Chapter 54
Nora's POV
My phone glowed in the dark room as I scrolled through the accumulated messages in the Cold Creek Welfare Community Group, all buzzing with the same frantic energy—federal government, infrastructure investment, water treatment facility, relocation assistance.
Can't believe it. They're finally dealing with the water contamination.
My son's rash is finally clearing up. Maybe we won't have to leave after all.
Took them long enough. But I'll take it. Better late than never.
I kept reading, message after message, watching people I'd visited—people whose homes I'd documented, whose kids I'd driven to clinics—celebrate something I'd spent months begging the system to acknowledge. The relief in their words was palpable, almost childlike. Someone's finally listening. Someone's finally paying attention.
I'd documented every rusted pipe, every sick child, every desperate plea for help—and filed them into reports that vanished into the bureaucratic void.
Now, suddenly, everything was changing. Federal funding. Clean water projects. Real hope.
A sharp, uncomfortable thought wormed its way into my mind, uninvited and unwelcome. Is this connected to him?
No. That didn't make sense. Why would he? I'd rejected him, insulted him, walked out on him.
Cold Creek's development was extremely difficult to handle. It would be normal for Julian not to bother with it. Back then, I suspected it was just an excuse he used to try to possess me. I believed that even if I "sacrificed" myself, it wouldn't bring about any breakthrough—and besides, I would never do that.
I switched apps and pulled up the local news. The headline confirmed everything the group chat had been celebrating: Federal Infrastructure Overhaul in Cold Creek Shows Massive Progress
I read the article twice, searching for answers that weren't there. The language was bureaucratic and vague—regional development initiative, public health priority. Nothing about who had pushed for it. Nothing about why now.
My chest tightened. I should've been relieved. I should've been celebrating with them. But all I felt was confusion, tinged with something uncomfortably close to guilt.
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Julian's POV
Two days ago.
The convoy assembled in the secured parking lot beneath the DSW Regional Bureau just after seven. I sat in the vehicle reviewing the Cold Creek progress report on my tablet, three black SUVs in formation and ready.
I'd barely slept. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her face in that hotel room—the disgust, the shock, and the way she'd looked at me like I was every corrupt politician she'd ever fought against.
I'd tried calling. Texted. But she'd completely blocked my number, and the realization hit harder than I wanted to admit. Coming back this time, I'd decided to make things clear with her.
My vehicle's passenger door opened. I glanced up, expecting Nora, and froze.
Sarah Klein slid smoothly into the seat across from me. "Good morning, Mr. Sterling. I'm Sarah Klein, DSW Regional Director of Public Relations. I believe we met in the DSW conference room."
I stared at her, my mind half on organizing what to say to Nora, half on this woman's audacity in climbing uninvited into my vehicle. The scent hit me immediately—expensive perfume trying too hard to mask nervous sweat. Nothing like Nora's clean, subtle scent that had somehow imprinted itself in my memory.
"Ms. Klein." My voice came out colder than I'd intended.
She didn't seem to notice. "I know this is last-minute, but given Ms. Grey's absence, the regional office thought it best to send a senior representative to accompany you to Cold Creek." She launched into what sounded like a rehearsed speech about her credentials, awards, and citations. Every word grated against my already frayed patience.
"I didn't request a replacement," I said, cutting through her self-promotion.
Her smile faltered slightly. "Of course not, sir. But the regional bureau felt it was prudent to ensure continuity. Ms. Grey is an excellent caseworker, but I've been with DSW for four years. I've written reports cited in congressional testimony. I won the bureau's Outstanding Service Award two years running. I can provide the same level of insight she would have—if not more."
Something in her tone—the subtle condescension toward Nora, the implication that bureaucratic accolades mattered more than field experience—made my decision instant.
"Get out."
She blinked, her professional mask slipping. "I'm sorry?"
"Get out. Now."
"Mr. Sterling, I—"
"Do I need to repeat myself a third time, Ms. Klein?" The emotion bled into my voice before I could stop it. Not a full dominance assertion, but enough to make her instincts scream danger.
The color drained from her face. She grabbed her briefcase and practically fled the vehicle, the door slamming behind her.
I took a slow breath, reining in the fury that had nothing to do with Sarah Klein and everything to do with Nora not being here.
Ethan climbed into the front seat moments later, his expression carefully neutral. He'd witnessed the whole thing through the tinted windows. "Sir, for the record, I didn't authorize Ms. Klein's presence."
"I know." I set my phone down harder than necessary. "Who did?"
"Jeremy Wright's office sent her over this morning."
Of course he did. Jeremy Wright, the man who'd been playing political games since before I arrived. I'd suspected he was dirty, but I'd been too focused on larger systemic issues to prioritize his individual corruption.
"Where's Nora?" The question came out rougher than I intended.
Ethan hesitated, and that pause told me everything. "Ms. Grey has been reassigned to the Blackwood branch, effective yesterday."
My jaw clenched. "Why?"
"Wright claims it's routine personnel reallocation, but..." Ethan pulled up something on his tablet. "Based on my preliminary investigation, it's connected to the business gala a few days ago."
Of course it is. "Explain."
"Wright gave Ms. Grey hard liquor that night. Vodka disguised as wine. The hotel staff also provided her with a keycard—not to the room we arranged, but to yours." Ethan's voice remained professional, but I could hear the disgust underneath. "He orchestrated the entire setup. When it didn't produce the results he expected, he assumed you weren't interested in Ms. Grey and had her transferred out of your sight."
For a long moment, I couldn't speak. Rage—pure, incandescent rage—burned through every rational thought. He'd tried to manipulate her into my bed like she was some kind of offering to curry favor. And when his sick plan failed, he'd punished her for it by destroying her career.
And she thought I was behind it. She thought I'd set the whole thing up, that the condoms in that bag were my idea, that "everything is transactional" meant I expected her to trade her body for my political support.
Christ. No wonder she'd looked at me like that. No wonder she'd blocked my number.
"What else?" My voice came out dangerously quiet.