Page 129 of Bitter Truths

Except she’s alluded to what she’s capable of when someone threatens her.

“Maybe the illness is serious,” Freddie offers.

Barrett doesn’t respond. His expression darkens further, jaw clenching as he grips the table edge. He looks like he wants to strangle Rebecca with his bare hands.

The meeting continues for another twenty minutes before Barrett finally concedes defeat, too distracted by her sudden departure to maintain focus on quarterly projections.

“This meeting is done,” he says, gathering documents. “I need to go do damage control.”

The moment Barrett exits, Owen leans forward. “Okay, am I the only one who thinks this is fucking weird?”

Tristan doesn’t respond verbally. Instead, he immediately pulls out his laptop and begins typing rapidly.

“What are you doing?” Freddie asks.

“Checking on Rebecca,” Tristan replies, eyes fixed on his screen. “She bolts right after we tell Bianca what they did to us? That’s not coincidence.”

My heart rate spikes. So I’m not the only one making that connection.

“You don’t seriously think...” Freddie starts, then trails off.

“I’m not thinking anything yet,” Tristan says, fingers flying across keys. “Just doing what I do best. Sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong.”

“And how exactly are you doing that?” I ask, moving closer to see his screen.

Tristan glances up with a sharp smile. “You forget what I can do with computers.”

I stand behind him as multiple screens appear. Security protocols, authentication credentials, firewalls being methodically dismantled.

“Wait, I have something better,” Tristan says, clicking through folders. “Remember last year when I found out my father was sleeping with Rebecca?”

“Hard to forget,” Owen says, leaning closer. “You were ready to destroy him over it.”

“I got access to her doorbell camera,” Tristan continues, pulling up a new window. “Needed to see how often he was visiting. Wanted proof for my mother, but never showed her. Never deleted the connection either.”

“Shit,” Freddie whispers.

“Here we go,” Tristan says. He scrolls through footage. “This is from yesterday afternoon.”

The screen flickers to life. Seconds tick by in silence, broken only by our collective breathing. Then a figure appears at the edge of the frame. Black clothes, blonde hair, familiar in a way that makes my throat close up.

The massive bouquet should look innocent. Instead, watching her carry it feels like watching someone deliver a funeral arrangement to the living.

“Holy shit,” Owen breathes. “Is that...”

My throat closes up completely. Because there she is.

“Bianca,” I manage.

On screen, she rings the bell. Katie answers, looking confused and then elated. The camera doesn’t capture audio, but we can see Katie doesn’t recognize Bianca at first. They exchange words, and then Katie steps aside, inviting Bianca inside without hesitation.

“Fuck,” Freddie whispers.

None of us say anything for a beat.

Owen’s frozen in that dangerous way that makes people cross streets. Freddie won’t stop running his hands through his hair… his scent’s gone all wrong, stress bleeding through the usual warmth. And Tristan’s just staring at the screen like Christmas came early.

We’re feeding off each other’s emotions, pack instincts amplifying until the conference room reeks of alpha aggression with nowhere to go.