I forced myself to keep going. “For a while, I thought maybe…maybe I’d messed up somehow. That I’d done something wrong without realizing. But then I talked to one of the families I’d tried to help. They’d been thrown out because of a fabricated notice.” My voice cracked. “They cried. And they still trusted me more than the company.”
Cole reached for my hand.
I stared down at our fingers touching but couldn’t bring myself to grip back. Not yet. Ignatius exhaled slowly through his nose—controlled, precise, unmistakably draconic.“And no one believed you.”
A hollow sound escaped me—half laugh, half ache. “No one important.”
Ignatius was silent long enough that I felt the air shift.
Then he said, “I saw the internal audit. Access logs. Timestamps. Deleted reports. You weren’t lying.”
My head snapped up. “You—you what?”
Beside me, Cole blinked in surprise. “You knew?”
Ignatius shrugged, unbothered. “I checked because…well.” He nodded in my direction with zero embarrassment. “You matter to Cole. That’s enough reason.”
My throat bobbed hard.
Ignatius went on, “The audit showed the nephew used your login during hours you weren’t even on-site. And someone tried to delete your complaints, but metadata footprints are stubborn.” He tapped his temple. “Most people are terrible at hiding digital tracks.”
I stared at him, unable to speak.
“You did the right thing,” Ignatius said simply. “You were punished for having integrity.” He paused only long enough to make sure I was listening. “I could use someone like you.”
I blinked. “Wh—what?”
“I have several residential properties,” Ignatius said, as if he were discussing the weather. “Many need someone who actually gives a damn about people. Someone ethical. Someone observant. Someone Cole trusts.”
Cole’s eyes widened. “Phoenix—”
Ignatius waved a hand, cutting him off. “I’m not offering charity. I’m offering employment. Competent employment. With benefits and a salary that won’t make you cry.”
My mouth opened, then closed again, because I didn’t trust my voice. My eyes burned—embarrassing and impossible to hide.
“You don’t have to answer today,” Ignatius added, gentler now. “But I’m not in the habit of letting good men get away. If you want the job—it’s yours.” He leaned forward. "I would obviously take Cole's schedule into consideration because you need to be with him when he plays."
I looked at Cole then, really looked at him, and for the first time in too long I saw something in his eyes I hadn’t seen directed at me in weeks—hope. Belief. Something like pride.
He squeezed my hand gently. “Say yes,” he whispered.
My voice broke when I tried to speak, but the words came anyway. “I… Yes. I want—I want that.”
Ignatius nodded once, like the decision had been obvious from the start. “Good. Then welcome to the team.”
Ignatius clapped his hands sharply. “Now. Logistics. You’re expected at the arena here by noon for medical clearance.”
Cole’s breath hitched. “Medical?”
“Standard procedure,” Ignatius said. “They need to confirm you’re fit to compete. Which you are. Dr. Ahrens already cleared you yesterday."
Cole stood abruptly. “I should shower. Before…before the arena.”
Ignatius nodded. “Take your time. The driver will be ready.”
Cole hesitated, gaze flicking between us—me stiff and smiling too hard, Ignatius watching me like he could see the bomb under my ribs—then walked toward the hallway with shoulders hunched like he was bracing for something that wasn’t here.
The moment he was out of earshot, Ignatius said dryly, “You’re terrible at hiding things.”
