MasukThe room felt too quiet.Too still.I lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling, watching the faint shadows shift along the walls as the evening light slowly dimmed into something softer, something heavier. My body was exhausted—every muscle aching from the past few days—but my mind refused to rest.It never did.Not when it mattered.Not when it hurt.A slow breath left my lips as I turned onto my side, pulling the pillow closer, as though I could somehow bury the noise inside my head.*Suspended.*The word echoed.Sharp.Final.But it wasn’t the suspension that lingered.It was everything else.“*Mistake.*”I let out a hollow chuckle, my fingers curling into the bedsheet beneath me.Funny.How one word could follow you your entire life.Job mistake.Study mistake.Pack mistake.Mate mistake.I shut my eyes, my throat tightening.Maybe…Maybe even my birth was one.The thought didn’t come with drama anymore.No tears.No outrage.Just a quiet, numbing acceptance.Like a truth I had heard
I should have walked away.I did walk away.But something in me refused to leave.The moment I stepped out of that boardroom, the weight of what had just unfolded pressed against my ribs like a tightening vice. The decision had been necessary. Strategic. Controlled.Suspension.Not punishment.Time.Time to find the truth.Because the moment her eyes met mine—steady, unwavering, unafraid—and she said, *“I didn’t do it,”* something inside me had shifted.The evidence had been precise.Meticulous.Convincing.But her—Her conviction had been stronger.And I trusted instinct more than proof.Always.Which was why I didn’t go far.I stared from my window. And that was when I saw it.Him.JaredHis hands on her.Pulling her in.Holding her.Like he had the right.Like she belonged there.My vision darkened.A storm rose—violent, immediate, consuming.My jaw clenched so tightly I could feel the strain shoot through my skull.How.Did.He.Touch.Her.The thought wasn’t rational.It wasn’t
The screen flickered to life.And with it—Everything began to fall apart.Nicole moved with quiet confidence, inserting the pen drive into the system as though she had done this a hundred times before. The projection shifted, replacing the campaign comparison with a new set of files.Emails.Documents.Transaction logs.My name.Everywhere.My breath hitched.“No…” I whispered under my breath, my eyes scanning the screen in disbelief.“This,” Nicole began, her tone calm—too calm—“is a series of email exchanges between Ms. Hale and an external contact—Mr. Ron.”She clicked.An email expanded.My email ID.My name.A message thread discussing campaign structure.My campaign structure.My stomach dropped.Another click.Bank transaction records.“Substantial payments,” Nicole continued, “transferred to Ms. Hale’s account over the past week.”The room shifted.Shock rippled through the board like a wave.I couldn’t breathe.“This is clearly tampered!” Jared’s voice cut through, sharp, im
Five days.Five relentless, consuming, breathless days.That was how long it had been since the boardroom had shifted beneath my feet—since a single presentation had rewritten my place in the company. And in those five days, I had barely lived outside the campaign.Sleep had become optional. Food—secondary. My world had narrowed into strategy sheets, brand narratives, consumer behaviour models, and endless revisions. Every waking moment was spent building something that felt bigger than just a campaign.It felt like… proof.Proof that I wasn’t what everyone thought I was.Proof that I wasn’t just—I pushed the thought away as I walked down the hallway, a file tucked securely under my arm.“Ms Hale.”His voice.Deep. Firm. Familiar.It still did something to me.I turned, straightening instinctively as I met his gaze. Kael Blackwood stood by his cabin door, already watching me like he had been waiting.“Inside,” he said simply.I nodded, stepping in ahead of him.His cabin, as always,
The ride back was quieter than it should have been.Not silent—no, the hum of the engine filled the space, tyres gliding over familiar pack roads—but there was something unspoken sitting between the three of us. Something heavy. Something that had followed us from the chaos of the carnival and refused to leave.I sat in the backseat, my fingers still faintly trembling despite how tightly I tried to lace them together in my lap. Clair sat beside me, unusually subdued, her earlier lightness replaced by a thoughtful stillness. Up front, Jayden drove, his posture rigid, shoulders squared as though he carried the weight of more than just the steering wheel.My phone buzzed.The sound cut through the quiet like a thread snapping.I blinked, startled, before fumbling to pull it out of my bag. The moment I saw the name flashing on the screen, something inside me eased.“Tess,” I breathed, answering immediately. “Hey—”“How are you?!” she burst out, her voice loud, rushed, and brimming with wo
He exhales sharply, the sound rough, restrained, like he is holding back far more than he is willing to show.His hands move to his hips, fingers pressing into the fabric of his clothes as he tilts his head slightly back, dragging in a slow breath as though trying to gather himself.“It is dangerous,” he says finally, his voice lower now, controlled—but no less intense. “For you to be out like this. Unguarded. At least not while you are still tied to—”“The mate bond?”I cut through him before he can finish.My hand rises to my chest, pressing flat against my heart as if I can physically contain the chaos within it.“Yeah,” I say, a hollow, self-deprecating chuckle slipping past my lips. “That.”His eyes darken.A storm gathers there—quiet, brewing, dangerous.“Not everything,” he says slowly, each word deliberate, “is as shallow as you insist on making it.”I let out a sharp breath, shaking my head.“Maybe,” he continues, his voice tightening, “you should start by not thinking so low







