His Smokescreen Is Now the Woman He Can’t Have Chapter 07

His Smokescreen Is Now the Woman He Can’t Have Chapter 07

I looked down at the glass of water in my hand. The cool glass pressed against my fingertips, but my heart was suddenly in turmoil.

I remembered.

When we were freshmen, all new cadets had to register their medical information. Caleb had been in charge of collecting our group’s forms. When it was my turn, I had placed a heavy check mark next to “aspirin” in the allergy history column.

At the time, he had only glanced at it and frowned, as if annoyed by my messy handwriting, before taking the form.

I had always assumed he hadn’t paid any attention, just as he had never taken my feelings seriously.

But he had remembered.

The thought was absurd.

Because Caleb had taken the drink for me, the party around us grew lively again. He was a big man on campus, and no one had ever dared to pressure him into drinking before. Now that they had an excuse, people came over one after another, glasses in hand.

Caleb didn’t refuse.

One glass after another. His expression remained unchanged, but his usually sharp eyes gradually grew heavy.

And though I hadn’t had a single drop of alcohol, I began to feel dizzy.

My vision slowly blurred. The lights and figures in the banquet hall seemed to melt together.

By the time the ball ended, I could barely stand.

At the door, a gust of cold night air hit me. My legs went weak, and I nearly collapsed. A hand caught me, while another steadied Caleb, who was already swaying.

It was Isabelle.

“You all go on ahead,” I heard her say brightly to the others. “I have Caleb’s car keys. He’s drunk, so I’ll take him back and give Elara a ride while I’m at it.”

Someone asked worriedly, “Isabelle, didn’t you have champagne, too?”

“Just a sip. I’m perfectly clear-headed,” Isabelle said with a dismissive smile. “Don’t worry. I’ll get them both back safely.”

Without waiting for an argument, she steered both Caleb and me toward the parking lot.

I wanted to shake her off, but I had no strength. The dizziness was overwhelming, and I could only let her maneuver me into the back seat.

After that, I remembered almost nothing.

I only recalled the sweet scent of perfume in the car—Isabelle’s scent. My consciousness kept sinking until everything went black.

…

I was startled awake by harsh sunlight and an urgent knocking on my door.

I was lying in my own bed, still in my formal uniform. My head was pounding.

“Cadet Vance! Open the door! This is Second Lieutenant Miller, your tactical advisor!”

I forced myself up and opened the door. Second Lieutenant Miller stood outside, his face grim. Behind him were two cadet representatives from the Honor Committee, their official armbands stark against their sleeves.

My heart sank.

“Cadet Elara Vance,” Miller said coldly, “the Honor Committee has received a formal report accusing you of serious plagiarism in your graduation thesis. This is your notice of investigation. Until the hearing, all of your academy privileges are frozen.”

He handed me a slip of paper.

Plagiarism?

My mind went blank. I had written every word of that thesis myself. How could it be plagiarism?

“Sir, that’s impossible—”

“The evidence is conclusive.” Miller cut me off, his eyes filled with disappointment. “Someone submitted your thesis draft, your final version, and a comparison with the original sources you allegedly plagiarized. The similarity rate is over sixty percent. Elara, you’ve disappointed me.”

With that, he and the others turned and left.

I stood frozen, my blood turning to ice.

I understood at once. The glass of water, the dizziness, the “ride home”… Isabelle had taken advantage of my unconscious state to access my computer and plant the “evidence” she had prepared in advance.

At West Point, the Honor Code was absolute: A cadet will not lie, cheat, or steal. A violation could lead to expulsion. Being expelled right before graduation wouldn’t just be an embarrassment; it would mean four years of work utterly destroyed.

Isabelle didn’t just want to embarrass me.

She wanted to ruin me.

The hearing was set for that afternoon.

On my way to the Honor Committee office, someone stopped me.

It was Caleb.

He looked tired, with faint shadows under his eyes, but his uniform was immaculate, his expression as cold as ever.

He pulled me into a quiet corner of the hallway and was silent for a moment before speaking.

“Elara, I know.”

I knew what he meant.

“I know… Isabelle did it,” he said in a low voice. A struggle I couldn’t decipher flickered in his eyes. “She was a wreck last night. She told me everything.”

My heart clenched, and I could barely breathe.

I waited.

Waited for him to say he would testify for me.

Waited for him to say he would tell the truth.

But what came out of his mouth was something else entirely.

“Elara,” he said, looking at me, his tone somehow becoming more and more righteous. “Isabelle can’t get into trouble. General Davenport has high expectations for her. She’s slated for a strategic position at the Pentagon after graduation. It’s an arrangement between our two families. She can’t have any mark on her record right now.”

I stared at him in disbelief, a chill spreading through me from head to toe.

“What about me?” I heard my own voice shake. “Am I just supposed to let her frame me and get expelled?”

“This is better for everyone.” Caleb’s voice was as hard as stone. “Be realistic, Vance. Because of your father, your future was already limited. Even if you graduated normally, the best you could hope for is some remote logistics unit. But if you help Isabelle by taking this on, we can keep the matter contained.”

As he spoke, he actually took a folder from his briefcase and handed it to me.

“I won’t let you suffer for nothing. My father has already arranged a few non-combat positions for you, all civilian posts. They aren’t on the front line, but at least you’ll still be in the military system. They’re all on the East Coast, so we’ll still be in the same region.”

I looked down at the folder. On the cover were the words: *Personnel Transfer Recommendations*.

At that moment, the absurdity of it all hit me.

So in his world, my life, my future, and my innocence were all commodities to be traded.

And these few pages were his compensation.

He truly believed my feelings for him were worth so little.

“Caleb, actually, I—”

I had just opened my mouth when a cadet came running down the hallway in a panic.

“Caleb! Something’s wrong! Isabelle locked herself in her room! She’s saying the Honor Committee will destroy her. She’s falling apart! You have to go see her!”

Caleb’s face changed instantly, and he turned to leave.

After a few steps, he looked back at me. His gaze was both a command and a plea.

“Elara, for the good of everyone. At the hearing, don’t say anything. I’ll handle everything afterward.”

Then he ran toward Isabelle’s dorm without looking back.

I watched his retreating figure and suddenly, I laughed.

A silent, but thorough laugh.

I threw the folder he had given me straight into the nearest trash can.

Then I straightened my uniform, smoothing down every crease, and turned toward the Honor Committee office.

The guard at the door opened it for me. Inside, the committee members were already seated, the atmosphere solemn. The “evidence” Isabelle had prepared sat in the middle of the table.

Without looking to the side, I walked to the center of the room, stood at attention, and saluted.

“Sirs,” I said, my voice clear and steady, “I request to submit formal testimony and all evidence regarding Cadet Isabelle Davenport’s suspected violation of the Honor Code, including theft and alteration of another cadet’s academic work, and the use of that work to frame a fellow cadet.”

By the time I was finished, there were less than three hours until my flight to Boston.

When I walked out of the committee office, my personal terminal pinged with a message from the registrar.

[Withdrawal application approved, effective immediately. We wish you every success.]

Dragging the suitcase I had packed long ago, I didn’t linger. I got straight into the taxi I had reserved.

“Stewart International Airport, please.”

The car pulled away, leaving the gray buildings that had imprisoned me for four years far behind.

At the same time, West Point’s internal system quietly updated the final academic ranking for that year’s graduating class.

The top line read:

[First Place: Vance, Elara.]