Chapter 260
“So,” Whitney said, crossing her arms. “Did you buy your way in? Or did you sleep your way in?”
The hallway went silent.
I met her gaze. I felt calm. I had faced FBI agents, syndicate enforcers, and Liam Kensington. A jealous trainee was nothing.
“Yes,” I said.
Whitney blinked. “What?”
“I walked through the back door,” I said, my voice clear and carrying down the hall. “And the door was held open for me by the owner of the company.”
The admission landed harder than any denial. It gutted the insult by owning it.
“Because I can,” I added.
Whitney’s face flushed red. She opened her mouth to retort, but nothing came out. She was used to girls crying or scrambling for excuses. She wasn’t used to this.
I gripped my suitcase and walked past her toward my room. I didn’t veer. Whitney had to jump back to avoid being clipped. I dragged the heavy suitcase right over the toe of her expensive sneaker.
“Ow!” Whitney yelped.
“Apologies,” I said without looking back. “I didn’t see you there. You blend in with the floor.”
I entered my suite and closed the door.
As soon as the latch clicked, I leaned against the wood and exhaled. My heart was beating faster than I’d let on.
I heard them outside.
“What a bitch!”
“Who does she think she is?”
“We need to teach her a lesson.”
I pushed off the door and inspected the room. Paranoia was a habit now. I checked the vents, the smoke detector, the back of the TV. I found nothing, but I assumed there were cameras anyway.
I unpacked quickly. I didn’t have my usual tech, but I had my instincts. I checked the underside of the desk and the rim of the lampshade. Sure enough, a tiny pinhead microphone was embedded in the bedside lamp.
Julian was listening.
𝘛𝘩i𝗌 s𝘁𝗈𝘳𝘺 𝗯𝖾𝗅𝗼𝗇𝗀ѕ 𝗍о 𝗯𝗲𝘭n𝘰𝗏𝗲𝗅ѕ.𝗰o𝗆
I left it there. If he wanted a show, I’d give him one.
A loud knock hammered on my door.
I opened it. A tall, muscular guy stood there—Miles, the male trainee leader I’d seen earlier.
“Listen,” he said, his face serious. “I don’t care who you know. Tomorrow is evaluation day. If you drag the team down, we all suffer. Stay out of the way.”
“I plan to be in front,” I said.
I closed the door in his face.
The dinner bell rang—a harsh electronic buzz.
I went to the cafeteria. It was a loud, chaotic mess of clattering trays and shouting. As soon as I entered, the noise dropped by half.
I got my food: a scoop of brown mush and some wilted salad. I walked between the tables. No one made eye contact, but I felt their stares on my back.
I sat at an empty table in the corner.
I ate alone. Back straight. Elbows off the table. I ate with the manners of a queen in exile.
“I heard Whitney is going to put glue in her shoes,” a whisper drifted from the table behind me.
“Or cut her costumes,” another voice giggled.
I finished my meal. I stood and walked to the trash can, passing their table. I stopped.
I looked down at the girls who’d been whispering. They froze, forks halfway to their mouths.
.