The soft chime of the inner gate echoed through the grand halls of the mansion. Reem stepped inside quietly, dragging her tired feet and clutching her backpack tightly. Her face was stiff, her lips pressed into a thin line, and in her bag... a folded paper she wished she could burn before he saw it.

But of course, he was there. Jeon Jungkook, the thirty-year-old dean, was seated on the edge of the leather couch, dressed in crisp white and gray, a file in his hands—or pretending to read, perhaps.

The moment he heard the door, he looked up. Just one look... enough to make her freeze.

“You’re late,” he said calmly, though there was tension beneath the softness.

She swallowed, voice barely a whisper: “There was a review session after class... the professor stayed longer than expected.”

“Your score. Where is it?”

Her heart dropped. Her fingers trembled as she pulled out the paper and walked over to hand it to him.

He took it. Glanced at it. Looked back at her.

“Sixty-two out of a hundred?” he said, slowly, as though the number was offensive.

She murmured, eyes on the floor: “The questions were hard... and I wasn’t feeling well that day.”

He folded the paper, set it aside, then stood—tall, calm, imposing. One step. Another. Until he was right in front of her, far too close.

“I told you to cut off the distractions and focus on your studies,” he said, voice low and cold.

She didn’t respond. Her hands clenched quietly.

“The little ‘hangout’ you went to two days ago—was that worth it? Your so-called friends, all talk and no discipline... are they helping you, Reem?”

She lifted her eyes in protest, voice shaking: “But it wasn’t a party... just a small gathering. I came back on time!”

His jaw clenched. For the first time, his voice rose, sharp and controlled:

“You’re answering back now? A ‘small gathering’? What did it bring you, other than this mess? Your grades are dropping, your time is wasted, and you smile at me and say ‘it was just a gathering’?!”

He reached for his phone, then held out his hand toward her.

“Give me your phone.”

She hesitated, but his eyes darkened. That was all it took. She handed it to him silently.

Then his voice lowered again, steady and final:

“From now on, you’re not allowed to leave this house except for university. No visits. No parties. No coffee shops. Nothing.”

She opened her mouth to speak, to beg—but he cut her off before she could form a word.

He pointed upstairs, toward her room.

Then said, with a voice like steel:

“To your room, Reem... now.”