Chapter 142: Madeline
I freeze. Completely.
My brain blanks out like someone just wiped it clean.
What am I supposed to say? That yeah, maybe I did have offers from other labs—real ones, big ones—but none of them were far enough from the nightmare I was trying to outrun? That I didn’t care about the prestige, I just wanted distance? That every passing day, my ex got angrier, more volatile, until I couldn’t breathe without feeling like I was next on the list of things he’d break?
No. No. I can’t say that.
So I take a shaky breath, try to steady my voice. “I—applied to a lot of places,” I start, forcing myself to meet Sloane’s eyes. “And SWMRI was the only one that offered actual boat experience. Most of the other openings were lab-based.”
It’s the truth. Maybe not the whole truth, but it’s the part I can live with right now.
“I specialize in cetology,” I continue, my fingers tightening around the coffee mug in front of me. “Not just microbiology. I didn’t want to stay behind glass forever. I wanted to be with the whales—on the water, collecting data, doing fieldwork. And where else would that be but here?”
I give a weak shrug. “Northhaven was the best option for me.”
For a heartbeat, I think maybe that’s enough. Maybe she’ll stop. Because it's true; Northhaven was the best option for me. For work and for safety.
But Sloane scoffs, low and cruel. “How convenient.” Her eyes narrow into slits. “You’ve always got an answer ready, don’t you? You seem like a little liar, Madeline. The kind that hides things and plays innocent while manipulating everyone around her.”
The words hit like a slap.
I open my mouth, but before I can get a single word out—
“Okay, enough.”
Charlie’s voice booms across the table, sharp enough to cut glass. Everyone jerks toward her, stunned.
She’s standing now, palms flat on the table, eyes blazing. “Are you fucking serious right now?”
The room goes dead quiet. Even the coffee pot seems to stop dripping.
“In a field where it’s all men,” Charlie says, her voice rising, shaking with anger, “we’ve got three women in this whole team—and you want to attack one of them?”
Sloane blinks, taken aback, but Charlie barrels on, relentless. “How many female captains have you met in your life, huh? Huh?”
Sloane doesn’t answer.
Charlie slams her hand against the table, making the coffee cups rattle. “Exactly! You know how rare this is! And instead of being proud of that, you’re tearing one of us down!”
She gestures wildly between her and me, her hair swaying, her energy wild and unstoppable. “I was in university and I saw the science departments, I know how it is—it’s men everywhere. Men on boats, men in labs, men running the research centers. And this company?” She points at the twins without even looking at them. “Owned by two men—no offense.”
In sync, Jake and Reid say, smirking faintly. “None taken.”
“Right,” Charlie says, spinning back to Sloane, her voice shaking now—not from fear, but sheer fury. “So when they hire a woman captain, everyone claps, amazing, go girl! And good for you, I am happy for you. But when they hire a woman biologist, it’s suddenly suspicious? Weird?” She throws her arms up. “You seriously look at another woman, who’s good at her job, who’s happy to be here, and your first thought is—what? That she’s lying? That she’s scheming? That’s bullshit!”
Her chest is heaving now, and for a moment, she looks terrifying. Like Jake or Reid when they’re seconds from snapping—but louder, rawer, almost feral.
“I don’t care what your reasons are,” she says, her voice dropping low, deadly calm now. “This is not how women should treat each other.”
Silence falls again.
No one moves. No one breathes.
Finn looks like he’s watching a bomb that just went off. Liam is halfway between awe and terror. The twins are both smirking now—not mocking, but proud.
And me? My throat burns. My vision blurs.
Because Charlie’s right. Every word of it. About women, about this field, about everything. But also because she knows—she knows—why I really came here. That I needed somewhere quiet, somewhere far, somewhere safe. And without saying a word, she just protected that secret. Protected me.
Sloane looks… stunned. Like someone just took a mirror to her face and showed her something she didn’t want to see.
She doesn’t say a word.
And for once, I don’t either. I just sit there, blinking back tears, watching my friend—the loud, bright, sunshine girl—stand between me and a storm like it’s nothing.
Charlie sits back down slowly, cheeks still flushed, arms crossed tight over her chest. The fire’s still in her eyes, but she looks like she’s daring anyone to challenge her now.
For a few seconds, no one breathes. Then she mutters, low but pointed, “Feminism’s going backwards, I swear to God.”
Reid exhales like he’s been holding a laugh in. Jake rubs a hand across his jaw, visibly fighting a smirk.
And somehow… just like that, everyone starts to move again.
Chairs creak. Coffee pours. Pencils scratch.
Even Sloane opens her laptop, pretending to scroll through data as if she didn’t just detonate the entire table five minutes ago.
No one talks.
No one dares.
Until Charlie does again.
She leans back in her chair with a theatrical sigh, reapplies her lip gloss in the reflection of her phone, then—without even looking up—says, “Oh, and by the way…”
Everyone looks up.
Her glossed lips curl into a wicked grin. “We all know your reason is Finn, so maybe leave Madeline alone and talk to him instead.”
The air cracks.
“Wait—what?” I blurt out, blinking.
Finn chokes on his coffee.
Liam actually drops his pen.
Sloane freezes. For the first time since I’ve met her, she looks… shy. A flush creeps up her neck, her jaw tight, her eyes darting from me to Charlie to Finn.
“That’s—” she starts, voice smaller than usual, “—that’s not true. Charlie doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”
Charlie just pops her lips together, perfect and glossy, and gives Finn a sweet, fake smile. “Right,” she says, voice dripping with mock innocence. “I don’t.”
Finn looks like he wants the floor to swallow him whole.
Sloane stares at her notes, red-faced.
And that’s the last sound in the room for a long, long time.
Everyone goes back to work, pretending to type or read or breathe normally. The tension feels like it’s sitting on all of our shoulders.
Until Jake leans back in his chair, grumbles under his breath, “This is exactly why we didn’t go to Dock Square.”
A few people snort quietly.
But no one argues.