14.Graduation, café and Plagiarism
The Morris name still carried weight, and it showed.
A sleek black car pulled up near the red-carpeted lawn. Ryle stepped out, tossing his robe over one shoulder like it was a cape. He wore his grin like armor.
Inside the audience section, Mr. Morris sat rigidly with Denver beside him. No emotions. Just presence.
Neil arrived later, almost slipping past the back row unnoticed—except Ryle caught him.
“Thought you’d ghost me again,” Ryle muttered, adjusting his robe.
Neil’s hands were in his pockets. “You said there’d be cake.”
“Ah, of course. Your love language.”
They stood together for a beat—awkward, yet familiar.
That’s when Mr. Morris approached.
His sharp suit, graying temples, and ever-calculating gaze landed on Ryle with a flicker of appraisal.
“You’re a lawyer now,” he said. No smile. Just weight.
“Technically I still have to collect my certificate—”
Mr. Morris cut him off with a glance. “Don’t be a clown. Not here.”
Ryle straightened slightly, the moment getting under his skin in a way he didn’t show often.
Denver gave a subtle nod. “Proud of you, kid.”
“Thanks, Den.” Ryle smirked. “You’re like… my third favorite brother now.”
Neil rolled his eyes. “There’s only two of us.”
“Exactly.”
Neil tried to suppress a smile but failed, just a bit.
As the announcer called Ryle’s name, the applause rose.
He walked to the stage, collected his degree, posed for the mandatory photo, then turned back and found Neil’s gaze on him, steady.
And for once, even Mr. Morris nodded.
A strange hush passed over Neil—not pride exactly, but something adjacent. A small recognition of time passing, and Ryle, the brat he once threatened to disown over a motorcycle the kid , standing there… graduated.
Two days later:
The café was alive with the familiar hum of late-morning chatter, dishes clinking, and the warm buzz of coffee machines in the background. At a corner table by the window, Eva and Ria sat like they owned the place. It was their favorite spot—the one with the sunlit view and mismatched cushions.
Eva was halfway through arguing with the waiter. "Wait, so you're saying I can’t get waffles with both strawberries and bananas and chocolate chips? That’s... that’s offensive."
The poor waiter blinked. Ria sipped her cold brew with the kind of patience that came only from being the older sister. Or the wiser one. Maybe both.
“Eva, you’ve done this every single time. Just say ‘yes’ to the menu for once,” she muttered with a laugh, shaking her head.
Eva made a dramatic gasp. “Where’s the creativity in that? This is why your life is boring.”
Ria raised an eyebrow. “This is why you nearly got banned last time.”
Their laughter spilled into the space around them—bright, effortless, warm.
Eva’s messy bun bounced every time she giggled, her silver rings clinking against the mason jar she was drinking from.
Her clumsiness was a spectacle in itself; she knocked over the menu twice, dropped her spoon, and nearly slipped off the bench trying to show Ria a meme on her phone.
Two tables away, a completely different kind of energy simmered.
Neil sat across from Denver, stirring his coffee absently, staring in a fixed direction without sipping.
Dressed in his usual clean-cut, no-nonsense style, Neil looked like he belonged in an entirely different world from the café’s cheerful chaos.
And he certainly looked like he didn’t want to be there.
Denver, on the other hand, was in full brainstorming mode.
Denver kept going, undeterred. “his one’s genius—you go on one of those billionaire blind date events. You’d be the brooding type in the corner, all cold and mysterious. Women love that crap.”
Silence.
“Or—what if we fake a relationship? You know, a friend from med school who owes you a favor. We put on a whole performance for the press, shut Dad up, and buy ourselves time to sort out Callum’s legal team.”
Nothing
Finally, Denver leaned forward, fingers snapping in Neil’s face. “Are you even listening to me?”
Neil didn’t move. His gaze remained locked two tables ahead.
Denver turned to follow his line of sight—and saw them.
The Walter sisters.
“Ah,” Denver said, slowly leaning back. “Now that makes sense.”
Neil didn’t respond.
Eva, in a rust-colored sundress with a low, effortless bun and sliver earrings, laughed at something Ria said and playfully wiped whipped cream off her sister’s nose.
She looked alive—radiant, unapologetically confident, like someone who had no idea what effect she might have from across the room.
The sunlight bounced off her skin like it had chosen her.
Neil's eyes lingered—on the curve of her neck, the elegance in her gestures, the contrast between her composure and her chaotic joy. Her beauty wasn’t showy—it was sharp, quiet, and it crept up on you like a slow burn.
Denver grinned, shaking his head. “Wow. Never seen you get this silent. Isn't it the intern girl ? .”
Still no answer.
Denver smirked, sipping his caramel latte. “So... that’s your type, huh?”
Neil blinked slowly, like waking from a long thought. “What?”
“Bro, you’ve been staring for the last ten minutes while I planned out your marriage, your PR campaign, and our rescue plan for Callum. And all you’ve said is ‘What?’”
Neil finally took a sip of his coffee. “I’m listening.”
“No, you’re not,” Denver laughed. “You’ve never even looked at someone like that before.”
Neil's jaw flexed slightly, a rare crack in his expression. “I don’t look at anyone.”
Denver arched a brow. “Until now.”
Neil didn’t reply. His eyes flicked back toward the girls. Ria had now pulled out a sketchpad from her tote and was gesturing something animatedly to Eva, who rolled her eyes and teased, “No, Ria, you cannot name your collection ‘Hot but Psycho’—people will think it’s about you!”
Neil’s lips twitched almost imperceptibly.
Denver stared at him in shock. “Was that... a smile? You smiled. Oh, it’s serious.”
Neil finally sighed, setting his coffee down. “I’ve only ever had one serious relationship. With med school. Then surgery. That’s it.”
“And now?” Denver asked, voice softer.
Now, Neil wasn’t so sure.
Because across the room sat a girl who he met two months ago. And he barely knew beyond the hospital and longue room. But for some reason… he couldn’t look away.
Neil stepped out of the café first, car keys in hand, walking with that same calm, rigid posture he carried in the OR. Denver trailed behind, scrolling through his phone.
As they reached the sleek black car parked right outside the café’s exit, Denver’s phone buzzed again—sharp and persistent.
He groaned. “I have to take this. It’s the legal team.”
Neil unlocked the car, nodding. “I’ll wait.”
Denver stepped a few feet away, already switching into his usual charming-corporate tone, while Neil slid into the driver’s seat, closing the door behind him.
The city hummed around him—quiet and distant. He was just reaching to adjust the rearview mirror when movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention.
There she was.
Eva Walter.
She stepped out of the café, oblivious to him, walking confidently toward the curb—toward his car, actually. But not because she saw him. She was too busy… with herself.
She stopped right at his car door—not noticing anyone inside—and turned slightly, checking her reflection in the black tinted glass.
Neil stayed still, watching.
She was examining the side of her dress. Her brows furrowed. “Oh, crap,” she muttered, looking down at a dark spot near her hip.
She quickly dug into her bag, pulling out a small pack of wipes. Her fingers moved fast, dabbing the spot with determination. “Don’t stain, don’t stain, don’t stain,” she chanted under her breath.
It didn’t work. In fact, it smudged.
She stared at the wet patch. “No, no, no. Please.”
One last wipe. Nothing left in the packet.
She stood there, defeated, holding the useless tissue in her hand.
Inside the car, Neil’s lips curled, just slightly. Without thinking, he pressed the button on the side console.
Whrrr.
The window slid down silently.
Eva gasped, snapping her head toward the sudden sound.
There he was. Neil Morris. In the driver’s seat. Elbow resting on the window frame, eyes cool and unreadable, but unmistakably… amused.
He didn’t say a word.
He simply held out a fresh, folded napkin toward her.
Her eyes widened in disbelief. She stared at the napkin. Then at him. Then at the napkin again.
“Oh,” she breathed, already flustered. “I—uh—I didn’t see you there—this isn’t—oh god—thanks.”
She reached out quickly, took the napkin, and mumbled something inaudible.
From the other side Denver walked and stepped inside the car having no idea what was going on.
Before she could finish her sentence, Neil offered the faintest of grins, rolled the window back up—
—and drove off.
Eva stood frozen on the sidewalk, still holding the napkin, blinking like she’d just walked onto the wrong movie set.
“What the hell just happened,” she whispered, cheeks burning.
Behind her, Ria emerged from the café holding their takeaway bags. “You good?”
Eva turned slowly. “Did you know Neil was parked right there?”
Ria frowned. “Neil? Like Dr. Machine Neil?”
Eva just pointed at the retreating car.
Ria blinked. “Oh. Damn.”
Eva looked down at the napkin in her hand.
Ria laughed at her "Let's go!"
Ria walked confidently into the spacious, modern room, a folder tucked under her arm, her portfolio loaded with the designs she’d worked on for months. Her internship had just begun, but this—this was her moment.
Five people sat at the long table—fashion executives, managers, and a creative director. Their eyes were sharp. Cold.
She placed her designs in front of them and stood straight, trying to read their faces.
Silence.
No appreciation. No curiosity.
Just long, unsettling stares.
Ria (nervously): “Is… everything okay?”
No one replied. One of the creative directors finally slid her sketches to the center of the table and said flatly:
Director: “You copied these?”
Ria (shocked): “Excuse me?”
Manager: “These designs were showcased two weeks ago at a private preview by another designer. Lara Hastings.”
Ria’s throat closed up.
Ria: “That’s impossible. These are mine. I—”
Suddenly, the door opened.
Lara strutted in, arms folded, smug smile glued to her face.
Lara: “You just couldn’t handle losing that show, could you?”
Ria (fuming): “You stole my designs! You rigged that show—”
Lara: “Don’t embarrass yourself. We all saw the submission dates. Yours were late. And now you conveniently ‘designed’ the same concepts?”
Ria stepped forward, furious.
Ria: “You hacked my cloud folder—! I saved everything there the night before the event.”
Lara: “Proof?”
Before Ria could respond, two uniformed police officers entered the room. Everyone froze.
Officer 1: “Ria Walter?”
Ria (shaken): “Yes?”
Officer 2: “You’re under arrest for intellectual property theft. Plagiarism.”
Ria: “What?!”
One of them pulled out a warrant. Another walked toward her. Her hands trembled.
Ria: “You’re making a mistake! I didn’t copy anything!”
Officer 1: “You have the right to remain silent—”
Ria (yelling): “I want to call my sister!”
The room swirled around her. The disbelief. The betrayal. Her dream internship collapsing in a matter of minutes—framed, humiliated, arrested.
Lara (with a whisper as she passed): “Next time, don’t play in leagues above your level.”
Eva had just finished assisting in a complex neuro case. She was sipping on lukewarm coffee, feet finally finding rest, when her phone rang. Unknown number.
She almost didn’t answer—until instinct kicked in.
Eva: “Hello?”
Caller (male voice): “Is this Eva Walter?”
Eva (straightening): “Yes, speaking.”
Caller: “I’m calling from the South Precinct. Your sister—Ria Walter—has been taken into custody. Charges relate to design plagiarism and intellectual property theft.”
Eva (freezing): “Ria—what? No. No, that’s not possible.”
Caller: “You can come down to the station. We’ll need someone to speak on her behalf if you're her guardian.”
Click.
The phone slipped from her hand. The room spun.
“Ria? In jail?”
She bolted out of the room.
Neil was just stepping out of the cardio wing when he saw her storm past, white coat flying, hair wild.
Neil: “Walter!”
She didn’t stop.
Neil (raising a brow, calling after her): “Eva!”
She paused mid-step, turned around—breathless, panic written all over her face.
Neil: “What’s going on?”
Eva (trying to keep her voice steady): “I… I have to go. My sister… she’s been arrested.”
A flicker crossed Neil’s eyes. He stepped toward her, calmer than usual.
Neil: “What happened?”
Eva: “I don’t know! They said… plagiarism, her internship—it's all messed up. I need to be there.”
He watched her, silent.
Neil: “Go. Call me if you need anything.”
Eva (grateful, but barely holding it together): “Thanks…”
She turned and rushed off, and Neil’s jaw tensed. Something in him itched. Protective. Focused.
She was sunshine.
And now, it looked like a storm was coming for her.