CHAPTER 1 #2
Another stab at my temple came as I rounded the corner, my eyes zeroing in on the boardroom.
The glass walls were elegantly frosted, a standard feature in Skoll’s executive suites—opaque but impenetrable.
Silhouettes could be seen, but no voices could be heard.
Outside the boardroom, diligent workers were hunched over their keyboards, clattering away.
Phones rang. Someone sneezed. Someone else blessed them quietly.
A muffled laugh came, one smothered by a shush.
The office felt different than it used to. Quieter, but not calmer. People moved faster now. Conversations were shorter. No one lingered at desks or stopped to chat the way they once had.
When Erik had taken over, everything had shifted.
Out with the old, in with the new. The stability his father had built…
it had disappeared almost overnight. Long-tenured department heads—many who’d been here longer than I had—had been gone within months.
In their place had come a new wave who were sharper and hungrier.
As I hurried past the compliance cubicles, a head suddenly popped up over the partition.
“Good luck with the presentation,” Bernie called quietly, flashing me a big gleeful smile and a double thumbs-up.
I gave him a grateful smile. “Thanks, Bernie.”
Of everything that had already gone wrong this morning, Bernie might’ve been the only bright spot so far.
After one last tug at my wrinkled skirt, I slipped into the boardroom, breath shallow, nerves frayed.
The room was already full. Silent, watchful.
Key members of Skoll Corp and Vulcan lined the long black lacquered table, their eyes lifting in quiet judgment as I stepped forward.
Eldritch Skoll—founder, former CEO, and father to my boss—eyed me with a steady gaze that was laced with quiet concern.
Everyone was present…but where was Erik?
As if on cue…
A smooth, sharp, unmistakable voice filtered in from the corner of the room. “Ah, Ms. Redfield. I see you’ve decided to grace us with your presence this morning.”
Scattered laughter followed.
I turned toward the voice—toward the shadows—and saw nothing but a pair of golden eyes, gleaming like a predator’s. Watching. Unblinking. Calder “Fang” Rhys—his right hand—stood next to him, just outside the edge of the light.
“My deepest apologies to everyone. I-I’ll just—”
“Yes, please,” Eldritch interjected gently, though there was an edge in his tone. “We’ve all been waiting patiently.”
Erik Skoll grinned from the shadows, baring his white, perfectly straight teeth, sharp incisors exposed.
I dropped my gaze respectfully, looking at the notch of his collarbone as my cheeks burned and the room swayed.
Working with Lycans, especially with a pack like the Skolls, was precarious at best. I’d learned to navigate it with the utmost caution.
“My apologies, everyone,” I said, clearing my throat, my hand shaking as I connected my tablet wirelessly, my palm slick with sweat.
When I saw the familiar slide of my presentation illuminate onto the holo-display behind me, I took in a final breath, forcing a smile as I regarded the room.
I began, “The future does not appear; it is carved.”
Erik’s eyes gleamed from across the room, stuttering my heart in my chest.
“R-Roads are not found; they are…they are made by those with vision and the will—no, the, the determination to press forward.”
Shit.
Forty minutes later the presentation from hell ended in a heavy silence.
No one said a word, except Eldritch. “Thank you, Blanche.”
I heard my failure in his tone.
Then, with quiet precision, an assistant stepped forward and gestured politely toward the door, beginning the slow, orderly exodus.
As they filed out, one of the men—Rupert Blaquewood III, the head of Vulcan—paused just long enough to address Erik, still half-encased in shadow. “We’ll be in touch.”
The doors closed behind them with a soft hiss.
The room was empty now, save for Erik. I heard the lingering hum of the holo-display, the harsh, unflattering light still fixed on me, exposing every wrinkle in my blouse, every drop of sweat still clinging to my forehead.
I was more a mess now than when I’d walked in.
Somehow I’d done the impossible: I’d made things worse.
There was no need for feedback. I already knew.
From the shadows, a soft flick—then the glow of a cigarette.
Erik took a long drag, the ember flaring briefly. He exhaled slowly, the smoke billowing out from the shadows into the light, like a whispered threat. He said nothing.
I stood frozen. I couldn’t see his face, couldn’t read him. That was the danger with Erik: You never knew which version would step forward.
“I—I’m really sorry,” I stammered, clumsily stumbling over an apology. “I know you were counting on me…and I know what a great opportunity this—”
He took another drag.
Held it.
Then stepped forward into the light.
“Careful, Ms. Redfield…” he said, smoke trailing from his lips. “I’m not my father.”
A beat.
“I’ll huff…and I’ll puff…and I’ll blow your dreams down.”
Then he turned and walked out, the echo of his footsteps trailing behind, leaving only smoke, silence, and a broken me.
I stood there, trying to breathe, but the air felt thin. My legs trembled. The room tilted. I felt strange and hot, like I was about to—
My knees hit the floor first, then my hands, then everything else. Cold marble pressed against my cheek. I tasted blood.
Through half-lidded eyes, I watched the smoke curl toward the ceiling like a ghost.
Then it all went dark.