Chapter 64: Conflict of Interest

Harper’s POV

The library had always been my safe place. No whispers. No hockey drama. No strangers deciding who I was based on a photograph someone else had taken. Just rows of books, the quiet hum of computers, and students too busy surviving their own deadlines to care about anyone else’s life.

I slipped into my favorite corner by the window, pulled out my laptop, and let the familiar editing software settle something inside me that the rest of the morning had shaken loose. Justin’s face appeared on screen the moment the first clip loaded. I smiled before I could stop myself. Then I shook my head. "Focus," I muttered, and clicked past his interview.

For the next hour, I actually worked. The kind of work that made everything else go quiet. I rearranged clips, reworked the timeline, scribbled notes in the margins of my notebook. Move Coach’s interview earlier. Shorten the practice montage. Add more footage of the freshmen. The documentary had never been about Justin. It had always been about the team. Their friendships. Their sacrifices. The culture behind college hockey that nobody outside the arena ever got to see. Justin was one part of that story. An important part. But just one.

Outside the library window, students crossed the courtyard below. A few glanced toward the window. I looked back at my screen. Whoever was behind those anonymous posts wanted me rattled. They wanted me doubting myself. I wasn’t going to give them that.

Justin knew the truth. I knew the truth. That hadn’t changed because of a fake account with no profile picture. "I love him," I whispered to nobody. The words sounded strange out loud, fragile and certain at the same time. "And he loves me."

Then my laptop chimed. A new email notification appeared in the corner of the screen.

From: Professor Silas

Subject: Please come to my office immediately.

My stomach dropped. I clicked it open.

Harper, please come to my office as soon as you receive this. We need to discuss your documentary project. — Professor Silas.

I read it twice. The word immediately didn’t soften on the second read either.

I knocked twice before pushing the office door open. Professor Silas looked up from his desk. "Come in," he said, gesturing toward the chair opposite him.

I closed the door and sat. For a few seconds he simply looked at me with the expression of someone choosing his words carefully. Then he sighed. "There’s been a complaint," he said.

My heart skipped. "A complaint?"

"Several, actually," he replied.

"What kind?" I asked.

He slid a printed document across the desk. I didn’t need to read every word. One phrase caught my eye immediately.

Conflict of Interest.

My hands tightened around the paper. "The administration has received reports that you’re currently in a relationship with one of the players featured in your documentary," he said. "They’re concerned it compromises the integrity of the project."

I looked up immediately. "It doesn’t."

"I know," he said.

I blinked. "You know?"

"I’ve watched every rough cut you’ve submitted," he said. "You’ve given everyone equal screen time. You’ve never once tried to make this a documentary about Justin Hayes." He paused. "If anything, you’ve gone out of your way to make sure he isn’t the center of it."

Relief hit me. Then disappeared just as quickly. "If you know that," I said, "why am I here?"

"Because the administration doesn’t," he replied. "Not yet." He slid a second document across the desk. "They’ve temporarily frozen your project pending a review."

My chest tightened. "What?"

"For how long?" I asked.

"I don’t know yet," he said.

I looked down at my hands. My deadline wasn’t flexible. My scholarship review wasn’t flexible. "This isn’t fair," I said quietly.

"I agree," he replied. "Which is why I’m fighting it." He nodded toward my laptop. "Tell me something. The vertical footage. The social media clips. Those aren’t part of the documentary, are they?"

"No," I said immediately. I opened my laptop without being asked and turned the screen toward him. "This is the documentary folder. Everything is landscape, color graded for broadcast. This is Justin’s content folder. Social media edits, promotional videos, reels. Separate folders, separate hard drives, separate editing timelines. They’ve never been mixed together."

Professor Silas leaned forward and looked through everything carefully. Finally, he nodded. "That’s exactly what I was hoping to see."

I let out the breath I’d been holding. "So what happens now?"

"Now I speak to the administration," he said, closing the laptop gently. "And you keep working." I frowned. "They froze the review, not your ability to edit. If they clear everything tomorrow, I don’t want you scrambling to catch up."

I nodded slowly.

He smiled for the first time since I’d arrived. "Harper." I looked up. "I’ve been teaching a long time. I’ve supervised more projects than I can count." He paused. "You’re one of the strongest students I’ve seen come through this department."

Emotion caught in my throat. "Thank you," I said.

"Don’t thank me," he said firmly. "Finish the documentary. Graduate. Make films people remember." He stood. "I’ll email you as soon as I hear anything."

I gathered my things. Just as I reached the door, his voice stopped me. "Oh, and Harper?" I turned back. He smiled warmly. "They don’t file complaints against average students." I frowned slightly. "They’re trying to stop you," he said simply, "because you’re worth noticing."

For the first time since I’d seen those posts that morning, something inside me steadied. A small, tired smile found its way onto my face. "Thank you, Professor."

"Go finish your film," he said.

The door clicked shut behind me. I stood in the empty hallway for a moment, just breathing. I’d walked in convinced I was about to lose everything. I’d walked out with someone in my corner fighting for it.

I hitched my bag onto my shoulder and headed toward the car park, already texting Justin.

Can you come get me? I don’t want to be here anymore.

The late afternoon air hit my face as I pushed through the building’s main doors. Just keep moving. Everything was going to be okay.

Then someone called my name.

Something about the voice made the back of my neck prickle. I turned around slowly.

And the day, which had already been the longest of my life, got significantly worse.