Page 128 of Bitter Truths

“I love you both so much.” The words come out thick with tears I’m trying not to shed.

“We love you too,” Megan says fiercely. “Which is why we’re worried as hell about you getting caught up in this mess.”

“Just... be careful, okay?” Ezra’s tone turns serious. “These people have resources and power and no conscience. Don’t underestimate what they’re capable of.”

“I won’t.”

“If things go sideways, you run.”

I close my eyes, grateful beyond words for these people who chose to be my family.

“I’ll call you again soon,” I promise.

The line goes dead.

Now what?

24

WELLER

I can’t focus on a single fucking word Alexander Barrett is saying.

My hands rest flat against the polished conference table, fingers spread wide against cool mahogany. Professional. Controlled. The perfect image of an alpha conducting business. But every cell in my body hums with thoughts of her.

Barrett’s been in a mood since dawn. His VP texted in sick at five AM. No warning. No materials for her morning presentation. No backup plan. We spent three hours scrambling to piece together something passable for the board meeting, which Barrett clearly blames on “unprofessional behavior.”

“Yesterday at lunch she was fine,” he’d muttered while we reorganized presentation decks. “Strategy discussions for the merger. Not a single indication of illness.”

Now, five hours later, his jaw still twitches as he works through quarterly projections.

“...indicating a fifteen percent increase in the northeastern markets...”

I nod at appropriate intervals. Provide expected responses. But my mind stays locked on that hotel suite. The weight of Bianca’s body against my chest. The soft sounds she made when I carried her to the bathroom. How she felt small and perfectly right in my arms, trusting me to take care of her when she was boneless and sated.

How her eyes looked when we told her we had to leave.

Angry. Hurt. Then, completely blank.

Barrett’s phone pings. He checks it under the table, and his face transforms with controlled anger.

“Excuse me, gentlemen.” His voice is tight as he rises from his chair. “I need a moment to address this.”

He steps away from the table, but not far enough that we cannot hear fragments. “Resignation? Via email? Completely unacceptable.”

I exchange glances with the others. Owen raises an eyebrow, a question I understand immediately. Tristan’s expression stays neutral, but I catch the slight narrowing of his eyes. His tells are subtle but unmistakable after years of friendship. And he’s watching his father with particular intensity.

Barrett returns, face red with anger. “Rebecca has resigned, effective immediately.”

“That’s sudden,” Tristan observes, his voice carefully neutral when addressing his father.

“It’s completely unprofessional,” Barrett responds sharply. “Three years with the company and she resigns through an email? After calling in sick this morning without arranging coverage for her presentation?”

The first prickle of unease crawls up my spine. Rebecca Wells. Whitney’s friend.

One of the women who participated in our unbearable existence.

Could Bianca have confronted her? The thought should be ridiculous. Our sweet omega tracking down Whitney’s friends like some kind of avenging angel.