I frowned and asked,
“What do you mean, no?”
“I mean no, absolutely not,” he repeated, and again, heat crept up my neck, equal parts embarrassment and irritation.
“Excuse me for trying to find the silver lining here… besides, you asked,” I argued pointlessly.
“That isn’t a silver lining, that’s you not understanding the rules,” Bo said flatly.
“What rules?”
He sighed, rubbing at his face like he was already exhausted.
“Immortals don’t date humans. Not like that. It’s forbidden.”
I blinked, processing his words and repeating that final word,
“Forbidden?”
“As in very illegal,” he said.
“As in end-your-career, erase-you-from-history, make-an-example out of you, illegal.”
I swallowed hard as my chest tightened.
“So… that’s not it,”I mumbled to myself, something Bo heard of course.
“No, he wouldn’t risk his position for a mortal fling. Especially not one of the King of Kings Enforcers… he wouldn’t dare the Wrath of the Gods nor of his King,” Bo said, and something cold and heavy settled in my stomach, a pit of dread given sudden weight.
“Right. Of course. Because why would the terrifying immortal ruler be interested in me for anything remotelyflattering?” The bitterness in my tone made me wince, especially when Bo gave me a pitiful look.
“Girly…” I lift my hand, stopping him from saying more, before letting it drop to the counter, looking at it. Looking at the skin he touched, leaving an invisible imprint of where his fingers had been wrapped around mine earlier. The ghost of heat still lingered like my body hadn’t caught up with reality yet. I’d been stupid. Foolish enough to think there might have been something there. An impossible spark that meant more than just some manipulative means to an end.
I let out a shaky breath and nodded, the plan hardening into something solid and unpleasant in my chest.
Play along.
That was all I could do.
And whatever Oblivion wanted from me, I was no longer under the illusion that it was anything good. Meaning the rest of the day washed over me.
Once I left the bathroom, everything moved too quickly and not quickly enough all at once. Conversations blurred together into a steady hum of voices and congratulatory smiles that felt like they were aimed at someone standing just slightly to the left of me. I nodded and smiled when required. I answered questions on autopilot, my body present while my mind lagged several steps behind, still stuck on tiled floors and whispered plans.
Accounts were reassigned with surprising efficiency.
Campaigns I’d spent months on were handed over in neat parcels. My notes and files were transferred with brisk professionalism, as if this were just another routine reshuffle, rather than my entire workload being quietly dismantled. People thanked me. Told me how exciting this was. How lucky I was.
I equally wanted to laugh as much as I wanted to cry.
By mid-afternoon, my desk felt wrong. Too empty. Too temporary. The familiar weight of responsibility had beenreplaced with something far more precarious. A sense that I was being cleared out rather than promoted, gently ushered toward something I hadn’t fully agreed to.
Tara caught up with me near the printers, coffee in hand and concern written plainly across her face.
“You should be glowing,” she said, eyes narrowing slightly as she studied me.
“You know that, right?”
“I am,” I replied automatically.
