Ghosts of the Past and Shadows of the Present

The morning sun did little to ease the weight pressing against Amara's chest. The air outside was crisp, but the cold within her ran deeper. She had spent the last hour searching for jobs, her fingers numb from scrolling through endless postings that all demanded experience she didn't have.

One rejection email after another.

Her savings—what little remained—wouldn't last long. Rent was due in two weeks, and with her tuition fees piling up, the walls of her world were closing in.

She leaned back against the small wooden chair in her apartment, rubbing her temples. The exhaustion wasn't just physical; it was the gnawing hopelessness that came with knowing she had nowhere to turn.

And yet, amid the silence, her mind drifted back to a time when things were different.

She had been eight years old, running barefoot through the backyard, her laughter filling the warm summer air. Her mother had been in the kitchen, humming a soft tune while her father sat on the porch, watching them with a gentle smile.

"Amara, slow down!" her mother called out, feigning frustration. "You're going to hurt yourself."

But she hadn't listened. She had run straight into her father's arms, giggling as he lifted her high into the air.

"You'll give your mother a heart attack one day," he had teased, his deep voice filled with warmth.

She had loved those moments. The sound of their voices. The feeling of being loved, being safe.

The memories came like ghosts, haunting her with what she had lost. She could still hear her mother's screams, still see her father's lifeless body. The past was a wound that never healed.

A sudden vibration snapped her out of the memory. Her phone buzzed on the table, the screen flashing an unknown number.

She hesitated before answering. "Hello?"

"Miss Amara Lenz?" The voice on the other end was sharp and professional.

"Yes?"

"This is Mr. Calloway's office. We need you to come in today. There are matters regarding your late father's estate that need to be discussed."

She froze. Her father's estate?

"I… I wasn't aware there was anything left."

"There are legal matters that require your attention. Please be at the office by noon."

Before she could ask anything further, the call ended.

The law office was pristine, cold, and indifferent—much like the man who sat behind the large mahogany desk.

Mr. Calloway was an older man, his graying hair slicked back, his suit impeccable. But it wasn't him who made Amara's skin crawl. It was the man seated beside him.

Victor Aldridge.

The powerful man who controlled the university, the man whose eyes held nothing but calculation. His presence dominated the room, his tailored suit and effortless confidence marking him as someone who owned everything around him—including the people in it.

He looked at her as if she were an insect he could crush under his expensive shoes.

"I was a close friend of your father's," he said smoothly, his voice carrying an unsettling calmness. "It's a shame what happened to him."

She clenched her jaw. "He never mentioned you."

Victor smirked, leaning back in his chair. "That's the thing about the dead. They take their secrets with them."

A shiver ran down her spine, but she kept her face unreadable. "Why are you here?"

Mr. Calloway cleared his throat. "Mr. Aldridge is here as an interested party in some of your father's remaining affairs."

Amara's stomach twisted. She didn't trust this man. There was something dark beneath his polished exterior, something dangerous.

"I have nothing to discuss with you," she said, standing.

Victor only chuckled. "I wonder how long you'll keep that stubborn attitude, Miss Lenz. The world isn't kind to girls like you."

She ignored the warning in his tone, walking out of the office with her head held high. But the unease stayed with her long after she left.

Back at the university, Amara walked through the halls, trying to shake off the conversation. The whispers hadn't stopped. If anything, they had grown worse since the night of the attack.

"She thinks she's better than us."

"I heard she's looking for another guy to take pity on her."

She forced herself to ignore them, but then she collided with something—or someone.

Books tumbled to the floor.

"Oh—sorry, I wasn't paying attention—"

She looked up and found herself staring into warm, hazel eyes.

The guy was tall, with dark, slightly tousled hair and a sharp but kind face. He bent down, gathering her books before handing them back to her.

"No problem," he said, flashing a polite smile. "Are you okay?"

Amara hesitated. She wasn't used to kindness.

"I'm fine."

He studied her for a moment, as if deciding whether to believe her. "I'm Elias, by the way."

"Amara."

"Well, Amara, I'll see you around."

And just like that, he was gone.

The moment she stepped into the women's bathroom, she knew she wasn't alone.

The giggling came first. Then the mocking voice.

"Well, well, if it isn't the charity case."

Amara turned to see Liliana—Elias's girlfriend—leaning against the sink, arms crossed. Two other girls stood beside her, their expressions mirroring hers.

"I saw you talking to my boyfriend," Liliana continued, her smile sharp. "That's cute. Desperate, but cute."

Amara exhaled, too exhausted to play this game. "I wasn't talking to him. I bumped into him."

Liliana stepped closer. "Here's some advice, sweetheart. Stay in your place."

Amara refused to look away. "And where exactly is that?"

Liliana's expression darkened. "Beneath us."

Then, without warning, one of the girls shoved Amara backward. She hit the sink, pain radiating through her ribs.

Laughter rang through the bathroom before they finally left, leaving her standing there, fists clenched, heart pounding.

She looked at herself in the mirror, at the girl who refused to break, despite the world's best efforts.

She would survive this.

She had no other choice.