Chapter 86

Amelia

I could tell something was wrong the moment I walked into Richard’s office. Nathan was already there, arms crossed, jaw tight. He handed Richard a piece of paper like it was a weapon, not a document.

Richard scanned it silently, his expression hardening with every line. “It’s her,” he said finally, voice low.

“Elsa?” Nathan asked.

Richard nodded. “She’s using Jenny to push this. You can hear it in the tone, the phrasing. It’s subtle, but not that subtle.”

“You want me to speak with Hawthorne?”

“Not yet. We don’t know how many people might already be involved, or how far Elsa’s reach has spread. We don't even know what her end goal is.”

Nathan gave a tight nod and left the room.

I glanced at Richard, and he met my eyes briefly but didn’t say anything more. The air between us was heavy, too heavy to fill with questions. I already knew what the document said, or could guess. The whispers had been growing louder by the day.

Later that morning, Jenny strolled into HQ like she’d never fallen apart. Not a strand of hair out of place, her jaw tight, her heels sharp against the polished floors. She moved with purpose, and if she saw me in the meeting room, she gave no sign. Not a glance. Not even the barest flicker of acknowledgment. It was like I didn’t exist.

And Elsa—Elsa had no business being anywhere near the Pack House, not after what she’d done. She was banned, officially and thoroughly, after trying to poison Richard. But somehow, this week, she kept slipping past the restrictions.

I spotted her moving through back hallways and side entrances like a ghost in designer heels. No one had seen her enter through the front, and yet there she was, just outside the comms office, murmuring something low and sharp into Jenny’s ear.

Jenny didn’t flinch, didn’t acknowledge me, but her grip on the folder in her hands turned white-knuckled. Maybe Elsa thought she was being subtle. Maybe she believed showing up like this meant she still had pull. Whether she was there for her daughter’s heartbreak or just using it as a convenient excuse to get her claws back into the Pack’s internal politics, I didn’t care. I was keeping tabs.

Maybe she really did care about her daughter, maybe she’d come out of hiding just to support Jenny through a heartbreak that had humiliated her in front of the entire campaign. Or maybe it was just a convenient excuse. Either way, I was watching.

When the reassignment came through—Report to Sub-Level 3 by end of day—I didn’t even bother trying to fake surprise. Sub-Level 3 was the basement. Technically part of the building but spiritually a whole other world: isolated, buried in records and forgotten data, with no windows and no relevance.

I went to Nathan’s office without knocking. “Did you see this?” I asked, holding up my phone.

He didn’t look shocked. “Yeah. We blocked it before it processed.”

“Jenny?”

“Her login, but not her trail. It’s proxy work. Elsa’s got her fingerprints all over it.”

“God,” I muttered. “She’s not even trying to be subtle anymore. First Adam’s leaking things, now she’s slithering around the halls like she owns them. Maybe she was pulling his strings the whole time.”

A few minutes later, Richard arrived. His eyes landed on my phone, and then on me.

“We’re not letting her push you out,” he said. “You’ve earned your place. We hold steady. We don’t give them what they want.”

Nathan, ever efficient, slid another folder across the desk. “This started circulating this morning.”

Richard opened it, but I stepped closer and read over his shoulder. The language was vague, but the implication was loud. No name. No signature. Just the shadow of accusation, crafted to make people talk.

“She’s saying I’m manipulating you,” I said, voice low.

“No,” Richard said. “She’s insinuating it. There’s a difference.”

“But it’ll read the same. They’ll think I’m fucking my way to influence.”

“They’ve always talked.”

“But not like this,” I snapped. “This isn’t gossip. This is deliberate. This is a plan.”

“We’ll deal with it,” he said. “But if we address it head-on, we legitimize it. And right now, we don’t have enough to fight back without setting a fire.”

I swallowed hard. “So we stay quiet?”

“For now,” he said. “Until we can prove it was her.”

I didn’t like it, but I nodded. There wasn’t really another option.

That night, I found myself outside his office again. I didn’t hesitate this time.

He looked up from his desk when I entered. “Amelia.”

“I had a horrible day,” I said, shutting the door behind me.

“I know.”

“I need you to help me forget.”

He stood slowly. “Are you sure?”

I crossed the room and grabbed his collar. “Don’t ask me that. Just touch me.”

The kiss was immediate, hungry. Our mouths met with a kind of desperation that left no room for restraint. He tasted like bourbon and the end of a long day, like something I craved and couldn’t name. His hands were already under my blouse, fumbling buttons until they popped open one by one. The soft fabric slid from my shoulders as I reached for his tie, tugging it loose and tossing it aside with the same urgency.

His jacket hit the floor next, and his fingers found my waist, pulling me flush against him. I moaned into his mouth, gasping when his hands slid around to my ass and lifted me easily onto the edge of his desk. I spread my legs for him without hesitation, skirt bunched up at my hips, heart pounding in my throat.

He knelt briefly to pull my panties down my thighs, then kissed up the inside of my leg, slow, deliberate, and hot enough to make me whimper. By the time he rose again, I could feel him through his slacks, hard and straining. I tugged at his belt, fumbling for the buckle until he pushed my hands aside and undid it with a swift motion. The sound of it unfastening made me clench in anticipation.

He fisted himself once, eyes locked on mine, then lined up and slid into me in one deep, aching thrust. My nails dug into his shoulders as I adjusted to him, to the pressure, the fullness, the heat of his body pressed against mine. He rocked into me again, and again, each stroke rougher than the last, until I was gasping and gripping the edge of the desk like it was the only thing keeping me upright.

"You feel so good," he rasped against my ear, voice thick with want. "I can’t think straight when I’m inside you."

“Don’t,” I whispered, rocking my hips to meet each thrust. “Don’t think. Just fuck me.”

He groaned and obeyed, pace quickening, every movement sending heat spiraling through my core. His hand found my breast, kneading roughly, thumb grazing over my nipple. I cried out, half-laughing, half-sobbing from the overwhelming rush of it.

He was all over me, hands, mouth, hips slamming into mine. The edge came fast, coiling low in my belly until I couldn’t hold it back. I clenched around him, crying out his name as the orgasm rolled through me like a wave. I shook against him, body trembling as I buried my face in his neck.

“Fuck,” he grunted, hips stuttering, then he came too, deep inside me, clutching me so tightly it almost hurt. He didn’t move for a long moment after, forehead resting against mine, both of us breathless and slick with sweat.