Chapter 11 #2
She glances up from her screen, brows pinched, and shrugs. “He just showed up,” she shrugs, clearly as confused and annoyed as I am.
Pig-headed doesn’t even begin to cover it.
Daniels lives for the spotlight. He thrives off power plays, flinging his title around like it’s a weapon. And right now, he’s lounging outside my office, legs stretched out with that same infuriating smirk curling his lips, like he’s already won whatever game he’s decided we’re playing.
I resist the urge to turn around and walk straight back out the door because I’m not in the mood to entertain his ego. Instead, I square my shoulders and exhale loudly, heading toward my office, determined not to give him the satisfaction of a greeting.
“Caruthers,” he calls out the moment I push open the door.
Of course he does.
I can hear his steps behind me, the sound of expensive shoes and bloated self-importance echoing off the hallway walls. And just like that, the silence I’d been so grateful for is gone.
“What do you want?” I snap, whirling around. The man practically oozes arrogance, the smug confidence of someone who believes the world owes him something.
“I wanted to talk,” he replies, voice low and theatrical—like he’s auditioning for a crime drama.
After Axel, this guy barely registers.
“Who sent those?” Daniels asks, peering over my shoulder with thinly veiled interest.
I freeze as soon as I see them.
Roses. A dozen of them. Deep red, velvety petals, arranged perfectly in a glass vase on my desk.
I cross the room, drawn to them despite myself. There’s a card sticking out of the arrangement, held in place with a gold pin. My fingers tremble as I slide it out and read the scrawl.
I’m sorry. A x
Beneath the words: a phone number.
My breath hitches. It's short, simple. But somehow, it carries more weight than any courtroom monologue I've ever heard. Axel Bonanno, apologizing and leaving evidence of it. Even offering me a way to reach him. It’s startling.
“A client,” I mumble, my pulse racing.
Daniels chuckles behind me. “So the rumors are true.”
“What rumors?” I frown, resisting the urge to roll my eyes.
“That Axel Bonanno is your client.” He plops down into the chair opposite my desk, a grin spreading across his smug face. “Didn’t think you , of all people, would represent someone like him.”
“And why is that?” I ask coolly, tilting my head.
“You don’t have what it takes.”
So that’s what this is about.
“You do realize I know you have no evidence against him, right?” I bite back. “You’ve got five days left. Let’s not pretend you’re sitting on a bombshell.”
Daniels smirks. “Five days is more than enough. I suggest you take the loss now.”
My eyes narrow. He reaches into his suit jacket and pulls out a thick brown envelope, extending it toward me.
“What the fuck is that?” I ask, my voice sharp.
He presses it into my hand and I let the ominous weight of it sit in my palm for a second. It’s too suspicious to be anything good.
“You have no idea what you’re getting into, Cassidy,” he warns, eyes serious now. “I’m here to help.”
“That better not be a threat,” I grind out, clenching the envelope so tightly the paper crinkles under my grip.
“It’s not. Just... advice.” His hand lands on my shoulder. I shrug him off with enough force to make my disgust clear.
“And you think you know what you’re dealing with?”
Daniels doesn’t answer. His silence is telling.
“Sir! You can’t go in there?—!”
The door bursts open before I can process the warning. I turn, heart lurching .
Axel stands in the doorway, dark eyes flicking between me, Daniels, and the envelope still in my hand. His expression hardens.
“Axel, what are you doing here?”
But he doesn’t answer. He’s already turning, stalking out of the office with barely restrained fury.
“Axel, come back!” I yell, shoving the envelope into Daniels’ chest, who now looks impossibly smugger than before.
I chase after Axel, but his strides are too much. “Axel! It’s not what it looks like!”
He reaches the elevator in long, furious strides, his back a wall of anger I can’t seem to break through. The doors slide open with a mechanical chime, and instinct kicks in—I lunge forward, fingers curling around the edge of his sleeve just before he steps inside.
“Axel, wait?—”
But he doesn’t. He doesn’t wait. Instead, he yanks me in with one swift motion, the force of it slamming me against the cold, unforgiving metal wall of the elevator. The breath whooshes from my lungs.
“Axel!” I gasp, my voice cracking with shock. I press a trembling hand to my head, trying to steady myself, my heart thundering against my ribs.
He doesn’t respond—not with words. His chest heaves, shoulders rising and falling with shallow, furious breaths.
He starts to pace the small space like a caged animal, his fists clenched tight at his sides, jaw ticking with the kind of tension that promises an explosion.
The silence between us is deafening, heavy with unsaid things and assumptions that are unraveling everything.
There’s a wildness in his eyes, something raw and wounded that unsettles me more than his anger. This isn’t just rage. It’s betrayal. Disappointment. Something deeply personal that cuts deeper than any insult ever could.
“I can’t believe this shit,” he mutters .
“What?”
“I came here to apologize!” he explodes, waving his hands. “Like a fucking idiot.”
“Apologize?” I grab his arm and pull him to face me. He lets me, but barely.
“I asked if I could trust you!” he snaps, his voice raw and ragged.
“You can! ” I hate how small I sound, but the look on his face is worse than any threat he’s ever made.
He plants his arm beside my head, looming over me, every inch of him vibrating with rage. “No. I can’t. ”
“Axel, please, just let me explain. It’s not what it looked like?—”
“I don’t give a shit,” he growls, his back to me. The elevator dings and the doors open. He pulls back, his cold, impenetrable stare returning.
“Axel!” I call after him as he strides across the foyer.
He turns, pointing a finger at me, fury burning in his eyes. “You’re fucking fired!”
“Ax—”
“Fucking. Fired,” he barks, his voice echoing in the open space.
“Fine!” I throw my hands up. “Find someone else to deal with your shit!”
He flips me off so hard even the security guard flinches. Then he’s gone.
I should feel relieved. But all I feel is guilt. Shame. That look he gave me—full of hurt, so vulnerable and, real —it gutted me.
And just like that, we’re done.