Chapter 4: Marcus’s Last Stand

After packing my things, I planned to go to the mountain where Dean Carter was in seclusion and bow in farewell from afar. The path was steep and the air smelled of pine needles and distant rain.

After bowing, I turned to leave the academy grounds, my heart heavy but determined.

But after only a few steps, I ran into Marcus at the corner of the long corridor. The marble floors were cold beneath my boots, and the hallway echoed with my footsteps.

He seemed to be waiting for me, his posture stiff, eyes locked on mine.

Today, he wore a pale gray Brooks Brothers suit, with a green silk tie and matching cufflinks that caught the moonlight. A silver Ray-Ban watch gleamed on his wrist—a detail that made him look both polished and untouchable.

Under the soft moonlight, his thick lashes and deep-set brow gave him a youthful, spirited look. His features were sharp, the kind you’d see on a magazine cover, but his eyes were pitch-black, staring at me without blinking, refusing to move aside.

Impatient, I turned to take a detour, my boots clicking loudly on the marble.

He suddenly called out:

“Autumn.”

I turned to look at him, my jaw set.

He pressed his lips together, his gaze flickering, as if he had something to say. His fingers drummed against his thigh, betraying his nerves.

Just as my patience was wearing thin, he finally spoke, his face wooden:

“Today is almost over.”

I frowned, puzzled, and looked at him, the hallway stretching out behind us like a tunnel.

He blinked, a hint of inquiry in his quiet eyes. His voice was softer now, almost vulnerable.

“What exactly do you want to say?” I asked, my tone sharper than I intended.

Ever since I learned he wasn’t the male lead, I’d lost much of my patience with him. The old ache was gone, replaced by something colder.

Recently, I could sense his confusion at my change in attitude. He watched me like he was searching for something he’d lost.

But since he didn’t ask, I certainly wouldn’t explain. The silence stretched between us, thick as fog.

Marcus’s fist at his side clenched and relaxed repeatedly, his knuckles white. He spat out coldly, “Nothing.”

I rolled my eyes and was about to leave when his voice sounded again:

“When will you be back this time?”

His gaze fell on the duffel bag behind me, eyes flickering with something like hope.

He probably thought I was heading out for another assignment for his sake. The misunderstanding made my chest tighten.

I pressed my lips into a straight line, my eyes indifferent. All the grievances and hardships I’d endured for ten years seemed to surge up at that moment, swirling in my chest.

But I knew my return home was still uncertain, so I couldn’t offend the main cast too much. I forced myself to stay polite, even as anger simmered beneath my skin.

I just took a deep breath and left a curt reply:

"That's not your business. Step aside."

Then I brushed past his shoulder and left the academy without looking back. The chill in the air bit at my cheeks, and the scent of old marble lingered as I walked away.

I walked a long way, and Marcus still stood there, silent, his shadow stretching across the hallway. The echo of my boots on the marble floor sounded too loud, too final. I didn’t dare look back, but I felt his eyes burning holes in my back, like the last embers of a campfire that refused to die out. I exhaled sharply, fighting the urge to cry. This was goodbye, whether he understood it or not. A single thought lingered: Would he ever let me go?