“No, but thank you,” I say, without looking up. “Leave me here.”
There’s a pause then the faint click of her shoes. Silence swallows the building whole.
The night settles heavy. I move to the window, watching the city lights blur and smear against the glass. My reflection stares back: a creature carved from stone and shadow, pretending to be worthy of running this company. Pretending he deserves love.
I laugh, a bitter, hollow sound.
I slump into the chair, motionless. For a moment, I simply stare into the vastness outside the window. Then the quiet presses too close, and something inside mecracks. My shoulders shake, and the sound that rips from me is low, ragged, broken. Not a roar. Not anger. Just grief, tearing out of a chest too big to contain it.
How could I have been so ignorant?
I let myself believe.
And now, in the empty dark of my office, I let my heart break.
17
LIES AND LESSONS
JAMIE
I’m backat the little desk outside Vanessa’s office Friday morning, doing my best not to spiral about the meeting in a few hours. The desk I breezed past without a thought for weeks. Right before I stole her chair and pretended I belonged there. The faux-wood surface looks smaller now, like it shrank while I ignored it—or maybe I shrank. I thought I’d grown. Instead, here I am, right where I’m supposed to be: outside Vanessa’s door, typing notes, answering calls for “Ms. Voss” and being “useful.”
Except I don’t feel useful.
Every time I press a key, I hear Magnus’s voice in my head, low and raw:You didn’t think I was enough.
And the worst part? He’s not wrong.
My mind swirls with all the mistakes I made. I should have been honest. I should have told him. I should have trusted what we were building.
The phone buzzes. I answer, take down a message, hang up, and pretend my hands aren’t shaking. Vanessa’s schedule on my screen blurs. I blink it away and try to focus, but it’s like my chest is made of broken glass.
“Jamie.”
Amara’s voice slices through, sharp and certain, but carrying that underlying warmth that makes it hard to ignore. I glance up. She’s standing before my desk, wings tucked tight, coffee balanced casually in one clawed hand, an eyebrow arched like she’s been watching me unravel for far too long.
“You’re coming with me.”
I gesture helplessly at the desk. “I can’t. Vanessa?—”
“—will live,” Amara interrupts. She steps closer, curls bouncing, her tone brisk in that Being Resources way. “You’re pale, you’re twitching, and you’re one passive-aggressive comment away from dissolving into a puddle on the floor. Office gossip already has you starring in three different Lifetime movies. Get up.”
I want to protest, but she’s already grabbed my arm, tugging me out of the chair and wrapping a wing around me.
Her office is around the corner, cozy compared to Vanessa’s museum of power plays. There are books stacked everywhere, a plant she’s somehow kept alive,and the faint smell of cinnamon. She gestures at the couch, and I collapse onto it.
Amara sits across from me, crosses her legs, wings tucked, and studies me. “So. Want to tell me why you look like the unpaid intern in our safety training video?”
A weak laugh escapes before I can stop it. “Because I am proof Being Resources exists for a reason.”
“Jamie.” Her smile softens. “Don’t flatter yourself. BR was invented for dragons who hoard staplers.”
I run my hands over my face, muffling the words. “I screwed up. I was so eager to prove myself, I didn’t even think about… what I was doing.” My head swirls anyway—with Magnus. With his trust. With the way I wanted him to look at me and see more than a mailroom drone turned admin.
Amara leans forward. “You think that’s the worst part? That you weren’t upfront about your role?”
I swallow hard. “Isn’t it?”
