I abhor crying. I absolutely loathe it. I hate the way tears burn your eyes. I detest how puffy and blotchy my eyes are after I have cried, and I hate the crushing sadness that squeezes your insides so hard, making it impossible to breathe. But the thing I hate the most is the feeling of never being able to stop crying.
I also know if I don’t let some emotion out, I’ll become a tinderbox where one small thing will have me imploding and that’s something I can’t afford. So, I planned one moment of weakness, one night to let out the cruel and vicious pain I’m drowning in.
The shower is set to freezing cold, and the overly clinical fluorescent lighting does nothing to keep my purge constrained. My knees buckle almost as soon as I step under the water. I follow the water and tears down, and I stay in a crumpled heap as my sadness and grief takes hold. No matter how hard I wish it wasn’t true, I can still fucking feel and scent them. Their ghostly hold on me is relentless, the mottled bruises from their loving on my body a visual reminder I don’t need but I have, nonetheless.
I’m not sure I’ve ever been more heartsick in my life. One thing I’m positive about, no one will ever be able to hurt me like this again. No one.
Time becomes an endless cycle of sobbing and sadness. I can’t remember a single thought, so lost in the pain. The physical pain hurts, like my insides are splitting into four uneven pieces. It is relentless.
There comes a point where my survival instinct kicks into gear saving me from drowning, and/or hypothermia. I wake up in the morning surrounded by blankets I have no recollection gathering, along with an empty row of sleeping tablets I have no memory of taking.
A notebook page flaps open in the morning breeze, jarring me out of trying to figure out what happened last night. I seemed to have a moment or two of lucidity writing myself a couple of pages of notes, including a reminder to get the water bottle tested, an arrow follows pointing to doilix-codishine and without too much effort I piece together what I already knew. My supposed scented mates not only abandoned me, they drugged me first… first class move on their part.
Today is too important for sentimentality. Instead, I roll up to my feet and get ready to kick some serious ass.
* * *
Douglas stays by my side for the entire day. I move from meeting to meeting with an unwavering focus, and my hostile takeover of my rightful place at Verdune—in person as opposed to virtual—is met with endless anger and frustration.
Meeting the Executive team went completely how I expected. They huffed and puffed, threw renewed threats and my attack back in my face. When that tactic didn’t work, they tried to cajole me into submission with their concern and advice. Before the meeting ended, they were back to being antagonistic, bordering on aggressive in their disappointment.
And then I sat through almost the same monologuing from each of the other Board Members, but through each long and drawn-out minute they ramble endlessly I listen. When they argue, I listen. When they beg, I listen. When they threaten to throw me at the mercy of our shareholders, I listen. When they threaten to have me committed for psychological evaluation, I listen. But it doesn’t change a goddamn thing. I am taking my crown.
Leaving them scrambling, I take advantage of the majority of the key stakeholders being suitably distracted and coerce the Verdune Social Media team leader to take a series of images of me in my office. Then I watch over them while they put together a press release that focuses on the new direction of Verdune. We manage to word it so all the players sound overly enthusiastic and excited about my return to Verdune.
The Social Media team are really very good at their jobs, within thirty minutes we have the announcement blasted over social media. Barely a beat after posting, the phones start ringing with editors, producers, and TV execs clamouring for an exclusive interview. Leaving them with access to my diary, along with a poorly veiled threat of what will happen if my diary is not booked solid before they leave for the day, I return to my overly sized corner office to wait, and to meet Douglas.
“Happy?” Douglas asks while we both catch up over a late lunch.
“Deliriously so,” I offer, not bothering to hide my exhaustion and sarcasm from him.
“You’ve done well, Heidi. Allan has been in contact. He wanted me to convey his support.”
I huff a sound that could pass as a laugh or a tired sigh.
Douglas goes on. “You know it is far easier for him to admire and support you from a distance. There’s no point wasting energy on trying to fix what is not broken. Never once has his love been on trial. How he shows his love, well that’s up to him.”
“I agree,” I answer, pouring us both a drink. Mineral water, sans flavouring.
He accepts the drink then takes a seat next to me. “You know how your parents were raised, that type of upbringing ties you to behaviour that will remain steadfast. Don’t ever question his love.”
I wave him on with a roll of my eyes, and exactly as we planned, nearly right down to the minute we get interrupted by a knock on the door.
“Come in, come in,” I offer as I stand to greet Pack Lowly at the door, a giant smile pasted on my face.
The four of them look as you’d expect; standard business suits, enough swagger to make you shake your head and a plume of Alpha pheromones that has no effect on me. Considering the two shitty experiences I’ve had with scent-matched Alphas, the way Pack Lowly smell so unappealing is nothing but a relief. At least I know what I’m getting with this pack.
I have the perfect offer for them too. Considering they want all the supposed fame and notoriety that comes with the Verdune legacy, and all I want is control of the Board, I’m offering them the chance at us packing in exchange of their support. And that is an easy pill for me to swallow.
It takes them less than fifteen minutes to agree to Douglas’s terms. I find myself completely at peace with the fact Pack Lowly are entering into pack negotiation without legal advice—you can’t help people when their egos outweigh their intelligence.
“Champagne to celebrate?” Graham suggests, his face still ruby red from the shock and excitement. He’s a ball of energy dancing around, hungry to tell the world of our deal.
I do one better. “I’ve booked a table at Roda’s. I figured we could have a formal dinner in a couple of weeks to allow the press a bit more time to get a better reel ready for their channels, but it also gives you time to invite the board.”
“That works, but next time let’s,” he waves his hand around “do the communication thing a little better.”
“My bad,” I answer. Unfortunately, he misses my deadpan stare before I drop my eyes submissively, although Douglas doesn’t, and he chuckles as he packs up his briefcase. I mean, it is completely hilarious, and downright humiliating, at how much power Pack Lowly just signed over to me.
