Chapter 28: A seed of Doubt

Melanie arrived at the Harrington Design Studio earlier than usual, the morning chill still lingering in the air as she stepped out of the car. Her sketchbook was tucked carefully under her arm, her expression calm, composed—even if her stomach was a tangle of nerves.

Today was important. She was submitting her final concept for the upcoming student showcase. The deadline was hours away, but she'd already handed in her design the day before. She was only coming to finalize her fabric selection and get her instructor's feedback before revisions.

She walked through the studio doors with a nod at the receptionist and made her way down the familiar hallway. But something felt...off.

The usual hum of chatter between students was dampened, replaced by clipped whispers and darting glances. A very few of her classmates who'd normally smile or wave barely met her gaze. Some even shifted away when she approached.

Melanie slowed, brows furrowing. She glanced down at herself—no coffee stain, no wardrobe malfunction.

So why did it feel like she had a target on her back?

She reached the textile lab, where Betty was usually the first one to greet her with a teasing comment or gossip. But today, Betty was silent, arms crossed, her eyes carefully avoiding contact.

Melanie's stomach dropped.

"Betty?" she asked, her voice tentative.

"You should go to Professor Yara's office," Betty replied, not unkindly, but without her usual warmth.

"What's going on?"

Betty hesitated, then leaned in. "Someone reported a missing USB drive from Professor Yara's office. It had portfolio files from multiple students. No backups."

Melanie's brows shot up. "That's awful."

Betty gave her a long look. "They said you were the last one who entered her office yesterday."

The words hit like a stone to the chest.

"What? That's not true. I dropped off my sketch like everyone else. The other professor was outside going for her lecture and she told me to leave it on the desk. I didn't touch anything."

"I know," Betty whispered quickly. "I believe you. But... others? They're already talking."

Melanie felt a cold sweat forming on the back of her neck.

The whispers. The cold glances. The unease in the hallway.

So this was what they had been building toward.

She straightened her shoulders and headed for Professor Yara's office. With every step, her mind spiraled: Was this sabotage? Was someone trying to frame her?

But why? And who would even—

No.

She already knew.

Someone didn't want her to succeed. She didn't know whether it was a student, someone bitter, or something more sinister, but it was clear—this wasn't just an accident.

What if they didn't believe her? What if this was all it took to unravel everything she'd built? The progress. The hope. The feeling of belonging. It could all be snatched away in a breath—again. Just like it always had been.

 She thought of Leonard's words from last night. The quiet way he'd said, "Hope isn't weakness. It's a beginning." Was it foolish that she'd started to believe him?

When she reached the office, Professor Yara was inside with another faculty member, Professor Tara. Their expressions were tight.

"Ah, Mrs. Westwood," Professor Yara said, not looking up from her desk. "Close the door."

Melanie obeyed, nerves bristling.

"A USB containing important student files went missing yesterday. It was left on desk. According to logs, you were the last one seen entering the office."

"Yes, but I only dropped off my rough sketch," Melanie said, voice calm but firm. "I was told to leave it on the corner of the desk. I didn't touch anything else."

Professor Tara, older and sterner than Yara, finally spoke. "We're not accusing you. But these files are crucial. And your visit... it complicates things."

Melanie bit the inside of her cheek. "Are you asking to check my things?"

"You can check my bag, my locker, my drafts," Melanie said firmly. "I have nothing to hide."

Professor Tara narrowed her eyes. "It's not about the USB being in your possession. It's about perception."

"So I'm guilty because people are talking?"

"You're not guilty," Yara said, her voice almost tired. "You're just… visible. And visibility has consequences."

"We've already reviewed footage," Professor Yara said. "You didn't stay long. There's nothing in the video that suggests you took anything—but it still places you there last."

Melanie's hands tightened around the strap of her bag. "What are you implying?"

"Nothing definitive," Professor Tara replied. "But as of now, the showcase submissions will be under review. Your design may be temporarily withheld until we sort this out."

Melanie's breath caught. "That's not fair. I worked hard for that design."

"We understand, and we'll continue looking. But until then, your file will remain in hold."

She stood frozen for a moment.

A day ago, she'd felt like she belonged.

Now, it felt like the ground had shifted beneath her.

She left the office quietly, her ears ringing. The whispers were louder now. She could feel them peeling into her skin like thorns.

But she didn't let her shoulders drop.

She didn't let herself cry.

Not yet.

Instead, she made her way back to the textile lab and picked up a clean piece of fabric.

If they thought this would scare her away—they had no idea who she was.

She would rebuild. Rethink. Redesign if she had to.

But she would not break.

She had walked through fire already. A missing USB wouldn't stop her now.

Somewhere behind the scenes, someone was pulling strings.

But they'd just made one mistake:

They underestimated her fight.

And if this was the first crack—she'd make sure it wouldn't be hers.

Unknown POV 

The plan had gone perfectly.

A figure leaned casually against the cold marble of the east stairwell, far from the main hallway. They scrolled through their phone, a hood pulled up just enough to shadow their face.

They'd watched her enter the office.

They'd waited exactly three minutes.

And when the hallway emptied again, they'd walked in, gloved fingers careful, movements swift, clear the CCTV footage. The USB had slipped into their pocket like a coin into a wishing well.

Now, chaos had begun.

They watched a group of students whisper as Melanie passed by, saw the mistrust bloom like rot. A slow poison—gossip, doubt, suspicion.

It wouldn't ruin her all at once.

No, that would be too easy.

This? This was a dismantling.

Let her sweat. Let her struggle. Let her wonder which of them had done it.

The figure watched her through the glass panel beside the studio. Her reflection wavered under the light. Fragile. Human.

"Let's see how perfect she is when the world turns against her."