Chapter 8 - The Gates of Ellison
Forty minutes later, my battered Honda pulled through the wrought-iron gates of Ellison University.
The campus was breathtaking—red brick academic halls draped in emerald ivy, manicured lawns stretching out beneath towering oak trees, and crowds of energetic students carrying backpacks and talking excitedly about their futures. It looked like a different planet compared to the suffocating dining room I had left behind at sunrise.
Julian had followed behind me in his sleek black town car, parking right alongside my vehicle in the visitor lot near the administration building.
As we stepped out onto the paved walkway, the crisp autumn wind caught my hair. I took a deep, steadying breath, feeling the phantom weight of my parents' expectations finally lifting off my shoulders.
"Ready?" Julian asked, adjusting his trench coat.
"Ready," I said.
We walked up the grand stone steps of the Ellison Hall of Administration and pushed through the heavy oak doors. The interior was a cathedral of polished marble, stained glass, and quiet academic prestige.
As we approached the dean’s private reception desk, the doors to the inner office swung open, and out stepped Dean Sterling himself—along with a frantic, pale-faced man clutching a leather briefcase.
It took me a second to recognize him, because in all my memories, he was wearing a tailored suit and a smug, untouchable grin.
Now, my father looked broken.
Robert Vance stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes bulging as he saw me standing in the lobby of Ellison University, flanked by a powerful corporate benefactor, wearing my thrift-store jacket and carrying my unbranded backpack.
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"Ava?" my father choked out, his voice cracking with a mixture of horror and desperate hope.
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