Chapter 4: A Dog-Eared Past

The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the polished floors of The Last Page as Elara browsed the poetry section, a ritual that had become her excuse for daily visits. Three weeks into their secret affair, she'd memorized Julian's schedule—when he'd be alone, when the store would be empty enough for stolen glances and whispered conversations.

She was running her fingers along the spine of a Dickinson collection when the bell above the door chimed with unusual violence. The woman who entered moved like a storm front, all sharp angles and barely contained energy. Designer heels clicked against the hardwood with staccato precision, and her perfectly styled blonde hair caught the light like spun gold.

Elara's stomach dropped as she watched Julian's face transform. The easy warmth he'd begun showing her in public—careful but unmistakable—vanished behind a mask of professional courtesy that somehow managed to look like armor.

"Victoria." His voice was carefully neutral, but Elara caught the slight tension in his shoulders, the way his hand moved unconsciously to run through his hair.

"Julian." The woman's smile was sharp enough to cut glass. "You look... rustic."

She was beautiful in the way that spoke of expensive salons and personal trainers, probably mid-thirties with the kind of polish that came from Manhattan social circles. Everything about her screamed sophistication and success—the opposite of a small-town teenager who served coffee and wrote poetry in composition notebooks.

"What are you doing here, Victoria?" Julian asked, his tone suggesting this was not a welcome surprise.

"Can't an old friend visit?" She moved through the store like she owned it, examining displays with the kind of critical eye that found everything lacking. "Though I have to say, Julian, this is quite the comedown from Columbia. What would the department think if they could see you now?"

From her hiding spot between the shelves, Elara watched Julian's jaw clench. "The department made their opinion of me quite clear. I assume that's why you're here—to deliver another message from the academic elite?"

Victoria laughed, a sound like breaking crystal. "Oh, darling, you still think this is about your little research scandal? How deliciously naive."

"Then what—"

"I'm getting married." She held up her left hand, where a diamond the size of a small planet caught the afternoon light. "Richard Pemberton. You remember Richard from the faculty parties? Brilliant economist, impeccable family connections, everything you never quite managed to be."

The words hit their target with surgical precision. Julian's face went carefully blank, but Elara could see the impact in the rigid line of his spine, the way his hands curled into fists at his sides.

"Congratulations," he managed. "I'm sure you'll be very happy."

"Oh, we will be. Richard appreciates what I bring to the table—the right connections, the proper background, the ability to advance his career rather than destroy it." Victoria's smile was poisonous. "Unlike some people I could mention."

Elara felt her chest tighten with vicarious pain. She didn't understand all the subtext, but the cruelty in Victoria's voice was unmistakable. This wasn't just an ex-girlfriend delivering news—this was someone twisting a knife in wounds that had never properly healed.

"Was there something you needed, Victoria? Because I have a business to run."

"Actually, yes." Victoria pulled a manila envelope from her designer purse. "Richard thought you should see this before it's published. Professional courtesy and all that."

Julian took the envelope with the caution of someone handling a snake. As he read whatever was inside, his face went from carefully neutral to ashen.

"You can't be serious."

"Oh, but I am. 'The Fall of Academic Integrity: A Case Study in Professional Misconduct.' It's going to be featured in the Journal of Higher Education. Your little plagiarism scandal, told from the perspective of someone who was there. Someone who tried to save you from yourself."

"I never plagiarized anything, and you know it." Julian's voice was deadly quiet.

"Do I? Because I remember a very different version of events. I remember someone so desperate for recognition that he'd steal ideas from graduate students, claim credit for collaborative work, fabricate research data when the results didn't support his theories—"

"That's enough." The authority in Julian's voice made both women freeze. "Whatever revisionist history you've concocted to make yourself feel better about what you did, I won't stand here and listen to it."

Victoria's composure cracked slightly. "What I did? Julian, I tried to protect you. I tried to make you see reason before you destroyed both our careers—"

"You destroyed my career to save your own. Don't pretend it was some noble sacrifice."

The venom in his voice sent ice through Elara's veins. She'd never heard Julian sound like this—cold and furious and completely unlike the gentle man who whispered poetry against her skin in hidden places.

"Think what you want," Victoria said, her mask of cruel amusement sliding back into place. "The article will be published next month. I thought you deserved advance warning, for old time's sake."

She moved toward the door with the same predatory grace she'd entered with, but paused at the threshold.

"Oh, and Julian? That little coffee shop girl who's been making moon eyes at you across the street? You might want to be more careful. Small towns love their gossip, and a man your age sniffing around teenagers... well. It would be such a shame if your reputation suffered any further damage."

The door slammed behind her with enough force to rattle the windows. In the silence that followed, Elara pressed herself deeper into the shadows between the bookshelves, her heart hammering against her ribs. Victoria had seen them. Somehow, despite all their careful precautions, that woman had noticed something.

Julian stood frozen in the center of his store, the envelope clutched in his white-knuckled grip. When he finally moved, it was to sweep a display of new releases onto the floor with violent force.

"Fuck," he breathed, the profanity shocking from a man who usually chose his words with academic precision.

Elara emerged from her hiding place on shaking legs. "Julian—"

He spun around, and the expression on his face made her step backward. For a moment, he looked at her as if he couldn't quite place who she was, his eyes wild and unfocused.

"How much did you hear?" His voice was raw.

"Enough." She moved toward him cautiously, the way she might approach a wounded animal. "Julian, what she said about plagiarism—"

"It's not true." The words came out sharp and defensive. "None of it is true."

"I know that. But what really happened?"

Julian laughed, a sound completely devoid of humor. "What happened is that I was naive enough to believe that love and ambition could coexist. That someone who claimed to love me wouldn't sacrifice me to protect her own career."

The pieces clicked into place with sickening clarity. "She was your colleague. More than that—she was..."

"My fiancée. For three years." Julian slumped against the counter as if the weight of the confession had physically drained him. "We were the golden couple of the English department. Both brilliant, both ambitious, both destined for greatness. Or so I thought."

Elara felt something cold and ugly unfurl in her chest. Jealousy, yes, but also a deeper fear. Victoria wasn't just beautiful and sophisticated—she was Julian's equal in ways Elara could never be. They'd shared a world of academic achievement and intellectual discourse that made her own dreams of being a poet seem small and naive.

"What happened?" she asked quietly.

Julian was quiet for so long she thought he might not answer. When he finally spoke, his voice was hollow.

"I was researching a paper on confessional poetry, working with a graduate student named Marcus—brilliant kid, innovative ideas about the intersection of trauma and artistic expression. We spent months collaborating, and somewhere in that process, the line between his insights and mine got blurred."

"That's not plagiarism. That's collaboration."

"Try telling that to the ethics committee." Julian's smile was bitter. "When I submitted the paper for publication, Marcus claimed I'd stolen his work. Said I'd pressured him, used my position of authority to take credit for his ideas."

"And Victoria?"

"Victoria was the one who reported it. Said it was her moral obligation to expose academic misconduct." The pain in his voice was raw and fresh, as if the betrayal had happened yesterday instead of years ago. "She testified against me at the hearing. Claimed she'd witnessed me pressuring students, manipulating research data, all sorts of fabricated evidence."

Elara felt sick. "Why would she do that?"

"Because she was sleeping with the department head. Had been for months, apparently. And when the choice came between loyalty to me and advancing her own career..." He shrugged as if it didn't matter, but Elara could see how much it did. "She chose herself."

The silence stretched between them, heavy with implications neither wanted to voice. Finally, Elara found the courage to ask the question that was clawing at her throat.

"Julian, what she said about us—about the gossip—"

"She's right." His voice was flat and final. "This has to stop, Elara. What we're doing, it's going to destroy both of us."

"No." The word came out more forcefully than she'd intended. "Julian, you can't let her do this again. You can't let her make you choose fear over—"

"Over what? Love?" He laughed harshly. "I've played that game before, Elara. I know how it ends."

"I'm not her." The words rang with conviction she didn't entirely feel. "I would never betray you like that."

"You're nineteen years old. You don't know what you'd do when push comes to shove."

The dismissal stung worse than a slap. "Don't you dare use my age as an excuse to push me away. I'm not some naive child—"

"Aren't you?" Julian's eyes were cold, distant. "You think this is some romantic adventure, but this is real life, Elara. Real consequences. I won't watch another career get destroyed because I was selfish enough to put my desires ahead of common sense."

Elara felt tears burning behind her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. "So that's it? You're just going to end this because some bitter woman from your past showed up to twist the knife?"

"I'm ending this because it should never have started." Julian's voice was gentle now, which somehow made it worse. "You deserve someone your own age, someone who can give you a future without shadows and scandal."

"What if I don't want someone my own age? What if I want you?"

For a moment, his mask slipped, and she saw the longing in his eyes, the same desperate need that had brought them together in the first place. But then the walls went back up, higher and stronger than before.

"It doesn't matter what we want," he said quietly. "Some things are impossible."

Elara stared at him for a long moment, memorizing the planes of his face, the way the afternoon light caught the silver in his hair. When she finally spoke, her voice was steady despite the way her heart was breaking.

"You're a coward, Julian Blackwood. You're letting the past dictate your future, and you're using my age as an excuse because it's easier than admitting you're terrified of taking another chance."

She turned and walked toward the door, her spine straight and her head high. At the threshold, she paused without looking back.

"For what it's worth, I would have chosen you. Over safety, over reputation, over everything. But I guess that's the difference between nineteen and forty-two—I still believe love is worth fighting for."

The door closed behind her with a soft click, leaving Julian alone with his principles and his fears and the echo of words that cut deeper than Victoria's cruelest barbs ever could.