My anger faltered for half a heartbeat. “You didn’t think I could handle that conversation?” I asked, quieter now, more hurt than furious.
His eyes softened immediately. “I didn’t want you cornered,” he said. “I didn’t want them questioning your competence or implying you traded anything for advancement. I didn’t want you sitting in a room defending yourself against people who had already decided what they believed.”
Of course, he didn’t. Desmond had always believed he could absorb damage alone — take the blow, shield everyone else, walk away bruised but silent.
“That’s not partnership,” I said, voice shaking despite my effort to keep it steady. “That’s martyrdom.”
He studied me — really studied me — and I saw the exhaustion in his eyes, the quiet fury still simmering under the surface fromeverything Frank had said, everything that had already happened. I saw fear too, buried deep — not for himself but for me.
“I can absorb this,” he said softly. “You’re still building your footing here. I have tenure. I have leverage. If anyone needs to be the one under the microscope, it should be me.”
Something inside my chest twisted hard. “I am not fragile,” I said. “And I am not a secret you have to manage alone.”
His mouth opened and closed again. The silence stretched long enough for the fluorescent lights to hum louder, for my pulse to throb in my ears.
“We’ll walk in together,” I said finally. “Or you don’t walk in at all.”
A long pause.
He held my gaze — searching, calculating, fighting the instinct to shoulder everything himself. The battle played out in the smallest details: a shift of his weight, a slow inhale, the way his fingers tightened around the folder before loosening again.
Finally, he nodded once. “Together,” he said. Without thinking, I reached out and touched his wrist — just a brief brush of skin, grounding and familiar. His pulse beat steadily under my fingertips. Alive. Here. Choosingusinstead of isolation.
“Next time,” I murmured, softer now, “don’t you dare sneak around me.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “Next time,” he said, “I’ll be sure you’ve slept over four hours before ambushing me in a hallway.”
“Absolutely not,” I muttered, and the ghost of a laugh escaped both of us — fragile but real.
We stood there for another second, shoulder to shoulder, both of us breathing in sync as the reality of what waited behind that door settled over us. Then he shifted the folder under his arm and turned toward HR.
And I walked beside him — not behind, not hidden — into whatever came next, waiting on the other side of frosted glass and tough questions.
Chapter 59
Desmond
Iknew Frank had gotten there first before anyone said a single word.
You could feel it in the room — the way the air sat too still, too rehearsed. The HR office smelled faintly of lemon cleaner and over-brewed coffee. Diplomas on the wall. Neutral art meant to calm people down before difficult conversations. A box of tissues positioned with surgical precision on the table.
Preemptive damage control.
Anya walked beside me, shoulders straight, exhaustion hidden behind that steady composure she had carved out of fire and stubbornness. I kept my hands loose at my sides, folder tucked under my arm, forcing my breathing into slow, deliberate patterns. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. No sudden movements. No reactions they could misinterpret.
Two HR representatives sat across from us — Marlene and Jackson. Both polite. Both cautious. Both already watching Anya in a way that made my jaw tighten.
Concerned smiles. Careful posture. The look of people who had beenwarned. Frank’s fingerprints were everywhere.
“Thank you for coming in,” Marlene said, voice soft and professional. “Dr. Volkov, we weren’t expecting you. We understand there have been… some interpersonal tensions recently.”
Interpersonal tensions.
Right.
I nodded once. “That’s part of why I requested this meeting.”
Anya didn’t speak yet. She sat beside me — not touching or leaning — but the warmth of her presence grounded me more than anything else in the room. I could feel the tension humming through her, that tightly coiled exhaustion she carried like armor.
