One
Scarlett
I slam the door behind me, my heart pounding with a mix of rage and desperation. The sheaf of papers I clutch to my chest—my life’s work, now tainted with the foul stench of betrayal—scatters to the floor as I pace the length of my small, suffocating apartment. The walls close in around me, a prison of my own making.
Dr. Sterling McAllister, the revered professor and my “supposed” mentor, is nothing more than a cunning thief. He stole my research—my blood, sweat, and tears—and claimed it as his own. Worse, he spun a web of lies, dragging my reputation through the mud, painting me as a fraud and an incompetent scholar.
Just hours ago, I saw a side of him I’d never seen before.
Have I been blind to the undercurrent of a predator lurking beneath his helpful facade all this time?
The memory of his disgusting proposition sends a fresh wave of rage through me.
“Get on your knees like a good little slut and maybe I’ll add your name to the list of contributors.”
His leering face, the condescension in his eyes as he dangled my future in front of me, makes my blood boil.
How dare he?
How dare he think he could steal my work and then degrade me with such an abhorrent proposal?
The sheer audacity of his power play is revolting. I won’t allow this to go unchallenged. I didn’t claw myself out of the hell from my youth to be pushed back down. No, I will take the bastard down, not just for myself, but for every student he’s ever manipulated or deceived. I hardly believe I’m his first victim. No, he was far too cocky. This game isn’t new to him.
I need a plan—something that will expose him for the fraud and sexual predator he is and restore my name. I collapse onto the couch, my mind replaying our confrontation over and over. Each detail fuels my anger, sharpening my resolve.
I pull out my computer from my bag and log into my student email. Never deleting a damn message is about to come in handy. I have every correspondence between Dr. McAllister and me, which will be plenty of evidence.
As I type in my credentials, an error message flashes on the screen: " Password incorrect. Please reset your password. "
"Damn it," I mutter, clicking through the security steps to reset my password. My mind races as I wait for the reset email.
Finally, it arrives, and I quickly update my password. Taking a deep breath, I log back into my account. My fingers hover over the keyboard, unwilling to believe it could be this easy.
The inbox finally loads, but my relief is short-lived. All the emails between Dr. McAllister and me are gone. Erased. As if they had never existed.
“No, no, no, no, no! Fuck!” I mutter as I click through every folder. Nothing. It’s all gone. Everything.
Panic surges through my veins. He must've known I would use our correspondence against him.
"Think, Scarlett, think," I whisper to myself, my mind spiraling in all different directions. “Tech support!” I scramble in my bag, searching for my phone that ends up being on the table in front of me.
“Get it together, Scar.” Thumbing through the school registry, I find the number I need.
“Deep breaths,” I mutter again as I dial the number for tech support. My hands tremble slightly, the adrenaline surging through my veins. The phone rings for what feels like an eternity before someone finally answers.
“University IT Support, how can I help you?”
“Hi, this is Scarlett Calhoun. My student email asked for a password reset and once I changed it, I found that all of my emails have been deleted. I need you to help me recover them, please,” I plead, my voice barely steady.
“Okay, Ms. Calhoun, let me pull up your account information,” the technician says with practiced calmness.
I pace the room, my heart thudding in my chest as I wait. Minutes feel like hours.
“Ms. Calhoun, it looks like your account was accessed recently, and a significant number of emails were deleted,” the technician confirms. “Unfortunately, since the system requested a password reset, the data is irretrievable.”
“No,” I whisper, my legs buckling beneath me. “There has to be something you can do.”
“Can you tell me who deleted the emails?” I ask desperately.
The technician hesitates. “It says you logged in at 10:30 AM and deleted everything, ma'am.”
My stomach churns. Dr. McAllister has always been meticulous, but has he gone so far as to cover his tracks? He must have accessed my account somehow and made it look like I did this. It’s more insidious than I imagined.
"I was in class! There was no way I could have done that. It had to be someone else!"
“Have you given your login information to anyone?” the technician asks, their voice cautious.
“No! Of course not,” I snap, frustration bubbling up.
“I’m sorry,” the technician replies, their sympathy not enough to soften the blow. “Once the system prompts a password reset, the emails are permanently deleted. There's no way to recover them.”
White hot rage washes over me as I end the call. He knew. Dr. McAllister knew I would use our correspondence against him and planned for this. Bile rises in my throat, but I swallow it down. Desperation claws at my chest, but I am not one to back down easily.
There has to be another way to prove my work was stolen, another piece of evidence he hadn't thought to cover up.
I grab a notebook and a pen, writing furiously. First, I list everyone who might help: the few professors who might still listen, though doubtful with the filth he spewed, maybe a few classmates who know the truth because they always saw me in the library, and anyone else who could be convinced to speak up. I can’t do this alone. I need allies who are willing to stand up against the tide of lies.
With a pang of anxiety, I realize this couldn’t have come at a worse time. I’m in my final year of graduate school, months away from completing my PhD in Literature, which is now in jeopardy. After years of hard work, late nights, and relentless dedication poured into my research, I’m on academic probation—all because some sick fuck wanted to ensure his tenure at this school. No thesis equals no degree.
I force myself to breathe, taking ground beneath the avalanche of rage that threatens to overwhelm me. I refuse to be his victim. McAllister has underestimated me, and that will be his downfall. He’s unleashed a force inside me that won’t be contained. Fury swirls around me, each thought of him stoking the flames higher. Sterling McAllister is about to be burned, and I’ll be the one with the fucking match.
Three weeks later
Standing outside Dr. Myers’ office, I can feel nerves clawing at my insides. It wasn’t easy to get here, but it was necessary.
“Come in,” his voice calls from inside, grounded yet inviting, a stark contrast to the turmoil surging in my heart.
Taking a deep breath, I open the door. Dr. Myers looks up from his papers, his brows furrowing with concern. He’s another tenured professor here but unlike McAllister, I’ve never had the slightest problem with him.
“Ms. Calhoun, what’s happened? You look pale.” He gestures for me to take the seat in front of his desk. I sit, my hands trembling.
“It’s—” I swallow hard, forcing the words out, “It’s about Dr. McAllister.”
His demeanor shifts instantly. “Okay,” he treads hesitantly. “What’s happened?”
I recount the events: the stolen research, the lies, his vile proposition. Each word feels like pouring gasoline on the fire igniting inside me.
“Ms. Calhoun, let me stop you right there. I won’t hear another word about a dear friend of mine. Please escort yourself from my office, and I advise you to end this charade before your reputation is completely ruined.”
I feel the ground shift beneath me as Dr. Myers’ words sink in. The room spins, and for a moment, I’m paralyzed by the weight of his betrayal.
Another ally lost.
Another door slammed in my face.
The fire inside me roars back to life, hotter and more furious than before. I stand, my legs trembling, but my resolve unshaken.
“Dr. Myers, you’re making a mistake,” I say, my voice steady despite the storm raging within me. “McAllister is a predator, and I will prove it. You can choose to ignore the truth, but it won’t stay hidden forever.”
He looks at me with a mixture of pity and annoyance, but I don’t wait for his response. I turn on my heel and walk out of his office, the door closing behind me with a finality that echoes in my mind. The halls of the university feel colder, more hostile as I make my way back to my apartment. But I refuse to let despair take hold. I have a plan, and I will see it through.
The days have blurred into nights as I work tirelessly, fueled by a relentless drive for justice. The fear and doubt that once threatened to overwhelm me are now replaced by a vicious determination.
I will not be silenced.
I will not be defeated.
Sterling McAllister has made a powerful enemy, and he will soon learn the true meaning of retribution.