Chapter 1
CHAPTER ONE
Sloane
TEN YEARS LATER…
“No, Sloane, there is no coming back from this. You’re fired.”
Those words…
They make my stomach drop.
Fired from Veracity, where I’ve been working for a decade… it just feels so surreal, a punch in the gut.
A lifetime of work, of climbing from nothing to something, and now, just like that, it’s over. The dreams I had, the stories I told, the late nights in the newsroom, the adrenaline rush of chasing the truth. All of it, gone.
Gone.
I try to breathe, to ground myself, but the world around me is spinning. My fingers tremble as I grip my bag, the reality of the situation settling over me like a weight I can’t shake off.
I’d almost made it. I had nearly proven to myself, to everyone who ever doubted me, that I wasn’t just a scandal waiting to happen. But this… this failure, this broken trust, is more than I can fix.
Dean’s gaze is cold and unwavering. His eyes narrow as he watches me, waiting for a response, for some shred of defiance or explanation, but I can’t even summon the energy for that.
“I… I didn’t mean for this to happen,” I say, my voice cracking despite my best attempt to hold it together. “I did everything I could. I checked his background. I verified the claims. He… he seemed so genuine.”
Dean shifts in his seat, running a hand through his hair in frustration.
“Genuine?” He spits the word as if it were a curse.
“Sloane, he’s a scam artist. You let him feed you a lie, and now we all have to pay for it.
It’s not just your credibility on the line here.
It’s ours. You’ve compromised everything.
And you were doing so well. You’ve been the hard hitter at this magazine for years but I think you got cocky, and you believed too easily. ”
I’m reeling, trying to hold on to something that feels solid but Dean’s words keep hammering at me, sinking into my skin like daggers.
“Dean, I didn’t get cocky,” I snap. “I’ve been in this business for ten years. Ten. I’ve taken on hard stories. I’ve exposed corruption. I brought down Richard Stokes.”
The name hangs in the air for a moment, like a ghost.
No one knew about Richard Stokes. Not until I met Olivia Quinn and discovered that her boss was… well, shady is one way to put it.
That was my biggest win. My defining moment.
“That was me. You trusted me with the hard stories, and I delivered every single time. Please don’t act like I’m some rookie who doesn’t know how to do her job.
I’m the one who brought the truth out of the shadows when no one else could.
But this… this is different. I didn’t let my guard down.
I did everything by the book. I verified that source a thousand times.
This tech scam was an elaborate lie. I fell for it, but not because I wasn’t careful. It was a trick. A damn good one.”
Dean’s lips tighten into a thin line. His eyes narrow even further, cutting through me, searching for the last shred of hope I’m clinging to.
“I get it. I get that you think you did everything right. But you didn’t, Sloane. You let that scammer walk right through the door. The fact that you didn’t see it sooner. That’s on you.”
The sting of his words cuts deeper than I expect. But I can’t back down. I won’t.
“Everyone else got caught off guard by him. I’m not the only one he fooled,” I argue. “This is bigger than me. It’s bigger than just this one story. Dean, you hired me for the big stuff. I’ve earned my place here. I’m not going to let one mistake ruin everything I’ve worked for.”
Dean stands, his chair scraping harshly against the floor as he leans across the desk. He’s angry now. I can see it in the veins popping out of his neck, in the clenched fists at his sides.
“No, Sloane. You let it ruin everything. This isn’t just about your screw up, it’s about the credibility of this magazine, the reputation we’ve built.
That’s not something you can walk away from.
That’s something you destroyed with a single story.
A story you ran without the proper vetting.
You should’ve trusted your instincts, but instead, you let a story like that slip through.
You lost us readers. You lost us advertisers. And the whole thing collapsed.”
His words hit me as a physical blow. I swallow hard, fighting the sting in my throat, the heat in my chest. I know it’s true. I know the numbers. I’ve seen the damage. But that doesn’t change the fact that this was never supposed to happen.
I lower my gaze, taking a moment to collect myself. “I never meant for any of this to happen. You know I’d never intentionally hurt this magazine.”
“Then why did you?” he demands.
I open my mouth to respond, but the words stick. Because deep down, I know he’s right. I did make the mistake. I should’ve dug deeper, checked further. But the story seemed so real. I was so sure.
Dean exhales, the conversation pressing down on both of us. The silence is thick, suffocating, and I feel every second of it.
“You don’t get it, do you?” He shakes his head slowly, almost pitying me. “The fact is, Sloane, you’ve crossed the line. I’m sorry, but I can’t have you as a part of this anymore.”
My heart sinks to my stomach, and for a moment, the air’s been knocked out of me.
I’ve heard the rumors before, the whispers about how Dean is ruthless when it comes to mistakes. But this… this is worse than I imagined. I thought there’d be more room to fight. More chances to prove myself.
“Let me make this right,” I say, almost pleading now. “I’ll write an exposé on this whole thing. I’ll own up to my mistake. I’ll fix this. I can fix this. But don’t throw me away because of one thing that went wrong.”
Dean’s expression softens for the briefest of moments, but it’s fleeting. “It’s too late for that, Sloane. You can’t fix this. You’ve compromised everything, and this job… It’s gone.”
His words are the final blow.
I’m just another failure.
I stand there in silence for a long moment before finally nodding sharply. There’s nothing more to say. I’ve already lost.
Dean turns away from me, sitting back down at his desk. He doesn’t even look up as I walk out the door.
And as I close it behind me, I can feel the door slamming shut on the life I thought I knew.
Shit.
The drive home is a blur. My hands grip the steering wheel so tight my knuckles are white, but I don’t feel a thing. The cold November air bites through my jacket when I step out of the car, but it doesn’t register.
My heart is too heavy, my mind too foggy.
By the time I reach my apartment, I’m on autopilot. Coat off. Bag on the chair. Laptop open. And there it is, staring back at me like a loaded gun: the article. My article. The one that just cost me my career.
I don’t even know why I opened it. Some masochistic impulse, maybe.
The headline blazes across the screen, bright and certain—my words, my careful research, my interviews, my annotations.
I scroll, scanning paragraph after paragraph.
I know every word by heart, but I reread it anyway, hunting for the mistake, the weak point, the crack in the armor—the place where it all went wrong.
Nothing looks wrong. It still reads like a good story. A great story.
That’s the worst part. If I hadn’t been tricked, it would’ve been a career-making piece. Now it’s a career-ending one.
I open the screenshots of the emails from my source, reread his promises, his “evidence,” his fake whistleblower credentials. My stomach turns. How could I have been so sure? How could I have let him fool me like this?
I shut the laptop, then open it again. Scroll. Highlight. Delete. Undo. Reread. It’s like staring at a crime scene you created yourself.
By the time I push the laptop away, my hands are trembling. My heart pounds against my ribs, every beat a reminder that I’ve thrown everything away.
My phone’s in my hand before I even think about it. The new post screen on social media glares back at me, daring me to speak, to admit what I’ve done.
My thumbs hover over the keyboard for a long time before the words finally come.
Lost it all today. Everything. Can’t believe I messed up so badly. What the hell am I supposed to do now?
I read the draft once. Twice. Three times. My finger shakes over the “post” button. Do I really want people to know? Do I want to open myself up to pity, or worse, judgment?
I hit “post” anyway. It feels like ripping off a bandage.
For a few seconds, there’s nothing. No likes, no comments, just silence. The kind of silence that makes your ears ring. My chest tightens, my eyes sting.
And then, just as I’m about to throw my phone across the room, the screen lights up with a notification.
Ivy Fletcher.
Ivy: I’m so sorry, Sloane. I know this feels like the end of the world, but I swear, this isn’t it. You’ve got this. If you need a break, you know where to find me. Coyote Glen’s always got a spot for you. You just say the word.
I stare at the message for a long moment, the words sinking in slowly. Coyote Glen.
It’s been a year since I visited, but the memory of the small town tucked away in the Pacific Northwest floods my mind. The cool air, the smell of pine, the quiet calm, a contrast to my life in the city.
I went to help Olivia. To take down Richard Stokes. And I came back a different person.
I glance at my phone again, my fingers hesitating over the screen. A deep breath leaves my lips, and I type back.
Sloane: I might take you up on that. I need to get away, Ivy. Thank you.
But I can’t just run off and hide. I can’t escape. I need to figure out a way to make this all right again.