"Make it fast," she says, her voice clipped with the kind of authority she reserves for moments when she's barely holding herself together. "My car's coming in twenty minutes, and I have no intention of being here when it arrives."
I look down at her, this small, fierce woman who walked into my company and terrified my entire executive team into compliance with nothing but a clipboard making me feel things I didn't know I was even capable of feeling, who burrowed under my skin and rewired something fundamental in me, and I have absolutely no idea what to say.
Every boardroom strategy, every ruthless negotiating tactic, every weapon in my considerable arsenal feels useless and pathetic.
So I do something I never do. Something Joffrey's words forced me to consider on my walk over here, something that terrifies me more than any combat ring ever could.
I tell her the truth.
CHAPTER 11
ROMEE
Igaze at him, this massive, infuriating wall of muscle and terrible decision-making skills, and wait for the apology he supposedly came here to deliver. My chest aches with the effort it takes to keep my expression neutral, professional, like I'm not currently wearing his shirt beneath my blazer, like I can't still feel the ghost of his hands on my skin from last night.
"I was wrong," Thrall says, and the words sound like they're being physically pulled out of him, rough and unpracticed. "I thought I was helping. I thought buying your agency would solve the problem, that it would give you the freedom and resources you deserved without having to deal with that parasite stealing your work."
He pauses, his massive jaw working as he searches for the right words. It's the first time I've ever seen him look uncertain about anything, and the sight makes something twist painfully .
"But I didn't ask you," he continues, his voice dropping lower, rougher. "I didn't consider that you might want to build your own success on your own terms, without my interference or my money or my name attached to it. I treated you like a problem to be solved instead of a partner to consult. Andthat was arrogant and controlling and exactly the kind of high-handed bullshit you've been fighting against your entire career."
The admission hangs in the air between us, honest and raw in a way I didn't expect from someone who usually treats vulnerability like a tactical weakness. Part of me wants to throw the door open wider, to let him in and let this conversation dissolve into something softer, something that doesn't hurt so much.
But the larger part of me, the part that's been clawing her way up from nothing for years, the part that's tired of being underestimated and talked over and treated like a possession instead of a person, holds firm.
"You're right," I say, my voice steady even though my heart is hammering against my ribs. "You didn't ask. You made a massive business decision that directly affected my career and my future without even consulting me. And the worst part is, you probably thought you were being romantic."
Something flashes across his face, guilt mixed with frustrated acknowledgment.
"I don't need you to save me, Thrall," I continue, and my voice cracks slightly on his name despite my best efforts. "I needed you to respect me enough to let me fight my own battles. To trust that I could handle my piece-of-shit boss without you swooping in like some kind of corporate warlord and solving everything with money and intimidation."
"I know," he says quietly, and the defeat in his tone makes my chest constrict. "I know that now. And I'm sorry, Romee. Genuinely, deeply sorry for overstepping and for treating your autonomy like it was negotiable."
I blink hard against the sudden burning in my eyes, refusing to let fresh tears fall. This is what I needed to hear, the apology I deserved, delivered with the kind of honesty that makes my defenses crack and splinter.
But it doesn't change the fundamental problem.
"I can't do this right now," I whisper, my voice breaking despite my best efforts to keep it together. "I can't be with someone who thinks my problems are his to fix, who doesn't understand that I need to stand on my own two feet before I can stand beside anyone else."
Thrall nods slowly, his expression carefully neutral in a way that tells me he's working just as hard as I am to maintain composure. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a simple black business card, holding it out to me between two massive fingers.
"When you're ready," he says, his voice low and steady, "when you've built what you need to build and proven whatever you need to prove—to yourself, not to me or anyone else—call me. Not as your employer, not as your savior, but as someone who wants to be your equal."
I take the card with trembling fingers, the matte black surface cool against my palm. There's nothing printed on it except a single phone number in silver embossed text.
"And if you never call, I'll understand. But I need you to know that what happened between us was real, Romee. The most real thing I've experienced in years. And I'm not going to cheapen it by pretending otherwise or trying to buy my way back into your good graces."
Then he steps back, creating physical distance between us that feels like a canyon opening in the floorboards. He doesn't try to touch me, doesn't try to kiss me goodbye or pull me into some grand romantic gesture that would only complicate things further.
He just nods once, a gesture of respect and acknowledgment, and walks away.
I watch him go, this massive, complicated man who rewired something fundamental inside me in the span of a few days, and I let the tears finally fall.
The charter busfeels cavernous and empty without the rowdy Horde Tech executives filling every seat. I sit near the back, my suitcase stowed overhead, and watch the Whispering Pines Wellness Retreat disappear through the rear window as we pull away.
My phone buzzes incessantly with messages from the event planning agency—former agency, I correct myself bitterly, but I ignore them all. There's nothing left to say to those people, no final projects to wrap up or loose ends to tie. Thrall's acquisition was swift and absolute, and according to the terse email I received this morning from the new interim director, my severance package and final paycheck have already been processed and deposited.
I should feel relieved. Grateful, even, that I'm walking away with a financial cushion instead of being unceremoniously fired and left scrambling.
