After My Groom Chose the Student Over Me

I stared at the email notification on my phone, my heart pounding against my ribs. The subject line read: "Overseas Trust Funds - Status Change: Released."

Released? What did that mean?

I scrolled through the message with trembling fingers, trying to make sense of the legal jargon. Something about maturity conditions being met, funds being transferred to my local account...

"Trust funds?" I whispered to myself. "What trust funds?"

The apartment door clicked open behind me. I turned to see Jericho standing there, his expression unreadable.

"You're home early," I said, my voice sounding strange even to my own ears.

He smiled—that same calculated smile that once made my heart flutter but now sent ice through my veins.

"I thought we could have dinner tonight," he said smoothly. "A peace offering."

I clutched my phone tighter. "I'm not hungry."

"Don't be like that, Sofia." His voice softened to the tender tone he used to use before everything changed. "I've been thinking about what happened. Maybe we were both too hasty."

Whitney appeared behind him, her smile sweet but her eyes cold. "We brought your favorite wine."

The bottle gleamed in her hands—an expensive vintage I'd mentioned loving once, months ago. Back when I still believed Jericho loved me.

"See?" Jericho stepped closer. "We want to make things right."

Something in me wanted to believe him. After weeks of humiliation and isolation, the thought of reconciliation was like a lifeline.

"Okay," I said finally, setting my phone down.

---

The wine tasted strange—bitter with an underlying sweetness that wasn't quite right. I drank it anyway, desperate for the numbness alcohol might bring.

"To new beginnings," Whitney toasted, her eyes never leaving my face.

I took another sip, then another. The room began to blur around the edges.

"Are you feeling okay?" Jericho asked, his voice coming from far away.

"My head..." I touched my temple, trying to steady myself.

"Don't worry," Whitney said, suddenly right beside me. "We'll take care of you."

The last thing I remembered was being lifted onto the couch, their voices floating above me like distant echoes.

"Get the camera ready," Jericho said.

"Is she out enough?" Whitney asked.

"Check her pulse."

Someone touched my wrist, then my neck. I tried to open my eyes but couldn't.

"She's gone," Whitney said. "Let's get started."

---

I woke to the sound of laughter and the feeling of something sticky on my skin. The apartment was dark except for the harsh light of a camera pointed directly at me.

"Look who's finally awake," Whitney said, her voice echoing strangely.

I tried to sit up but couldn't move my arms or legs. Panic surged through me as I realized I was bound to the couch, my clothes partially removed.

"What are you doing?" My voice came out as a croak.

"Making memories," Jericho replied, adjusting the camera angle. "You should see how beautiful you look right now."

The camera lens zoomed in on my face. I turned away but couldn't escape its gaze.

"No one wants to watch this," I whispered.

"Oh, but they do." Whitney held up her phone, showing me a streaming platform with a live counter of viewers. "We have quite the audience tonight."

---

The rumors started the next morning. Emails from colleagues asking if I was "okay." Students avoiding my classes. Security guards watching me in the hallways.

Professor Henderson is unstable.

She's been stalking students.

Dangerous to have around young people.

By afternoon, the dean called me into his office.

"These allegations are very serious," he said, not meeting my eyes.

"What allegations?" I asked, though I already knew.

"Dr. Silva has provided evidence of your... inappropriate behavior." He slid a folder across the desk.

Inside were screenshots of the video—me, drugged and bound, with captions suggesting I'd done it willingly.

"This is a lie!" I cried. "She drugged me!"

"The evidence suggests otherwise," he replied coldly. "We're suspending you pending investigation."

---

Three days later, I found myself in a warehouse space I didn't recognize. My wrists were bound behind me, my ankles tied to a metal chair. The room was filled with people I'd never seen before, all holding phones or tablets.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Jericho announced from a small stage, "tonight's special auction begins now!"

Whitney stood beside him, dressed in a revealing outfit that sparkled under the lights. "Our first item up for bid is the lovely Professor Sofia Henderson!"

The crowd cheered as spotlights hit my face. I blinked against the glare, trying to understand what was happening.

"That's right," Whitney continued, her voice amplified through speakers. "The very same professor who's been stalking our Jericho is now available for your entertainment!"

A man in the front row raised his hand. "Ten thousand!"

"Twenty!" someone else shouted.

My stomach lurched as I realized what was happening. They were selling me—my dignity, my body, my soul—to the highest bidder.

"Sold!" Jericho declared as the bidding reached a fever pitch. "To the gentleman in the back!"

The crowd parted as a figure emerged from the shadows. Even through my tears, I could see the cold smile on his face as he approached the stage.

"Time to pay, Sofia," Jericho said, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "You've been a very bad girl."