So I went to Wolf’s office next. He told me she’d been there. With Ryder. Said the conversation had gone sideways—ugly, messy. Things he never meant for her to hear. But she did.
And I’d been losing my damn mind ever since, wondering how she took it.
Fuck.
When I didn’t find either of them inside the clubhouse, I figured they’d be out back. What I didn’t expect was Bel slamming straight into me near the yard door. She was shaking. Actually shaking. Eyes wide and unfocused. Like she’d seen something she couldn’t process. My entire body went on alert in a second. Every worst-case scenario firing at once.
But nothing could’ve prepared me for what came out of her mouth.
??????
“Whoa!” I grunt, my hands coming up automatically to steady her shoulders.
“S-Sorry.”
I lean back, frowning. “Bel? You okay?”
“I… yeah. I-I’m fine,” she says too quickly.
She’s not fine. Her face is drained of color. Hair a mess. Breath uneven like she just ran from something. My gut twists hard.
“What the hell?” I mutter, already scanning the darkness beyond her. My hand brushes the gun at my waist without thinking. “What did you see?” I ask, voice sharp now. “What’s wrong?”
She finally looks at me. But her eyes flit about, unsteadily. They keep darting over my shoulder, back toward the yard. Like she’s afraid to look for too long.
“N-Nothing,” she croaks. “I just… forgot something in the infirmary. I gotta go.”
I grab her elbow, stopping her before she can bolt. “Bel. Look at me.”
She does.
“What happened?” I press.
Silence.
Then I push—too hard, too fast. “Isabelle, answer me. You look—listen, if you saw something, you need to tell me.”
She flinches, and I immediately feel like a fucking asshole.
She swallows hard, throat working like it hurts. Then something in her shifts, like a switch flips. Her shoulders square and her face goes blank. Controlled.
“I just saw Charlotte outside,” she says, voice unnaturally even. “Making out with Ryder. I wasn’t expecting to see that, so yeah—I’m a little shaken, okay?”
I don’t respond. My tongue settling heavy in my mouth.
“Can I go now, Mr. Vice President?”
Before I can process her words—before I can even fucking blink at the blatant disrespect—she’s gone. Leaving me standing there.
Staring at the dark stretch of the club yard.
Charlotte.
Making out.
Ryder.
The words don’t even land properly. They just… float. Hollow.
