The Wedding of His Century's Collapse

"I fought for you," Professor Finch continued, "but I can't promise I'll win. You need a backup plan."

I thanked him and hung up.

I stood in the silent hallway and let the reality sink in.

In our last life, I had supported Boyce through his rock bottom—the years he was unemployed, depressed, and lost. I had carried us both.

Now, in this life, he wasn't just leaving me behind. He was trying to erase me.

Not because I was a threat. Not because I was in his way.

But because I was a reminder of what he used to be.

And for that, he could never forgive me.

The next morning, the official email arrived.

My research grant was revoked.

The language was polite and bureaucratic. "Due to a reprioritization of funding…" But the truth was blunt: Boyce had bought my future out from under me.

I packed my things in silence. No tears. It wasn't that it didn't hurt. It was that I was already planning my next move.

On my way out, I ran into Boyce. He was standing at the entrance to the newly christened business school, smiling at something on his phone.

He glanced up and saw me. "Leaving?"

I said nothing.

"Good," he said. "You were a waste of the school's resources anyway."

I looked at him—really looked at him—and a cold clarity settled over me.

He hadn't become this cruel because he had money. He had always been this cruel. The money just gave him permission to show it.

I walked past him without a word and went back to my dorm to finish packing.

The system's voice resurfaced, softer this time.

[Host, your emotional state is unstable. Do you wish to activate the trigger?]

I shook my head. Not yet. Boyce and Sloane's "wedding of the century" was still over a month away.

I could wait.

The moment I stepped off campus, my phone rang. It was Professor Finch.

"Dani, I contacted a colleague on your behalf," he said, his voice brisk. "Stellaton Advanced Materials Institute. He owes me a favor. You'll have a place there."

I stopped in my tracks. "Professor Finch… the Montgomery family won't—"

He cut me off with a dry, weary laugh. "I refuse to let a talent like yours be buried by this kind of petty power play."

A pause. "You earned your spot. I'm just making sure you get to keep it."

My throat tightened. "Thank you."

"Pack your bags," he added. "They'll be in touch."

Leaving Bridgewater wasn't a loss. It was a reset. A new city. A clean slate.

Yes, watching Boyce fall would be satisfying. But building my own future was more important.

To make ends meet before the move, I took a waitressing job at a charity gala. And that's where I saw them.

Boyce and Sloane.

They were the guests of honor, holding court in a circle of fawning admirers. The diamond necklace around Sloane's throat was worth more than my entire tuition. Boyce's arm was draped possessively around her waist.