Chapter 74
Emily
I caught the error by instinct.
Something about the formatting in the final report struck me as off I’d stayed late to double check the quarterly summaries ahead of next week’s Pack Council meeting. And there it was: my name on a report I hadn’t touched.
At first, I thought maybe someone had reused one of my old templates. Carla was always insisting she “helped organize things behind the scenes,” even though I hadn’t asked. But this wasn’t a template issue.
The report looked like it came from me. My style. My formatting. Even my digital signature. But when I opened the source log, the time stamp once again told the truth.
It had been uploaded three hours ago. At a time when I was physically out of the office. There was no possible way I was logged into an on–site account.
Someone had forged it.
I flagged it, rewrote the sections Carla had altered, and submitted the correct version directly to Logan’s chief liaison with a note about internal inconsistencies. I didn’t name her. Not yet.
I wanted to believe it would stop there but it didn’t.
By morning, a leaked version–not mine, not the corrected file, but the doctored one–made its way into the press. The headline wasn’t brutal: “Future Luna’s Financial Oversight Questioned Amid Ongoing Legal Battle.”
There was a photo of me in the corner, mid–speech, mouth slightly open, frozen in the act of explanation. Or defense. The placement made it look like I was trying to justify the error they’d already pinned on me.
I found Logan in his office, seated behind his desk with a tablet in hand. The expression on his face was controlled. As if he was afraid to let his anger show.
“It wasn’t me,” I said. “I found the forged report and corrected it last night. Someone submitted it under my name using falsified credentials.”
Logan’s eyes flicked up. “You have proof?”
I pulled up the digital logs and forwarded them to his private channel.
After a beat, he nodded. “Then we’ll take care of it.”
Something in me loosened. Until I added, “I need you to make a public correction.”
That made him pause. He sat back slowly, eyes narrowing–not with suspicion, but calculation. “If we issue a correction, we risk drawing more attention to it. Letting it fade out quietly might be better.”
Better. For him? But definitely not for me.
I crossed my arms. “So, we’re just going to let them believe I made a mistake? Or deliberately doctoring records.”
“They’ll forget it by next week.” He dismissed my concerns.
“I won’t.”
Logan stood now, voice still calm. “Emily-
“}
“No.” I hated the shake in my voice, hated how exposed this made me feel. “You believe me in private. But in public? You’re quiet. And that might as well condemn me. Your silence lets people think I’m incompetent. Or worse.‘
He exhaled, jaw flexing. “This isn’t about trust. It’s about optics. If we look defensive, it adds fuel.”
1/2
“It’s already burning.” My hands curled into fists at my sides. “And you’re letting me stand in the fire alone.”
“I’m trying to protect both of us.”
“No, you’re protecting yourself.”
His eyes snapped to mine, and for a second, I saw the Alpha edge beneath the surface–sharp, frustrated, barely held in check.
“You think I don’t take heat every time I stand beside you?” he said, voice low but not soft. “You think this campaign, this Pack, this family–they don’t question me every damn day for choosing you?”
“Then maybe you should choose someone else,” I shot back. I hadn’t meant to say it. Not like that. But once it was out, I
couldn’t take it back.
The silence that followed was immediate. I had stunned Logan into silence.
