Harlan
The worst part about fighting with Silas isn’t the bruises.
Even though there’s fucking plenty of those.
It’s that he’s usually right.
Or at least right enough to still be infuriating the morning after.
I wake up before my alarm goes off, tangled in hot sheets, my scent sour in the air, with a splitting headache and a throbbing ache along my ribs.
For a few blissful seconds, I have no idea why. Then I roll onto my side, my glands pulling tight, and immediately regret it.
“Fucking cunt,” I hiss. The memory arrives all at once, and I’m ready to pound my brother again.
He kissed Cassidy, got her scent on his skin, and somehow, my entire fucking world became the problem.
Bastard.
We argued. Our scents spiked. It got physical.
I don’t know who threw the first punch… or the last.
I stare at the ceiling for a long moment, wishing I could go back to the part where I was unconscious.
Unfortunately, life rarely gives me what I want. Particularly when Cassidy Hargrove is involved.
Silas pissed me off last night. Not because he kissed her, but because he came here to fucking brag about it.
Wanted to share how soft her lips were, like I hadn’t already been punishing myself for wondering.
How delicious she smelled when her scent broke sweet for him.
What she sounded like when she fucking came for him.
He’s a fucking cunt, and I regret not making him hurt more.
I drag a hand down my face, stubble scraping my palm, and sit up carefully. Every muscle in my body protests.
Good.
I deserve it.
It’s well past nine, which explains why I feel almost human, despite last night.
The house is quiet as I leave my bedroom, though coffee reaches me before the kitchen does, sharp beneath the lingering bite of Silas’s scent.
Of course, the bastard had to beat me awake. He’s just taking every fucking win around here these days.
Unsurprisingly, Silas is sitting at my kitchen table like he owns the fucking place, bare chest bruised, dark hair still a mess, his black tea and fig scent too strong for my throbbing head.
He’s got a mug of coffee in front of him and a bacon sandwich.
I look at the bench, at the crumbs scattered across the chopping board, and note that there’s not one for me.
Greedy fuck.
He’s not bothered putting a shirt on, and I can see the bruise on his hip. Another bruise darkens his jaw.
If only it was his fucking nose.
He glances up as I enter, his dark eyes dragging over my face before his nostrils flare, and he smirks at me. He focuses on my split lip, and I scowl back at him.
Neither of us comments on the state of the other. It would defeat the game if we did.
“Morning,” he says a little too brightly.
I stare at him. “Fuck off.”
He smirks. “Feeling rough this morning, old man?”
“You’re one to talk,” I say, moving over to pour myself a cup of coffee. “You hit like an old man.”
He laughs, shaking his head. “Well, we’re both old. Let’s just agree on that.”
I bark out a laugh and add some milk to my coffee. Silas’s is blacker than his soul, so he’s clearly been up most of the night.
“You’re still here,” I say, raising a brow.
“Didn’t feel right leaving.”
Something in my chest tightens, my scent threatening to sour before I force it down with a huff of air.
We’re not yet on the same page about Cassidy.
Fucking hell.
Everything always comes back to her.
The kitchen falls quiet again, both our scents settling into something bitter and unsaid, and I watch my fat fuck of a brother take a big bite of his sandwich like it’s his last fucking meal.
We’ve got nothing more to say about last night’s fight that changed absolutely nothing.
Except it did.
It changed everything.
My phone vibrates against the kitchen counter. Neither of us pays it any attention.
Not this morning, anyway.
Most days, it’s a client. Or a stylist begging for help, or some idiot deciding their emergency is my emergency.
I have other things to handle right now.
But the stupid thing keeps vibrating. Again and again.
What the fuck?
Silas raises an eyebrow. “You planning on answering that?”
“No.”
“Then do us both a favour and silence the fucking thing,” Silas snaps just as the phone vibrates again.
“Persistent little fucker,” I hiss, and he laughs.
Growling under my breath, I grab it. My irritation lasts exactly three seconds when I see the influx of messages.
Isaac
I don’t know where the fuck you lot are, but we’ve got a situation here.
Isaac
Cassie’s been brought in for a meeting with HR.
Isaac
About the leak in your department, Harlan.
Isaac
She’s, of course, convinced herself she’s getting fired for leaking shit she had no idea how to leak.
Isaac
But I’ve tried to talk her down from it.
Isaac
Where the fuck are you all?
Evander
I’m in a meeting.
Evander
Give me ten, and I can get out of it.
Isaac
Hurry up, then.
I frown at the thread, looking over to Silas.
“Check your phone,” I demand, and he nods, disappearing into the living room.
I close off the text chain and move to my emails, just to see if I’ve been given any warning.
Any fucking information.
Who the fuck decided Cassidy was the perfect scapegoat? Who thought they could corner my fucking om—staff in a room full of strangers without my permission?
The one fucking morning I sleep in, they decide to pull shit like this.
Oh, they’re going to fucking regret it.
Subject: Formal Investigation—Fashion Department Leak
Every muscle in my body locks, my glands aching beneath my skin, and I’m furious.
Silas notices the moment he comes back in the room. “You had no idea?”
I shake my head, and he lets out a curse.
I open the email from HR, and it’s not as bad as it seems, but it’s not fucking good either.
They’re conducting a formal investigation into the leaks we’ve been facing, and they’re starting with mandatory interviews.
The issue is that they’ve received a tip about who the leak could be coming from, and based on the fact that Cassidy has a meeting this morning, it doesn’t take a fucking genius to put two and two together.
Fucking idiots.
Wasting their time, department resources, and my goodwill by harassing the least likely suspect.
“They’re fucking idiots,” I snarl, the words coming out rough enough that Silas’s gaze snaps to mine. “Do they really think Cassidy would ever?”
My jaw tightens enough that I might crack a fucking tooth.
“Harlan.”
Silas’s voice is sharp, and I look up in fury.
“What the fuck is going on? I can only see the messages from Isaac and Evander.”
I toss my phone across the room, over the kitchen island, and he catches it one-handed.
I down my coffee, wincing a little as it burns my throat, but I don’t give a fuck.
I don’t have time to wait for it to cool down. We need to get to the office before Cassidy crawls into her own head and convinces herself they’re coming after her.
“Well, I understand your anger,” Silas says with a shake of his head. “They’re barking up the wrong tree. The only rule Cassie is in danger of breaking is the maximum working hours.”
I snort, but I can’t hold onto my humour.
“Cassidy Hargrove did not leak that campaign,” I bite out. “So, why the fuck do they think she did?”
Silas studies me before smirking. “I needn’t have bothered coming over last night to kick the truth into you, did I?”
I bare my teeth at him, and he laughs.
“Fuck off,” I hiss, and he two-finger salutes me. “Get dressed. We’re leaving in ten.”
“Make sure you email her so she knows to come and see you after,” Silas says, tossing my phone back at me, his annoyance sharpening beneath the black tea and fig. “Knowing Cassie, she’ll hide, internalise this shit, and decide being quiet is the same as being good.”
“Not if I have anything to do with it,” I snarl, typing an email to Cassidy as fast as my fingers will let me.
Thank fuck for autocorrect.
I open the group chat with Isaac and Evander, ignoring the messages I’ve already missed.
Harlan
Si and I will be at Opus in twenty.
Harlan
Meeting in Room Seven.
Isaac
Will get it booked. See you soon.
Evander
I think Harlan would happily rip anyone in it out by their head if it would give him the room.
Harlan
Don’t fuck around.
I’m furious with the entire fucking staff at Opus at the moment. An entire building full of people, and yet, not one fucking working brain cell between the lot of them.
If somebody is trying to hurt Cassidy Hargrove, they’re about to learn exactly how fucking bad a day can get.
I meet Silas on the stairs, as he’s buttoning a dark shirt over fresh bruises, damp hair pushed back from his face, and scent neutraliser already dulling the edges of him.
“You really took the fucking time to shower?” I hiss.
He raises a brow at me. “You might be willing to show up smelling like last night’s bad decisions, but I have a mate that I don’t want to disappoint.”
I sneer at him, shoulder-checking past him as I stride to the kitchen to grab my car keys.
Am I fuck wasting time arguing with my brother when I’ve got an entire fucking building’s worth of people to get in line.
I can’t wrap my head around this stupid decision.
Cassidy would apologise to the biscuit before taking it, even if she were fucking starving.
The idea she’d leak confidential campaign information is laughable.
My phone buzzes, and I practically slam my thumb through the screen when I see Cassidy’s name.
She’s replied to my email.
Yes, sir.
That’s it. No complaint. No question. Nothing but the bare minimum from a girl who usually apologises for breathing wrong and still somehow makes it sound sweet.
Fuck.
This is my fault. I’ve spent the last week pushing her away, too scared of my own inability to control myself around her… and now I’ve fucked it.
“What now?” Silas asks, wearing a pair of my shoes.
Fucking thief.
We’re not the same size in clothes, thank fuck, but shoes are another matter entirely.
My brother would much rather raid my wardrobe than waste his time shopping for himself.
I pass him my phone and gesture for him to get out of the way so we can leave.
As I lock the front door, he goes tense.
“That’s all she sent?” he asks.