Chapter 51
The elevator doors slide open with a soft ding, but it might as well be the wail of a funeral bell. I step out into the polished glass–and–chrome corridors of Draeven Biotech like a condemned man returning to his cell.
Everything feels…louder. The scuff of my shoes against the marbled tile. The low murmur of voices that are coming from the bullpen. The sterile hum of the fluorescent lights overhead. I walk through it all like a ghost–untouchable, unreadable, and vibrating with the kind of barely- contained energy that makes grown men flinch and interns sprint for cover.
Griffin is already waiting by my office door, his tablet in hand, and a coffee cup hovering mid–air like he doesn’t dare hand it to me just yet. He studies me for half a second–just long enough to clock the storm gathering behind my eyes–then wisely says nothing. But that doesn’t mean I’m
off the hook.
“You didn’t go in,” he says eventually, his matter–of–fact tone grating on my last nerve, as he trails behind me into my office like a well–dressed shadow.
“I changed my mind,” I bite out as I cross the room and toss my jacket onto the leather armchair like it personally offended me.
He sets the coffee on the edge of my desk and taps at his tablet with methodical, irritating calm. For a man with centuries of calculated precision, you’ve been making a lot of emotionally–driven detours lately.”
“I said I changed my mind,” I say, very slowly, hoping he catches onto the fact that I’m point five seconds away from eviscerating his insolent ass.
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“Right,” he says mildly, drawing out the word, “And the sky’s green, and you have no emotional attachment to the woman who’s currently driving you to commit passive acts of career sabotage without her even knowing it.”
1 glare at him–full force–the kind of look that used to send military generals and ancient council members into stammering fits.
But Griffin doesn’t blink, and neither does he shut the fuck up. “You didn’t go in,” he repeats, his voice quieter now, but sharper. “Why?”
Because she didn’t even know I was there. And maybe it was easier that way. Because I don’t think I deserve to see her.
I say none of that, though, as I drop into my chair and make a hand through my hair instead.
Griffin places a file he’s seemingly pulled out of thin air on my desk like he’s offering me a peace treaty, “Your three o’clock is waiting. The rest of the team is…let’s say, alert.”
“Cancel it,” I mutter, my eyes staring off into nothingness.
“You already canceled most of this morning’s slate. If you skip this one, they’ll assume a pod person has replaced you,” he says as if he’s the boss, and I’m the employee.
“Then let them. Maybe the pad person will be better at pretending to give a damn.” Why do I sound like a whiny toddler?
He pauses. Then, in the driest tone known to man, says, “Should I cancel the charity gala this weekend too, or will you be taking Miss Blake as your date?”
My head snaps up in his direction, and my voice comes out like a warning growl. “Don’t.”
Griffin only raises a brow, then turns to leave, sarcastically adding, “Noted. I’ll be sure to only mention her every third day instead of every
The door shuts with a soft click behind him. And all I have left in me is to lean forward, with my elbows on the desk, and my hands steepled in front of my mouth art stare at the wall.
I made it all the way there…and still didn’t reach out to her.
She never even knew I was there.
I toss my keys on the kitchen island where they clatter too loudly, echoing around the vast open–plan space.
This place used to be my sanctuary. Now, though? It’s just a space–a luxurious, cold, hollow space.
She’s never been here, I know that. But her not being here–never having been here–feels like a bruise I keep pressing against just so I can feel
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