Chapter 83

Adam had always been a little over-eager, but lately, his energy felt different. He used to chase praise, eager to be noticed and included, always the first to performatively volunteer for late nights or double shifts. Now, he hovered like he was waiting to pounce. His eyes tracked every conversation, and the way he asked questions had shifted, from curious to calculated. I should’ve trusted my gut sooner, but there had already been too many fires to put out, and the little ones always felt like they could wait.

On Tuesday, one of Richard’s old budget breakdowns ended up quoted, verbatim, by David in a campaign Q&A. It wasn’t even a high-priority figure, just a blurb from last week’s internal prep doc. Nothing sensitive. Nothing damning. But still, it was ours. And David wielded it like he owned it, smiling like he had come up with it himself. I blinked at the screen, rewound the video, then stared at the notepad I had used to draft that very talking point.

At first, I assumed it was a coincidence. The kind of random overlap that happens when too many people are talking in too many rooms. But then I noticed three more instances that followed the same pattern. Random figures, half-finished proposals, early debate scaffolding, all ending up subtly mirrored in David’s talking points. It wasn’t a deep betrayal, not yet, but it was sloppy and disruptive, designed to frustrate, not destroy.

“Nathan,” I said, catching him outside the strategy room as he was coming back from a late coffee run, “he’s not just leaking by accident anymore. He’s feeding David scraps on purpose, just enough to make him look sharper without giving away the real strategy.”

Nathan frowned and glanced down the hallway before answering. “We’re on it. I’m setting up triggers on the document server. If anything gets accessed from an external IP or outside credentials, I’ll see it. But it’s slow work. He’s not using a direct line.”

“I want to mirror my files offsite. Is that okay?”

He looked at me, more serious now. “Do it. And double-encrypt anything tied to the next debate. If he’s trying to frame you or shift suspicion your way, we’re going to need proof that you weren’t the source.”

Later that day, Adam cornered me in the hallway outside the comms office. I was halfway through a cold coffee and mentally reciting everything I still had to get done when I spotted him leaning against the wall near the door. I slowed down, hoping he’d just pretend not to see me. No such luck.

“You’ve been working late a lot,” he said casually, straightening up.

“So?”

“Just wondering how an intern gets private meetings with the Alpha King every other night.”

I stopped, squared my shoulders, and looked him in the eye. “You keeping a calendar on me?”

He smiled, but it was tight, all teeth and no warmth. “Don’t get too comfortable, Amelia. Intern perks don’t last forever. Especially not when the spotlight turns ugly.”

I blinked slowly, willing my face to stay neutral. “You really think veiled threats are going to scare me?”

“Not trying to scare you. Just letting you know the tide turns fast in this place. You’ve made a lot of enemies without even noticing.”

“Well, you’ve been watching me pretty closely. Maybe you should worry more about who’s watching you.”

He laughed, a low, bitter sound that grated against my nerves. “You think you’re untouchable?”

I didn’t answer. I just stepped around him and kept walking, every muscle in my body tight with the effort it took not to turn back and say something that would blow this whole thing wide open. If I stayed in that hallway another second, I was going to punch him, and something told me that was exactly what he wanted.

By Thursday, I started running backups of every draft I touched. Council briefs, PR summaries, even the office grocery list, if my name was on it, I kept a copy. I stored them offsite, buried behind multiple passwords, because trust was getting harder to come by, and even the people I liked weren’t above suspicion. My circle felt like it was shrinking, pulled tighter by the hour.

The night of the council dinner, everything felt too glossy. Too staged. Richard barely looked at me through the whole thing. He sat at the head of the table in his polished black suit, nodding through toasts and offering tight smiles when expected, but his eyes never lingered on mine. Not even once. I kept my own expression neutral, smiled when necessary, and drank exactly one glass of wine before switching to water. I tried not to let it bother me. I really did.

When the last councilmember left and the plates had been cleared, I slipped out to the conservatory. I needed air. The glass dome shimmered with condensation, and the moonlight filtered in through vines that had grown out of control since the last event. The scent of earth and jasmine lingered in the warm, humid space, and for a second, I could almost pretend everything was fine.

I heard his footsteps before I saw him.

“You hiding from me?” Richard asked, his voice lower than usual, tired but warm.

“Maybe. You’ve been a ghost all night.”

“I had to be. Too many eyes. Too many chances for someone to draw the wrong conclusion.”

I turned slowly, and he was there. Still in the jacket, but his tie was loose, and the lines around his mouth looked deeper in the low light. He crossed the space between us without hesitation.

“I didn’t like the way Adam talked to you yesterday,” he said, his voice sharp around the edges now.

“Neither did I.”

I blinked. "Wait, you heard that?"

Richard nodded once, his expression unreadable. "Thin walls, Amelia. And I’ve trained myself to listen when my name comes up, especially in your voice."

Richard’s gaze darkened. "I really don't trust him. We're keeping tabs, but we need hard evidence before we make a move. If we act too soon, he’ll spin it into some kind of loyalty martyrdom and that’ll just make things worse."

“I get it,” I said. “But what if the damage is already done?”

His eyes searched mine. “Then we repair it. Together.”

There was a pause. The kind of pause that sits between two people who want to say something real but are too afraid of what it might mean.

“You look beautiful tonight,” he said softly.

“Even after four hours in that chair?” I tried to joke, but it came out quieter than I meant it to.

“Especially after four hours in that chair.”

He stepped in and brushed a stray curl behind my ear. His fingers lingered for a second longer than necessary, and I leaned into the touch before I could stop myself.

I leaned in just slightly. He met me there.

The kiss was slow, deliberate, a sharp contrast to the way things had been lately. His hand cradled my jaw, thumb stroking just beneath my cheekbone, and I stepped closer, my other hand curling into the lapel of his jacket. My breath hitched when he exhaled through his nose, like he’d been holding it the whole time.

“I missed this,” I murmured against his mouth.

“So did I.”

We didn’t undress each other. Not here. Not yet. But his hands slipped beneath the hem of my blouse and settled on my waist, warm and steady, while we kissed.

When we finally pulled apart, he didn’t say anything right away. He just kept looking at me, like he was trying to memorize something.

“I don’t know what’s coming,” he said quietly. “But I want you next to me when it does.”

I nodded, throat tight.

“Then stop disappearing,” I whispered.

He kissed my forehead, and for once, he didn’t argue. He just stayed close, his breath warm against my hair.

And for just a moment, in the glass cocoon of the conservatory, it felt like maybe we weren’t at war with the world.

Not yet.