Therianthrope: A New Kind of Curse

"Yara, Mr. Cromwell needs this proposal ASAP. Sorry to bug you, but finish it before you head out."

Molly Leach, Derrick's assistant, dropped a fat stack of papers on my desk, all chipper like we were besties.

I took them. "Got it."

She wasn't done. Still smiling, she threw in, "Mr. Cromwell and I have a client meeting later. Just leave the docs on his desk. Oh—and tidy up his office before you go."

Then she strutted off like she owned the floor, heels clicking, mood sky-high.

Around me, the office fell quiet. My coworkers shot me that awkward look—half pity, half helpless.

Everyone knew Derrick Cromwell, CEO of Vantrel Corp, was my fiancé. Everyone also knew he blatantly played favorites, and Molly was his number one.

He'd yanked her from another firm, made her director, then handed her a million-dollar project I'd busted two months bringing in and prepping.

When I pushed back, he called a team vote, thinking everyone would back him.

Wrong. The whole team voted for me—except him. Molly got one vote. His.

He lost it. Accused me of stirring up cliques. Didn't just take the project away—he demoted me in front of everyone and slashed the salaries of the people who'd backed me.

Nobody dared speak up.

Later, he apologized. Said didn't want it to look like favoritism. Claimed Molly might feel left out.

I used to believe that crap. Now? It's a joke.

Molly couldn't even keep up with our interns.

'Didn't want it to look like favoritism'? Please. He was straight-up playing favorites. Everyone saw it but him.

I heard footsteps upstairs and looked up. Derrick.

He showed up at the stairwell, glanced my way, then walked out without saying a word. Changed into some casual suit. Even from here, I caught that cedar cologne.

He never used to wear cologne. That one? Molly's gift.

Yeah, he knew exactly what he was doing.

He'd been pulling this kind of stuff for years.

It started after I found their goodnight texts. Couldn't stay quiet—I confronted him.