Chapter 9 Trinity #3
"I was cruel. And a coward." He turns to face me fully. "I've spent years rebuilding my reputation, trying to prove orcs aren't the monsters humans think we are. When that video leaked, I panicked. All I could see was everything I've worked for collapsing."
"And blaming me seemed easier than facing the trolls together."
"Yes." The admission costs him. "But watching you tonight, seeing how you handled Webb and then turned this situation around..." He shakes his head. "You're braver than any soldier I've known."
"I'm terrified."
"That's what makes it brave."
I lean my forehead against his chest, feeling his heartbeat through the thin fabric of his shirt. "My loan officer emailed during the livestream. She wants a meeting tomorrow to 'discuss concerns about my public image.'"
His arms come around me, solid and sure. "What will you tell her?"
"The truth. That I'm exactly who I've always been, and if that's not good enough for the bank, I'll find another way."
"You could lose the bakery."
"I could lose you." The words slip out before I can stop them. "That seems worse."
He pulls back to look at me, amber eyes searching. "You barely know me."
"I know you're kind to people who don't expect it.
I know you take dishwashing seriously because you believe in doing things right.
I know you listen when people talk, really listen, instead of just waiting for your turn to speak.
" I reach up to trace the line of his jaw.
"I know that when you hold me, I feel safer than I have in years. And I know that's worth fighting for."
"Trinity—"
"I'm not asking for promises. I'm not asking you to choose me over your political obligations or your people's respect.
" I meet his gaze steadily. "I'm just saying that whatever happens with the bank, with the show, with the trolls and the media circus, I'm not walking away from this because it got complicated. "
He kisses me then, deep and slow, tasting like honey and certainty. He rests his forehead against mine.
"My people have a tradition," he murmurs. "When an orc finds something worth keeping, they mark it. A scar, usually. Something permanent to show the world this matters."
"Are you offering to scar me? Because that seems like a hard sell."
His laugh rumbles through both of us. "No. But I want to give you something. A promise that I'm in this too, complications and all."
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small brass bead,the same kind woven through his hair.
"It's not much," he says, almost shy. "But in orc culture, when you give someone a piece of yourself, you're claiming them. Protecting them. It means whatever fights come, we face them together."
I hold out my hand, watching as he places the bead in my palm. It's warm from his body heat, etched with tiny unknown symbols.
"What do they mean?"
"This one is for strength. This for loyalty. And this..." He traces the smallest symbol. "This means chosen. Not assigned by fate or duty, but selected. Wanted."
My throat tightens. "Chosen."
"By me. If you'll have it."
Instead of answering, I reach up and work the bead into a small section of my hair, weaving it tight the way I've seen in his braids. It sits just behind my ear, visible but not ostentatious.
"How's that?"
His expression does something that makes my stomach flip. "Perfect. You're perfect."
"Liar. I'm covered in flour and my hair's a disaster."
"You're covered in flour because you were brave enough to livestream our truth to thousands of strangers. Your hair's a disaster because you've been working hard all day, creating something beautiful." He cups my face in his hands. "That's not perfection. It's something better. It's real."
The kitchen door swings open, making us jump apart. A production assistant, the nervous one who always apologizes for existing, freezes when she sees us.
"Sorry! So sorry! I didn't mean to interrupt, I was just—Webb sent me to find you, Trinity. He wants to talk about tomorrow's filming schedule."
"Tell Webb I'm busy."
"But he said it's important—"
"Then he can wait." I don't soften my tone. "I'll find him when I'm ready."
She flees, and Korgan grins. "That was satisfying to watch."
"I'm done letting him control the narrative." I start loading dirty towels into the laundry basket. "If he wants to talk scheduling, he can do it during normal business hours. Not when he's trying to catch me off-guard."
"You think he'll retaliate?"
"Probably. But I have three thousand new Instagram followers who just watched us make bread and be normal together. He pushes too hard, I'll livestream that too."
"You've gotten strategic."
"I learned from the best." I hip-check him gently. "You're not the only one who can think tactically."
We finish cleaning, and I'm surprised to find it's after midnight. The adrenaline from the livestream is wearing off, leaving exhaustion in its wake.
"I should let you sleep," Korgan says, but makes no move to leave.
"You should. But I'm not tired." A lie, but a comfortable one.
"Neither am I." He leans against the counter. "Tell me about your bakery. The real story, not the version for cameras."
So I do. I tell him about the building that used to be a hardware store, about spending six months renovating it myself because I couldn't afford contractors.
About the day I opened and only three people came, and one of them was Maya feeling sorry for me.
About the regular who orders the same cranberry scone every Tuesday and leaves a ten-dollar tip on a three-dollar pastry because his late wife used to make them.
"It sounds like home," he says when I finish.
"It is. More than anywhere else I've lived."
"And you'd risk losing it. For this. For us."
I think about lying, about softening the truth into something less terrifying. But we're past that now.
"Yes."
He takes a long moment, processing. "My brother died in a skirmish near the border. Webb was there, covering it for some human news outlet. He promised to tell the truth about what happened, that my brother was defending human settlers from raiders, not attacking them."
"But he didn't."
"He wrote that my brother's unit instigated the conflict. That we were testing human defenses, looking for weaknesses." Korgan's jaw tightens. "The article set off riots. Three orc settlements burned. My brother's name became a slur."
"That's why you don't trust him."
"That's why I don't trust any of this. The cameras, the editing, the narrative they want to sell." He looks at me. "But you're teaching me that not every human is Webb. That some people mean what they say."
"Even flour-covered bakers with failing businesses?"
"Especially them."
I take his hand, threading our fingers together. The brass bead in my hair catches the kitchen light.
"Tomorrow's going to be a mess," I say. "The bank meeting, Webb trying to manipulate the next episode, probably more trolls crawling out of the internet to tell me I'm ruining civilization."
"Probably."
"And you'll be dealing with your own people questioning why you're courting a human on television instead of finding a nice orc girl through proper channels."
"Already getting messages about that, actually."
"So we're both walking into a storm."
He lifts our joined hands, pressing a kiss to my knuckles. "Then we'd better walk together."
"Together," I repeat, testing how it feels.
It feels like chosen. Like real. Like something worth fighting for, even when fighting feels impossible.
When Korgan finally leaves, with strict instructions from a passing PA about fraternization rules, I touch the brass bead in my hair and smile. Let Webb scheme. Let the bank question my judgment. Let the internet have its opinions.
I've been chosen by an orc who takes dishwashing seriously and handles bread dough like it matters. Who defended me to thousands of strangers and gave me a piece of himself to carry.
Whatever comes next, I'm not facing it alone anymore.
And that's worth every risk.