Rebirth: Love me Again-Chapter 354: When the Finale Became Everything

Only a few more days—and the culmination of years of late nights, nervous tests, shattered hopes, and fragile dreams would all hinge on this moment: graduation.

Iraya, like countless others before her, had dreams dancing in her mind—visions of gowns swaying, tassels swinging, and the world suddenly swirling with endless possibility.

But beneath the pomp and circumstance, something darker stirred: her plans for revenge were in motion, and they would find their zenith here, on this stage, under the eyes of family, friends, and judges.

The Morning Before.

The air in the auditorium felt thick with expectation: chairs neatly aligned, banners fluttering, freshly polished floors gleaming under harsh lights.

Iraya stood in the wings, heart pounding as she watched classmates chat in excitement, mother’s phones poised for that perfect photo, fathers practicing proud smiles, and siblings jigging to be seen.

She tugged at the sleeve of her cap and swallowed.

Today would be just like every other ceremony—but also, today would not be like every other ceremony.

A soft buzz ran through the crowd as the first notes of "Pomp and Circumstance" began. The procession of graduates snaked down the aisle, each footstep echoing with promise.

Iraya walked with them, shoulders square, her robes flowing. The world was watching—and she was ready.

The Ceremony Itself

The dean’s voice boomed over the speakers:

"Dear students, family, and friends—welcome to the culmination of all our labors. Today, we celebrate achievement, resilience, and the promise of tomorrow."

Polite applause followed. Speeches touched on ambition. Acknowledgments. A pause for the emotional.

Finally, diplomas were handed out with beaming faces and stiff handshakes.

Iraya accepted hers—light in her hand, much heavier in her heart. She managed a tight smile at her parents in the front row before turning back to her seat.

Row after row, caps tilted, phones in hands, flashes clicking as Mamas and Papas immortalized the moment.

The Closing Song.

The dean cleared his throat. "And now, to conclude our ceremony . . . a final celebration for the Class of 20XX." A hush fell.

Soft piano keys filled the room. The famous tune of the chosen graduation anthem swelled.

Suddenly, a video screen flickered to life behind the stage. "To the memories we made . . ." the intro read.

A collective intake of breath swept through the audience, followed by smiles, laughter, and soft tears as snapshots passed by: childhood field trips, prom, late-night study sessions, the legendary bake sale disaster.

And then, among the memories of friends and triumphs, came a photo that flickered too long. Something unintended.

Iraya recognized it instantly.

The screen zoomed in: two silhouettes in hotel lighting, close, breathless. Their faces were dim, but the shape was unmistakable:

Jason and Kylie, her ex-boyfriend and her best friend. Gradual exposure revealed more time-stamped frames: Kylie’s hand on Jason’s chest. Jason’s finger brushing the curve of her belly.

A hush, then a gasp rippled across the hall. Mothers turned to fathers. Sisters whispered. Hushed guesses—pregnancy scene? Secret romance?

And then it hit them all: in the last frame, a tiny pair of knitted baby booties rested on a hotel dresser—and Kylie’s gentle hand rested atop her stomach. The proof: pregnancy. Public, shocking, impossible to ignore.

The soft piano melody faltered as whispers became a swell of sensation. Some chuckled in disbelief. Others stared in shock. Parents looked scandalized. Students leaned forward, alarmed, curious.

Iraya watched from her seat—a presence so still she might have been carved from marble. This was her moment. Not the triumphant one, but the calculated crescendo.

Iraya’s smiled.

She allowed a slow, quiet smile to spread across her face. Not cruel—just certain.

The plan had worked. The carefully orchestrated mistake—she had hacked the graduation slideshow, adding her own special "tribute."

She had built the soundtrack’s timing so the spotlight and camera would linger long enough on them.

Kylie’s eyes widened, red rimmed with panic. Jason’s jaw clenched. He looked around helplessly. The cameras recorded everything: every gasp, every teardrop, every tense breath.

From the wings of the stage, Iraya’s fingers pressed a small remote. She controlled the pause, the lingering focus, the final freeze-frame that would live on every phone in the crowd.

She watched comfort disintegrate into public humiliation.

Her chest tightened—not with triumph, but with something more complicated. Years of pain and betrayal had led her to this. She had vowed revenge on the people who hurt her; this was just the apex.

The final chord faded. The audience sat stunned. The dean cleared his throat.

"Thank you . . . and congratulations to all of you." But his voice carried no conviction.

Iraya stood when told, but she didn’t face the crowd. Instead, she moved with slow precision, the fabric of her robes whispering across the stage. Cameras fluttered.

Flashlights popped.

She passed Kylie, who sank against a wall, body shaking.

"I’m sorry," the dean whispered, placing an apologetic hand. Kylie didn’t respond. She was being escorted away by a friend, tears silent but unstoppable. freeweɓnovel-cøm

Iraya felt an overwhelming sense of satisfaction. All those months of pain, disappointment, anger, and quiet frustration had finally found release—culminating in this single, unforgettable day.

She walked out into the bright sunlight beyond the auditorium doors. The world still moved, oblivious to the fallout she’d caused.

She was finally free.

Iraya stepped into the open air, diploma pocketed, vengeance tasted—and found bittersweet in her mouth.

Outside, graduates hugged, parents cried, siblings took selfies. A reporter interviewed the top graduate. Birds sang. Wind brushed through robes.

And Iraya—she planted her face upward, inhaling deep breaths of liberation and regret. She had avenged herself. She had altered a perfect day into one of scandal. This was only the beginning.

Before her, the last hurdle: leaving behind this place—this stage of her life. She walked away.

No more Jason and Kylie.

No more Lyander.

It was finally over.

Iraya would return to her country soon—free from the ghosts that once haunted her.

But first . . .

There was one last event to attend.

The final act of her grand scheme.

The perfect ending to the story she had written in blood, silence, and vengeance.

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