39. Harlan
HARLAN
The engine cuts off the second I kill the car, and I growl lowly as another wave of it hits me.
If I didn’t love my job so much, I’d have called in sick.
Unfortunately, work doesn’t give a flying fuck about whether I’d rather throw the world’s most embarrassing tantrum about missing out on time with my mate than sit in this fucking meeting.
I drag a hand down my face, taking a slow breath through my nose.
Big mistake.
It only makes it easier to focus on the bond and Cassidy’s sweet arousal.
Fuck’s sake.
I squeeze my eyes shut for half a second. I know exactly why she’s so aroused, and I can’t help the jealousy I feel.
Not that I’m jealous of Silas getting time with her. No, it’s more resentment that I’m not there, too.
I’d left them in bed together less than an hour ago. They’d barely waited for the front door to close before the bond had lit up with enough pleasure to make concentrating on the drive here almost fucking impossible.
I’m going to be walking into this meeting with a hard-on, and a fully formed knot.
“Get a grip,” I mutter to myself, climbing out of the car. “Let her enjoy herself, for fuck’s sake.”
I slam the driver’s door a little harder than necessary before adjusting my tie and stalking towards Opus.
Professional. That’s what I need to be.
The second I step through those front doors, that’s who I have to be.
I’m not Cassidy’s mate. Not the desperate alpha wanting her. Not even a horny fucking man.
I’m the Creative Director of the Fashion Department.
I nod at the receptionist on the way through, already checking the time.
I’m late. Barely, but enough to irritate me.
The boardroom door is already open when I reach it. Hallie’s halfway through a coffee, reading something on her phone.
Orion’s leaning back in his chair with the kind of expression that suggests he’d rather be anywhere but here.
Jessie’s tapping furiously at her laptop, an intense fury about her.
A man I vaguely recognise from investor relations—Derek, I think—is standing near the screen, phone pressed to his ear.
Every pair of eyes lands on me, and I give them a nod, closing the door behind me.
“I’m here,” I say shortly, dropping into the nearest chair. “Traffic.”
It’s not like I can admit I was tearing myself away from my omega.
Hallie doesn’t comment on it, which is very unlike her. She simply locks her phone, putting it down onto the table, before looking directly at me.
“We’ve got a problem,” she says.
I snort, rolling my eyes. “Join the fucking club. We’re two weeks away from launch. Of course, we’ve got problems.”
“No, Harlan. This is serious.”
Something in her voice has every muscle in my body tightening, and I glance around the table with precision.
“Visaro’s newest campaign went live twenty minutes ago,” she says, gesturing to Jessie, who puts a very familiar image on the screen. “For Aurelion’s competitor—Haecie.”
I frown, shaking my head. “No, that makes no sense. They weren’t meant to be launching until early next month, like us.”
Without saying a word, Jessie flicks to the next image, and I stare at the screen in horror.
The room falls silent, and based on Orion’s reactions, I’m not the only one just finding this out.
Shown on the screen is a copy of every single piece of work we’ve put into place for Aurelion’s Amplify campaign.
Our layouts. Our copy. Our concepts… this is our entire fucking campaign.
And it’s already live?
Stolen?
This isn’t a fucking leak anymore. This is a fucking massacre.
Nobody speaks, not at first, then everyone does.
At least, Orion, Derek, and myself.
“What the fuck?”
“How is that even possible?”
“They’ve copied our fucking social media posts,” Orion snarls. “Stolen my model’s fucking poses.”
“They’ve copied everything,” Hallie admits with a heavy sigh.
Jessie’s already typing before the questions have even finished leaving everyone’s mouths, her fingers flying across the keyboard. “It’s not just that they’ve launched. They’re trending. Every fashion account is sharing their plans, and even worse, is they’ve got more than one post viral.”
“Pull it up,” I bark.
She doesn’t hesitate, and I’m appreciative that she’s another alpha and doesn’t falter under my command.
Post after post is shared across the screen, and every time she flips to the next one, my stomach drops more.
The oversized silhouettes. The muted palette we’d spent months refining. The campaign slogan we’d fought over for nearly three weeks.
Even the sequencing of the promotional images feels familiar enough that my jaw locks.
No. It’s not familiar.
It’s fucking identical.
My pulse is hammering, rage building, as I try my fucking best to stay in control.
“They’ve got access to the full campaign,” Derek snarls.
Hallie nods once. “We think so.”
“Think?” I hiss. “What other fucking proof do you need?”
She lets out a slow breath. “We’re still trying to establish how much, but from the preliminary information, yes. They have nearly everything.”
Orion scrubs both hands over his face. “Someone’s sold us out, then.”
“Or we’ve been hacked,” Derek says, finally ending his call. “IT are already investigating it. This is… you’ve already had some leaks, but this goes beyond that.”
I shove back from the table, pacing back and forth.
Think, Harlan, think.
“Legal,” I snap.
“Already contacted and working with HR,” Hallie replies.
“Investors?”
“Derek’s going to be handling them,” she says, nodding to the other alpha who snarls lowly.
“PR?”
Jessie finally looks up from her laptop. “Drafting a holding statement now, and we’ll be releasing it as soon as we get the approval.”
“Execs are informed, and I think they’ll be hauling us all in as soon as they’ve got a plan of attack,” Hallie continues. “They’re not impressed, especially since their—”
“What?” I snap as she cuts herself off. “What are they not impressed with?”
“Their omega, Emmeline, is apparently going to be coming in when she’s meant to be on maternity leave.”
“And we give a fuck about that right now, why?” I demand, and she doesn’t cower, just raises a brow.
Every answer only creates another problem. If the campaign’s already live, our launch loses its impact.
If we delay, we look weak, and it’s going to cause major issues with Aurelion.
If we continue as planned, we look like the thieves.
Months of work.
Entire fucking departments.
Budgets. Shoots.
Late nights.
All of it ripped apart before we’ve even had the chance to unveil it.
Powerlessness sits heavy in my gut.
Fuck.
I don’t know what to do with this fury.
I fucking hate the cunts that have fucked me, my team, hell, my fucking mate, over this.
I want someone to blame.
I want a list of names I can punish.
I want the person, or people, responsible dragged into this room so I can ask them whether destroying all of this work was worth whatever they’d been paid.
Instead, we know fucking nothing.
Over the noise, over the panic clawing at the room, one thought cuts through everything else with startling clarity.
I need Cassidy.
The realisation lands so hard I actually stop moving, glancing at where my phone lays on the table.
Not because she’d know how to fix this. She wouldn’t.
Not because I need another opinion. I don’t.
I need her because she’s the only person who makes all this shit go quiet.
The only one who can remind me that the world’s still turning outside this fucking boardroom.
“I’ll be back,” I say abruptly, grabbing my phone from the table on my way out.
Nobody argues. It wouldn’t be worth their lives to do so.
I step into the corridor before anyone can ask where I’m going, the door clicking shut behind me.
The silence out here should help.
It doesn’t.
If anything, it’s worse.
My hand’s already typing her number into my phone before I’ve consciously made the decision to call her.
The bond hums beneath my skin.
Warm. Steady. Alive.
She’s so content. So warm. So… loved.
Thank fuck.
I press the call button, and the line begins to ring.
I need to hear her voice. Need the sound of her breathing, even through a phone, to temper me.
My perfect little luxury is the only thing in this world that makes any fucking sense right now.
EVANDER
The Fashion floor smells like stale coffee, stress, and impending homicide.
Probably in that order.
I dodge around two assistants practically jogging between departments, both clutching garment bags like they’re carrying their mother’s fucking ashes, before stepping out of the lift.
Nobody looks happy.
Normally, this place buzzes with a frenetic energy, a lively energy.
Today, it’s still buzzing with energy, but it feels completely different.
Dread.
Unease.
Anxiety.
As I look around the room, the behaviour makes me concerned for Cassidy.
The staff are all kind of terrified. Everyone seems to be keeping their heads down because they know one wrong sentence could make somebody snap.
Shit.
I knew the campaign leak had been bad. I hadn’t realised it was this bad.
Someone from Marketing brushes past me without so much as a hello, muttering about revised deadlines under their breath.
Another member of staff nearly walks into a mannequin because they’re too busy staring at the emails on their phone.
The whole floor feels like it’s forgotten how to breathe, like they don’t remember an entire world exists outside of this.
My jaw tightens as I scan the room for the only person I want to see.
She’s not here at all.
I stride down her corridor, gently knocking on her office door, before letting myself inside.
I find her almost immediately, although where she’s sitting is a surprise.
Today, she’s tucked behind her desk, shoulders curled forward, eyes fixed on the mood boards scattered across the surface.
Even from halfway across the room, I can see her red-rimmed eyes, the tears welled up in them, showing she’s been crying for more than I’d like.
Which is no time at all.
Her fingers hover above the keyboard as if she’s debating on doing something, but her mind isn’t present.
She’s chewing the inside of her cheek, something she only does when she’s properly anxious. She’s not even looked up at my entrance.