patterson Hall toward the red-brick facade of Kendall Hall as the cold wind cut across the open quad.

"Don’t give her room to spin a story," Priya said, pulling her wool coat tighter against the chill. "We hit her with the timestamp and the network node before she knows Elias took the post down."

"She won’t have room," Knox replied.

Inside Kendall Hall, the air smelled of lavender air freshener and vanilla body spray.

A group of girls chatting on the velvet couches in the common lounge stopped mid-sentence the moment Knox walked through the front doors. Their eyes darted between his dark expression, my set jaw, and Priya’s brisk stride.

We took the central stairs to the second floor.

At the end of the hall, Room 214 had a glitter-embossed nameplate hanging from the brass knob: Chloe & Madison.

Knox rapped three sharp knocks against the wood. A muffled groan came from inside, followed by the slide of a deadbolt.

The door swung open.

Chloe stood in the doorway wearing an oversized cream sweater and black leggings, holding an iced coffee in one hand. Her styled brunette hair fell over her shoulders, but the second her eyes landed on Knox, her bored expression vanished.

Then she saw me standing right beside him. ℴ

A tight, defensive sneer instantly curled her lips. "What is this, a field trip? What do you want, Knox?"

"We need to talk about last night," Knox said, not moving an inch.

Chloe let out a high, mocking laugh, taking a sip of her iced coffee. "Oh, the Briar Buzz post?"

"Don’t tell me the great captain got tired of his charity case already," she sneered. "Did the whole campus finding out you bought a tutor ruin your morning?"

"Cut the garbage, Chloe," Priya stepped forward. "The post came through the Kendall Hall Wi-Fi network at ten-fourteen last night."

Chloe blinked, a slight flicker of unease passing through her eyes before she recovered. "So what?" she scoffed. "Kendall Hall has two hundred girls living in it. You think I’m the only person on campus with internet?"

"The raw image metadata was preserved," I spoke up, holding her gaze. "The photos of our contracts were taken on Saturday, October twenty-second, at eleven-thirty-eight at night."

Chloe’s hand tightened on the plastic cup.

"The night of the Western game party," I continued steadily. "When you were upstairs at the SinBin."

"You don’t have anything on me!" Chloe fired back, raising her voice in defensive anger. "Half the student body was at your house that night! People were all over the place," she spat. "You can’t prove I took anything, Bennett!"

"Nobody is guessing, Chloe," Knox said coldly.

"You can’t blame me for your own mess!" Chloe snapped, stepping forward into the doorway, her cheeks flushing red. "Nobody forced you to write your little terms and leave them in his bedroom nightstand!"

The hallway went dead silent.

Knox stared at her, his eyes turning to ice. "What did you just say?"

Chloe swallowed, her throat bobbing as her eyes darted between Knox and me. "I... I said you left it where anyone could find it."

"No." Knox took a slow step closer until his shadow completely swallowed her doorway. "You said my bedroom nightstand."

Chloe froze.

"The Briar Buzz post only showed the paper on a dark wooden surface," I said, my heart pounding with cold certainty. "The caption never mentioned a bedroom. And it sure as hell never mentioned a nightstand."

Chloe’s breath hitched in her throat.

"Nobody knew that paper was in my nightstand except Nora and me," Knox told her, his voice dropping into a dangerous rasp. "You just told us where you took the photo."

Color drained completely from Chloe’s face. She opened her mouth to argue, but nothing came out.

"Here is what happens next," Priya said, stepping up beside Knox. "By Monday morning, Campus IT will pull the router log and match your phone’s MAC address to the upload timestamp."

"That makes it criminal trespass, grand larceny for opening a locked drawer, and defamation," Priya added coldly. "You’ll be expelled before noon."

"Get the hell away from my room!" Chloe shrieked, panic cracking through her voice.

She slammed the oak door shut. The deadbolt clicked into place with a frantic, trembling snap.

Priya let out a dry, satisfied scoff. "Well, that was subtle."

"She didn’t confess," I murmured, staring at the closed door.

"She didn’t have to," Knox said, turning back toward the stairs. "She knows she’s caught. Let’s get Jake to notify IT."

We walked back out into the freezing November air.

Knox’s phone buzzed with a call from Bear, and he stepped toward the side of the truck to take it.

I leaned against the passenger door, my fingers slipping into my coat pocket.

My knuckles brushed against the gold-trimmed cardstock brochure.

I pulled it out, staring down at the embossed letters: The Annual Tri-County Artisan Baking Showcase & Winter Gala. Wildcard Entry Window Closes Saturday, 5:00 PM.

A knot of hesitation tightened in my throat.

When Priya had dropped this brochure on my desk yesterday afternoon, everything had felt simple. We were going to celebrate, I had won my fellowship, and entering the competition felt like a daring dream.

Now, the world was on fire.

Slide Two of that leaked contract was plastered across campus, specifically calling out the five thousand dollars for my mother’s bakery. If I dragged Sugar & Spice into a high-profile regional competition right now, was I putting a target on my mother’s back?

What if the scandal followed us there? What if people started digging into our finances?

I looked down at the digital clock on my phone screen: 1:14 PM.

Less than four hours remained before the wildcard deadline closed for the entire year.

I thought of the sound of those sputtering deck ovens in Oakhaven. I thought of the stack of past-due flour invoices sitting on the bakery’s back desk, and my mother’s tired hands kneading dough at four in the morning with flour dusted in her graying hair.

Scandal or no scandal, I couldn’t let fear paralyze us. We needed those new ovens.

Taking a steady breath, I tapped my mother’s contact.

The phone rang three times before clicking open.

The familiar clatter of metal baking pans and the low hum of cooling racks echoed through the speaker.

"Sugar and Spice," my mother’s warm voice answered. "Ellen speaking."

"Hi, Mom," I said softly, forcing my voice to sound completely calm.

"Nora! Sweetheart, is everything okay?" Mom asked, pausing. "You usually don’t call during Saturday prep."

"Everything is fine," I promised, keeping any hint of the morning’s chaos out of my tone. "I’m calling about something... well, Priya brought me a brochure yesterday before the weekend started."

I hesitated for a second, clutching the brochure against the truck door.

"The Tri-County Culinary Arts Guild is hosting their annual artisan showcase at Emerald Pines Resort next month," I told her carefully. "The grand prize is a fifty-thousand-dollar cash endowment and a regional distribution contract."

The background noise on the other end died instantly.

"Fifty thousand dollars?" Mom gasped softly.

Then, a nervous, self-deprecating chuckle followed. "Oh, Nora, honey, that’s sweet of you, but Sugar and Spice is just a little small-town bakery. That gala is for luxury resort caterers and fancy French pastry shops in the city."

"The wildcard division is open to independent family shops, Mom," I pushed gently, hearing the exact skepticism I had feared. "We qualify."

"Sweetheart, our commercial deck oven is older than you are," Mom murmured, a tired sigh trembling over the line. "Half the fire bricks are held together with mortar tape, and it rattles every time we bake rye. We can’t compete with city chefs."

"Yes, we can," I insisted, my doubts melting away the second I heard her sell herself short. "Dad built that sourdough starter thirty years ago, and nobody makes a cinnamon-twist brioche like you do. No one."

Mom went quiet.

"Fifty thousand dollars would buy the new stone hearth, Mom," I whispered into the receiver. "It would pay off the supplier bills. You wouldn’t have to work eighty hours a week just to keep the doors open."

A soft sniffle came through the line.

"Nora..." Mom’s voice wavered. "You really think our little shop belongs in a place like that?"

"I know it does," I said with certainty. "The registration closes at five today. All I need is our state bakery license number and your blessing."

Mom let out a tearful, shaky laugh. "The certificate is right behind the register. License zero-four-eight-two-one."

"Got it," I said, my fingers flying over the mobile submission form.

"Enter us, Nora," Mom said softly. "Let’s see what happens."