Page 42 of Misconducts & Temptation

I didn't have answers yet, but I knew one thing: I wanted to know more, despite all the reasons why this shouldn’t matter to me, despite the fact that I should be focusing on more immediate concerns. I couldn’t shake the feeling that meeting Keaton could change everything.

I had no idea what he truly wanted or what this would lead to, but for now, it was enough to make me consider saying yes.

I sighed and stepped back into the women's locker room to change into my Crestwood uniform. Class was starting soon, and I couldn’t afford to be late. Not again. Not with everything else hanging in the balance.

The locker room was quiet, save for the hum of the fluorescent lights. I slipped out of my work clothes and pulled on the crisp white shirt and pleated skirt that marked me as a student here. As I buttoned up my shirt in the bathroom stall, I heard voices drift in.

"…heard Lola Perez is seeing Marco Tribiani," a voice said, echoing slightly against the tiled walls.

"Wait, didn't she just have, like, an engagement party this weekend?" another girl responded.

My fingers paused over the last button. Lola Perez. The name sent a chill down my spine. Keaton’s fiancée—or rather, his father’s chosen fiancée for him.

"You think she cares?" the first voice continued with a hint of derision. "Everyone knows she gets around, especially with all the rich guys."

"Yeah, I mean, it's not like you see her fucking a poor guy."

"Although," the first voice said thoughtfully, "I do remember hearing about her and Professor Hathaway from Spanish? She was failing and somehow she got a B in the class."

"Does she have no shame?"

The first one scoffed. "Come on. But honestly? Keaton's a player too. They deserve each other. It's not like they actually love each other, anyway."

Their laughter echoed briefly before fading as they left.

I smoothed down my skirt, my mind whirling with what I had overheard. Lola and Keaton’s engagement was already marred by rumors and scandals, it seemed. I wasn't sure if I wanted to be caught in the middle of it all.

How did I even respond to something like that? The complexity of their world felt suffocating at times—where relationships were strategic moves rather than genuine connections.

But there was no time to dwell on it now. I grabbed my bag and headed out of the locker room, trying to push thoughts of Keaton and Lola to the back of my mind as I made my way to class.

The campus felt different in the summer, almost serene. The usual hustle and bustle of students rushing to and from classes had calmed, leaving a sense of tranquility. Sunlight filtered through the thick canopy of trees lining the pathways, casting dappled shadows on the ground. Flowers in full bloom added splashes of color to the green landscape, and the air was warm with a hint of a gentle breeze. I took it all in as I walked, appreciating the rare quiet moments that Crestwood Academy offered during this season.

I approached the business building, its imposing structure softened by ivy crawling up the brick walls. The halls inside were quieter too, echoing softly with the occasional footsteps or murmured conversations. I made my way to my class, a room on the second floor that overlooked a small courtyard filled with neatly trimmed hedges and stone benches.

The room itself was spacious, with rows of desks arranged in a semi-circle around a large wooden lectern at the front. A whiteboard spanned one wall, already covered in diagrams and notes from previous lessons.

I found my usual seat near the window and sat down, placing my bag on the floor beside me. From this vantage point, I could see out into the courtyard where a few students sat studying or chatting quietly. It was a peaceful view that contrasted with the intensity of our business lectures.

I pulled out my notebook and flipped to a clean page, ready to take notes for today's lesson. The cover of my notebook was worn from use, but it held all my carefully organized thoughts and summaries from previous classes. Each page was filled with neat handwriting and underlined key points—a testament to how seriously I took my studies.

As I prepared for class to begin, I glanced around at my classmates. Some were already engaged in quiet discussions about upcoming assignments or projects, while others were scrolling through their phones or reviewing their own notes. The atmosphere was calm but focused; everyone here knew how important these classes were for our future careers.

With a deep breath, I turned my attention back to my notebook, ready to absorb whatever knowledge today’s lecture would bring.

The lecture began, and I quickly found myself immersed in the world of microeconomics. Professor Lewis had a way of making even the driest topics come alive, and today was no exception. He explained the intricacies of market structures with such clarity that I could almost see the invisible hand of the market moving pieces on a chessboard. I took meticulous notes, my pen gliding across the paper as I absorbed every detail.

I had to focus. Regardless of what happened with Keaton or my stepmother's debt, this knowledge was my lifeline. Marriage might save her from financial ruin, but it wouldn't save me. I had to secure my own future, and education was my way out. Every formula, every concept learned here brought me one step closer to independence.

Class ended before I knew it. The students around me began packing up their things, their conversations a low hum in the background. I took my time gathering my belongings, not eager to rush back to reality just yet. My mind drifted back to Keaton and our brief encounter in the locker room.

I slid my notebook into my bag and stood up, hesitating for a moment before slinging it over my shoulder. As I made my way out of the classroom, I couldn't shake the feeling that the decision could change everything.

Would meeting Keaton lead to a solution or just complicate things further? It was impossible to know. But one thing was certain: staying stagnant wouldn't get me anywhere. If I wanted to escape my current life, I needed to take risks.

I stepped into the hallway. My feet moved on autopilot as I headed toward the exit, my mind still wrestling with what to do next.

River Styx... The name itself felt like an invitation into a different world—one where maybe, just maybe, I could find a way out of this mess.

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