Chapter 11

You drive through the quiet morning streets, occasionally glancing at the sisters in your rearview mirror. Giorgia sits with her shoulders hunched, while Isabella stares blankly out the window. The silence in the car is heavy with unspoken judgment.

"I have to say," you begin, your tone carefully calibrated to sound concerned rather than accusatory, "I'm surprised to see you both in this... situation. Especially you, Giorgia. The volleyball team looks up to you as a role model."

Giorgia flinches as if struck. Her tanned fingers twist together in her lap, knuckles whitening. "I don't know what happened," she whispers, voice cracking. "It's like I wasn't even myself. I would never... I mean, I'm not the kind of girl who..."

"And that video those boys mentioned," you continue, letting the words hang in the air like a guillotine blade. "If that were to circulate around campus, I imagine Coach Winters would have some difficult decisions to make regarding your scholarship."

A sob escapes Giorgia's throat, her eyes welling with tears that threaten to streak what remains of her makeup. "Please, Dr. Stern. I can't lose my scholarship."

"I could speak with Jackson," you offer, your voice softening with calculated compassion. "And perhaps the fraternity president as well. These young men often respond better to authority figures, especially when reminded of the legal implications of distributing such content without consent."

Isabella, who has remained silent until now, suddenly speaks. "You would do that for us?" Her voice carries a note of suspicion beneath the gratitude, her analytical mind not entirely subdued despite her disheveled appearance. Her pale fingers brush a strand of brown hair from her face with unexpected delicacy.

"Of course," you assure them, turning onto their street. "That's what I'm here for. To guide and protect my students when they make... unfortunate choices." The last two words land with precision, deepening their shame.

Giorgia nods eagerly, desperate for salvation. "Thank you, Dr. Stern. I don't know what we'd do without you."

As you pull up to their apartment building, Isabella's eyes meet yours in the mirror again. For a moment, something flickers there – a calculation, an assessment. Then it's gone, replaced by the same gratefulness as her sister's.

"Perhaps we should schedule another session," you suggest as they exit the car. "To discuss what happened and... why you both felt compelled to behave so out of character."

Both sisters nod, their postures mirroring each other in their defeated gratitude. As they walk toward their building, you notice that despite their shame, both still move with subtle traces of their alter egos – Giorgia's hips swaying slightly more than usual, Isabella's fingers unconsciously arranging her hair with newfound vanity.

After dropping them off, you take a detour to Jackson's dormitory in the athletic housing complex, a modern building with special accommodations for the university's sports stars. The door to his room is ajar, and you can hear him talking on the phone inside.

"Yeah, man, she was wild. Completely different from how she usually acts. Like some kind of sex-crazed... what? No, I'm telling you, she was begging for it."

You knock firmly on the door frame. Jackson looks up, startled, his muscular frame tensing as he recognizes you. He's wearing only basketball shorts, his broad chest bare and glistening with sweat from a recent workout.

"Gotta go," he mutters into the phone before ending the call. "Dr. Stern? What are you doing here?"

"I think you know why I'm here, Jackson," you reply calmly. "I understand there's a video circulating that features Giorgia Valentini."

Jackson's expression shifts from surprise to wariness. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"I believe you do," you counter. "And I'd like to see it."

After a moment of hesitation, Jackson reaches for his phone. "Look, she was into it, okay? She was practically begging me to fuck her all night."

He pulls up the video and hands you the phone. The footage is remarkably clear for something filmed in a dimly lit room. Giorgia—or rather, Gia—straddles Jackson's lap, her tanned, athletic body moving with surprising expertise. Her long black hair cascades down her back as she throws her head back in ecstasy, full breasts bouncing with each movement. The camera captures her face in perfect detail—eyes half-lidded with pleasure, lips parted as she moans.

"Fuck me harder," Gia demands in the video, her voice carrying none of Giorgia's usual measured tone. "I want everyone to know what a slut I am."

You hand the phone back to Jackson, masking your satisfaction behind a stern expression. "This is a serious matter, Jackson. Distributing this kind of content without consent could result in expulsion, not to mention legal consequences."

Fear flashes across his face. "Look, I was drunk. I wasn't thinking."

"I might be able to arrange a mediation," you offer. "Between you, Giorgia, and perhaps the fraternity president. To ensure this stays private and doesn't damage anyone's future."

Jackson nods eagerly. "Yeah, that would be great. I don't want trouble."

"Excellent. I'll set something up at the fraternity house," you say, already envisioning the perfect scenario to reinforce Gia's development. "Just make sure all copies of that video stay private until then."

As you leave Jackson's room, you can't help but smile. The video is even better than you'd hoped—clear evidence of Gia's emergence, and now a powerful tool to deepen the fracture in Giorgia's psyche.