His ridiculous blue fur now looks nothing like the whimsical trophy of our impossible happiness. Hours ago, he represented everything good Garrett and I had found together—joy, laughter, the possibility that we could build something real in secret.
Now he looks like evidence of my crime. A giant, fuzzy reminder of how naive I'd been to think I could have both the career I'd sacrificed everything for and the love I never thought I deserved.
Our snow globe is cracking, spider web fractures spreading across the glass, and I can hear the walls of my perfect world starting to cave in.
22
Sloane
The executive wing of the Mammoth Center feels different at 7:30 a.m.—too quiet, too still, like a stage set waiting for the real performance to begin. My heels click against polished marble with each step toward Vivian's corner office, the sound echoing off empty walls that will soon buzz with the controlled chaos of a successful franchise.
But right now, it's just me, walking toward whatever trap Vivian has laid.
Her assistant isn't at her desk yet, which means this meeting is off the books. No witnesses. No paper trail. Just two women and whatever venomous conversation Vivian has planned.
The door to her office stands slightly ajar, spilling warm light into the hallway like an invitation. Or a lure.
"Come in, Sloane." Vivian's voice carries that same sugar-coated menace from the phone call. "Close the door behind you."
I step inside, and the space feels smaller than usual despite its floor-to-ceiling windows and expensive furniture. Vivian sits behind her mahogany desk like a queen holding court, perfectly put-together despite the early hour. Her blonde hair is styled in its usual severe bob, her navy blazer immaculate, her smile as sharp as a blade.
"Coffee?" She gestures to the French press on the sidebar. "I made it myself. Didn't want to wait for anyone else to arrive."
"I'm fine, thank you."
"Of course you are. Always so... self-sufficient." The way she says it makes self-sufficiency sound like a character flaw. "Please, sit."
I choose the chair directly across from her desk, the one that forces me to meet her gaze head-on. Whatever game she's playing, I won't cower.
"I suppose you're wondering why I called you in so early." Vivian leans back in her chair, fingers steepled. "I heard something troubling yesterday, and I couldn't sleep until we addressed it."
My pulse kicks up, but I keep my expression neutral. "I'm listening."
"There's a podcast.Sin Bin Scoop. Apparently, they're spreading some rather salacious gossip about our organization." Her smile never wavers. "Complete nonsense, of course. The idea that anyone on our team would be... inappropriate with a player is utterly ridiculous."
The wordinappropriatedrips from her lips like poison.
"I haven't heard it," I lie.
"I'm sure you haven't. But unfortunately, perception can be just as damaging as reality in our business. Especially with the Northstar deal in such a delicate phase." She picks up a gold pen, twirling it between her fingers. "Our investors are very concerned about optics. Professional boundaries. The integrity of our brand."
Every word is carefully chosen, each one landing like a small knife between my ribs.
"Which is why I wanted to check in with you personally," she continues. "As one of our most... visible marketing professionals, your conduct reflects directly on the organization. I trust that's something you take very seriously."
"Of course."
"Good. Because any hint of impropriety—any suggestion that personal relationships might be compromising our professional standards—would be catastrophic. For everyone involved." The pen stops twirling. "The person in question would find themselves in an impossible position. Professionally speaking."
The threat is crystal clear despite the flowery language. She knows. Maybe not specifics, but she knows enough to aim this directly at me.
"I understand," I manage.
"I knew you would. You're so intelligent, Sloane. So strategic. I'm sure you recognize that some risks simply aren't worth taking, no matter how... tempting... they might seem." She sets the pen down with deliberate precision. "The Northstar presentation is in two weeks. Until then, I need my entire team focused solely on the success of that deal. No distractions. No complications."
She pauses, letting the silence stretch until it becomes uncomfortable.
"No ammunition for gossip podcasts."
