Emily
I returned to my desk the next morning with the quiet determination of someone trying not to be watched.
The halls were as polished and orderly as ever, but something in the air had shifted. Nothing was obvious, something just felt….
off.
Whispers didn’t carry far, but they didn’t need to. The silence said enough.
I moved through the outer ke I always did–tablet in hand head high–but the conversations didn’t resume as I passed.
Two junior analysts nodded to
nowhere to be seen.
I knew what this was.
quickly. Someone in HR gave me smile that was just a little too tight. And Carla, of course, was
Rumors. Another recycled tabloid headline that blurred the line between speculation and sabotage. Another fresh layer of humiliation for them to peel apart and analyze like I wasn’t still standing right there.
In the quiet of my office, I tried to breathe past the heat rising in my chest. The desk was still mine. The titles still mine. The work still mine.
But suddenly, I felt like I was performing it all for an audience that had already made up their minds.
I set my bag down, powered up my screen, and dove into logistics reports for the next quarter. Freight paths. Supply scheduling Comparative costs across pack borders. All of it neat, predictable, rational.
Såfe.
A small formatting inconsistency caught my eye–row alignment on an order ledger off by two lines. Carla had signed off on this.
I fixed it myself without comment and made another note in my files.
The back of my neck prickled. Someone in the hallway laughed–high, quick, immediately shushed. I didn’t even want to know if it had anything to do with me.
That kind of knowing lived rent free in your mind whether you wanted it to or not. And I wasn’t entertaining squatters today.
I forced myself to focus. My fingers stilled only once, when I spotted the calendar notification for a cross–Pack alliance meeting
two weeks out.
If the headlines kept spinning the way they had been, I’d walk into that room with judgment already painted across their expressions.
My focusing worked so well that I didn’t hear him arrive. But I felt it. The door to my office was open. Logan’s presence filled a space with heat.
I looked up and there he was–shoulder against the doorframe, sleeves rolled up, expression zeroed in on me.
He didn’t say anything. Our eyes met for the briefest moment. Then he gave a single, slow nod–acknowledgment, maybe. Or a question he wasn’t ready to ask out loud.
Theld his gaze until he turned and walked away.
It wasn’t much. But it was enough to unravel me a little.
stared at the spot where he’d been, my chest tight and stilling. I’d expected distance. Coldness, maybe. But that look—it hadn’t been either of those things.
It had been worry. And something else I didn’t dare name.
Chapter 85
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I didn’t low what that made me feel.
No. That wasn’t true. I knew exactly what it made me feel. Seen. But also fragile. Like I couldn’t hold all of this together myself forever.
I looked down at the screen again. Logistics. Freight. Numbers that didn’t betray you.
I could do this. I had to do this.
I could ignore the whispers, silence the nerves, and put my focus where it belonged: on keeping my department functional and my head above the press storm.
But for the rest of the day, I couldn’t quite shake the memory of Logan’s eyes.
I found him in the sunroom just before dusk–though I hadn’t meant to
The golden light poured in at an
gle, soft and warm, catching on the edges of the tall windows. Logan stood by the far wall, phone to his ear, flipping through a folder, half–listening as someone on the other side rattled on.
He nodded once, said something I couldn’t hear, and then cut off the call.
But he didn’t move. He didn’t turn around either. Just let the silence settle between us like it had been waiting
I lingered by the threshold, unsure if I should step back or forward
“You’re not avoiding me, are you?” he asked, still facing the windows.
I crossed my arms. “No. You asked me to take this position seriously.”
“I did.” He finally turned. “And you are. That’s not what I asked.”
The light behind him made it harder to read his expression, but I didn’t need to see his eyes to feel the weight of the question.
I stepped into the room, the heels of my shoes sharp on the polished wood.
“There’s talk,” I said. “About me. About us.”
“There always will be,” he replied. “We’ve known that since the contract was signed.”
“I didn’t think it would be this cruel.” My voice was steadier than felt.
!
He took a step toward me. Then another. “I can issue a formal statement,” he said. “Push back.”
“That’ll only make it worse. They’ll think it hit a nerve.”
He stopped just shy of where I stood. “Then come with me.”
I blinked. “What?”
“There’s a gallery opening tomorrow night. Neutral ground. No politics. No donors. Just Pack–affiliated artists and some press. Come with me.”
The request was simple enough on the surface. But I saw the calculation behind it–Logan, weighing angles, framing optics. Trying to shield me from something he couldn’t control,
“Won’t that just add fuel to it?” I asked. “Showing up together like it’s a show of unity?”
He didn’t answer immediately. And when he did, his voice was softer.
“It’s not a show to me.”
I inhaled through my nose, exhaled slowly. The air was thick with unspoken things.
I wanted to say yes. I wanted to stand beside him without second–guessing what it would cost me.
Chapter 85
But I couldn’t.
Not with the press sharpening their knives. Not with every expression analyzed, every breath turned into a headline.
“Not this time,” I said quietly.
His jaw tensed, just slightly. But he nodded. Once,
“I understand,” he said.
I wasn’t sure if he did. Or if I even wanted him to.
The sun shifted behind the windows, casting long shadows across the floor. For a moment, neither of us moved.
“I appreciate the offer,” I added, trying to soften the edge I’d left between us.
“I don’t offer things I don’t mean,” he said.
I looked up at him then. And I hated how badly I wanted to believe him.
“I just need to stay out of the spotlight for a while,” I murmured. “Until things calm down.”
“And when they don’t?” His voice was low.
I didn’t answer. Because I didn’t know. I wasn’t used to all this.
I turned to leave, my fingers grazing the frame of the sunroom door as I passed.
His voice stopped me before I reached the hall.
“I see you, Emily. Even when they don’t.”
”
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I paused. But I didn’t look back. Because if I did, I might not leave. And right now, leaving felt like the safer choice for my heart.
Chapter 86.