Cassidy
Ihave never wanted to be invisible more than I do right now.
Which says something because I quite often wish I could be invisible.
Today, though, I feel every single eye on me as I walk through the corridor, my shoes too loud against the polished floor.
Every conversation seems to quiet as I walk past, and I swear, there’s a tension following me that shouldn’t be.
I’m probably imagining it.
My hands are damp.
I wipe them against my skirt for the third time, then immediately regret it because now there might be marks on the fabric.
I look down and almost sigh in relief when I realise there aren’t.
Of course, there aren’t any. I’m being ridiculous.
I’m also only around forty seconds early, thanks to Isaac’s insistence on staying with me, but now I feel the pressure of him being gone.
Now I get to spend the time waiting and worrying about my job.
About Harlan. About his email.
The words in his email have been spinning in my stomach like a bunch of stones in a washing machine since I read them.
He knows.
He has to know.
The HR meeting. The leak. Whatever else I’ve done wrong.
Harlan knows. And he’s already angry.
My throat tightens.
Don’t cry here, Cassie. You can’t.
The door opens before I can decide whether I’m supposed to knock, my hand hovering uselessly near the handle.
A woman I’ve never met before in a navy blouse smiles at me, her badge clipped neatly to her waistband. It’s a scary kind of smile, though, not one full of warmth.
It’s the we-have-already-discussed-you-before-you-arrived kind of smile.
“Cassidy Hargrove?”
My stomach drops.
“Yes.” My voice is too bright, too high-pitched. “That’s me.”
Obviously, it’s me. I’m the only one here.
But if I’m headed to my execution, why did I say it like I was pleased about it?
“Please come with me,” she says, gesturing for me to follow her.
Her scent is muted white tea and lemongrass, and if anything, I’m grateful she’s a beta.
I don’t think I’d have been able to remain as calm if I were with Millie, the lovely omega I met last month, or even an alpha.
I step into the room she gestures to. It’s smaller than I expected, and somehow that makes my anxiety worse.
The walls are almost entirely glass, except for one white feature wall displaying the company logo in brushed silver lettering.
Bright morning sunlight pours through the windows overlooking the city below, reflecting off the polished white table in the centre of the room.
Everything is immaculate. Every surface gleams. Every chair is perfectly aligned.
It’s intimidating.
The room smells faintly of expensive coffee, fresh paper, and that lemon clean smell every floor in this building seems to have.
The round table is already occupied by three members of staff, and I go pale as the woman closes the door behind us with a soft click.
My pulse immediately jumps. I’m a lone omega trapped in a room with all these strangers, two alpha scents already pressing at the edges of my composure.
An alpha sits nearest the window. He’s broad shouldered and immaculately dressed in a charcoal suit, with dark skin, closely cropped black hair, and sharp amber brown eyes behind thin-framed glasses.
His scent carries notes of cedarwood and black tea—carefully leashed, but unmistakably alpha.
Next to him sits a beta woman with warm brown skin and a neat black bob tucked behind one ear. She looks younger than the others, dressed in a soft green blouse instead of a formal jacket.
Her scent reminds me of vanilla coffee and orange blossom, and I find myself relaxing just a little.
At the far side of the table sits another woman, this one an alpha. My stomach twists.
She’s older than the others, with silver threaded through her dark hair and piercing grey eyes that seem capable of seeing straight through every lie ever told.
Her scent is cool linen, bergamot, and something crisp beneath it that makes me want to lower my gaze.
“Please, take a seat,” the woman beside me says, gesturing toward a chair positioned slightly apart from the rest, its back facing the glass wall.
Only then do I properly look at her. She’s a beta. Tall and slim, with blonde hair pulled into a severe bun and clear blue eyes, she carries herself with the same careful professionalism as the rest of the HR department.
I move without thinking, trying my best not to look as intimidated as I feel.
I don’t think I manage.
“This is Jason, from our in-house legal team,” the beta who brought me here says, gesturing to the alpha with the glasses.
He gives me a brief nod before turning back to his computer.
“Lenor, a member of the social media team,” she continues.
The beta woman offers a small smile that looks almost sympathetic.
“And Carrie, another HR representative like me.”
The older alpha folds her hands neatly on the table, not offering me a smile like the others did.
“Thanks for introducing us, Jen,” Carrie says. “Cassidy, it’s nice to meet you, even under the circumstances.”
I flinch.
Even under the circumstances.
Every muscle in my body tightens. I duck my head, desperately trying to gather enough courage to survive whatever comes next.
I accidentally move my chair, and it makes a soft scraping sound against the floor, causing every person in the room to look at me.
Oh, fuck, I hate this.
“Would you like some water?” Carrie asks gently.
“No, thank you.”
My mouth is so dry I can barely get the words out.
I should’ve said yes.
The man with the laptop types something. Probably something along the lines of me refusing water and how that’s suspicious.
My scent shifts, strawberry cream turning sharp beneath the vanilla musk, and the second wave of panic follows it.
Too sour.
Too sharp.
Too obviously frightened.
I press my knees together beneath the table and fold my hands neatly in my lap, trying to hold every part of myself still, including my scent.
I’m professional. I can be calm. I can be useful.
Useful.
No, shit, I’m not useful.
“Cassidy,” Carrie begins, her voice gentle enough to make me want to cry immediately, “thank you for attending at short notice.”
“Of course,” I say quickly. “It’s no problem.”
The legal-looking man glances at me over the silver edge of his laptop, and I bite my inner cheek.
It is absolutely a problem.
It is, in fact, a huge problem.
“As you know, we’re conducting an internal investigation into the unauthorised disclosure of confidential Fashion Department campaign materials.”
My pulse jumps.
“Yes,” I whisper.
“This is a formal fact-finding meeting,” she continues. “You are not subject to disciplinary action at this stage.”
At this stage.
At this stage.
At this stage.
The words echo through me until I can barely hear anything else.
My fingers tighten together.
“That means I might be later?” I ask before I can stop myself.
Carrie pauses, one hand resting beside her untouched pen, and glances at Jason, who barely nods.
Barely is still doing so.
Oh, no.
Oh, fuck.
Jen leans forward slightly.
“Not necessarily,” she says. “This is all standard process, and right now, we’re just gathering facts, as Carrie said. Nobody is placing any blame as of now.”
As of now.
“Okay,” I whisper, twiddling my fingers together.
“We just need to establish a timeline and understand who had access to relevant materials,” Carrie says.
I swallow, and nod. “I did.”
All four of them look at me in confusion, and heat rushes to my face.
Did I just accidentally confess?
“I mean, I had access to everything,” I continue quickly.
“But only because I was working on parts of the campaign. Not because I accessed anything unusual or did anything underhanded with it. I mean, I don’t think I did.
I only ever opened the files Harlan sent me on my work computer and never shared anything.
I mean, Mr Mercer. Harlan Mercer. Mr Harlan Mercer.
” I stop breathing, my face heating up beyond what would be considered healthy. “Sorry. I’m a little nervous.”
The younger beta’s brows pull together.
“We can tell,” Jason says dryly. “Take your time. It’s fine.”
My scent spikes again, sweet and panicked enough to embarrass me. I wish he hadn’t said that.
Taking time feels wrong when all I’ve done is ramble.
I should stay quiet. Let them ask the questions. Not try to give information they might not even care about.
“I’m sorry,” I repeat, quieter now.
Jason makes a note.
Of course, he does.
Apologised twice now. Extremely suspicious.
“Can you walk us through your involvement with the Aurelion campaign?” Jen asks gently.
I can do that. I can. It’s an easy question. A normal question.
I can do it.
So, I explain what I do around here, answering their questions and giving them the information they need.
They ask when I first became aware of the leak and whether I’ve ever left information lying where it shouldn’t have been.
Those are easy. I can answer those.
“And has anyone outside the project ever asked you about the campaign?” Lenor asks with a raised brow.
My stomach twists, and I don’t even need to admit the truth because my scent does it for me.
“Yes,” I murmur.
“What kind of questions did they ask?” Lenor asks, exchanging a look with Carrie.
“Normal ones.”
The blonde HR rep frowns now. “Normal?”
I lick my lips, trying to fight off the dryness. If I had the courage, I’d ask for some water now.
“About how the campaign was going. Whether I was enjoying the department. Whether I was working closely with Mr Mercer.” My face heats. “Things like that.”
The typing continues, and every keystroke sounds like a nail being tapped into my coffin.
“Can you give us names?” Carrie asks.
I freeze, trying to recall anything helpful. I want to be useful. I want this to be over.
But part of me can’t help but think that naming anyone would ruin someone else’s career because I’m trying to save my own.
“I don’t know if anyone meant anything by it,” I say instead.
“We aren’t asking you to make accusations,” Jen says gently, folding her hands on the table in front of her. “Only to help us understand the environment around the campaign.”
I stare at my hands.