Chapter 10 Korgan #3
They're trying to destroy her. Methodically. Professionally. For money and screen time.
I find Trinity in her dressing room, staring at her phone with hollow eyes.
"They're fake," I say without preamble. "All of it. Coordinated attack from Vanessa's agent and a producer named Garrett."
Her head snaps up. "What?"
I show her the photographs from Derek's phone. Watch her face cycle through shock, anger, betrayal.
"That absolute—he's paying people to ruin my business?"
"And getting a producer's help to do it."
"Why? What did I do to them?"
"You're winning. Authentically. Without manipulation or influence campaigns. That makes you dangerous to people who've built careers on controlling narratives."
She stands, pacing now, energy radiating off her in waves. "We have to expose them. Show everyone what they're doing."
"We will. But carefully. Right now, they don't know we know. That's our advantage."
"So what do we do?"
"We gather more evidence. Document everything. Then we go public in a way they can't spin or bury."
"How long will that take?"
"A few days. Maybe less."
She stops pacing, looks at me directly. "I can't wait a few days. My bakery can't afford it. Every hour this stays up, I lose customers, lose trust."
She's right. I know she's right. But rushing this, going public without airtight proof, could backfire catastrophically.
"Trinity—"
"No." Her voice is steel. "I'm not letting them destroy what I've built. Not for ratings. Not for anyone."
The determination in her face reminds me why I'm doing any of this. Why I'm risking exile, family, everything.
"Then we'll do it your way," I say. "But we do it smart."
"Agreed."
We spend the next hour strategizing. Trinity contacts a lawyer friend, starts building a case. I reach out to a few crew members I trust, people who've seen things, heard things, who might be willing to speak up if it comes to it.
By late afternoon, we have something resembling a plan.
And then my phone rings. Uncle Drogar again.
"Nephew. Hope I'm not interrupting."
"What do you want?"
"Just checking in. Making sure you're being sensible. Making good choices."
"Define good."
"The kind that don't end with you exiled and shamed."
I look at Trinity, organizing documents, preparing for war. Beautiful. Fierce. Worth every risk.
"I'm making the right choices."
"That's not what I asked."
"It's the answer you're getting."
Silence. Then: "The Circle convenes in two days. They expect your answer. Will you withdraw from the show, end this human entanglement, and return to the clan?"
Trinity's watching me now. She can't hear the conversation, but she knows. She always knows.
"No," I say.
"Korgan—"
"I'm not withdrawing. I'm not ending anything. If the Circle wants to exile me for choosing my own path, for building something real with someone who matters, then let them."
"You're choosing a human over your people."
"I'm choosing myself. For the first time in my life, I'm choosing what I want instead of what tradition demands."
"They'll destroy you."
"They can try."
I hang up. Trinity's still watching me.
"That sounded final."
"It was." I cross the room, take her hands. "My clan wants me to walk away. From you, from this show, from everything. They're threatening exile."
"Korgan, you can't, your family—"
"Chose their traditions over me a long time ago. I'm just returning the favor."
"Don't do this because of me. Don't throw away your entire culture—"
"I'm not throwing it away. I'm redefining it. On my terms."
She's crying now, silent tears tracking through her makeup. I wipe them away with my thumbs.
"We're going to expose them," I say. "We're going to protect your bakery. And then I'm going to stand in front of cameras and tell my people, tell everyone, that I choose you. Publicly. Irrevocably."
"That's insane."
"Probably."
"They'll never forgive you."
"Don't need their forgiveness. Just yours."
She laughs through the tears. "You're the worst at romantic speeches."
"I'm working on it."
She kisses me then, fierce and claiming, tasting like salt and determination and something that might be hope.
When we break apart, she says: "Let's burn their world down."
"Together."
"There is one loose end," I say, glancing toward the parking lot.
"Brunhilde."
"The woman with the battle-axe?"
"She is waiting for a combat date."
Trinity smiles, though her eyes are tired.
"Go. Let her down easy. Or honorably. Whatever orcs do."
I leave Trinity organizing the evidence and head back to the parking lot.
Brunhilde is leaning against her rental SUV, sharpening the blade of her axe with a whetstone. She looks up as I approach, her grin wide and tusks gleaming.
"Done with duty? Ready for battle?"
"The battle is here," I tell her.
"But my partner has already been chosen."
Brunhilde pauses, the whetstone stilling against the steel. She studies my face, looking for hesitation. She finds none.
"The baker," she states.
"The baker." She snorts, then sheathes the axe with a sharp click.
"A warrior fights for who he chooses. If she is worth defying the Circle for, she must have a strong spirit."
"She does."
"Good." Brunhilde climbs into the SUV.
"I’ll tell your aunt you were rude, stubborn, and completely unsuited for me. It will save us both the headache."
"I owe you a debt."
"Send cupcakes. The chocolate ones." She revs the engine.
"Die well, Korgan." It is the standard orcish farewell.
I watch her drive off, one problem solved.
Now for the rest of them.