Chapter 63
Iris’s POV
I glanced up from my sketch pad to find Megan Claire’s eyes fixed on
me from across the office. She’d been “assigning” me random tasks all
morning–busy work that had nothing to do with my actual job. I
knew exactly what she was doing. With Sebastien gone on his
mysterious business trip, she thought she could put me in my place.
“Iris,” she called out sweetly, waving a stack of papers. “Would you
mind printing these documents for me? The printer by my office isn’t
working properly.”
I caught Lisa’s sympathetic glance from the desk beside mine.
Everyone in the office had noticed Megan’s behavior, but nobody
dared say anything. I took a deep breath and slowly got to my feet.
“Just taking a break anyway,” I muttered to myself as I crossed the
room. At least it would get me away from her cloying perfume for a
few minutes–a scent that seemed to be triggering my pregnancy
nausea more each day.
I took the papers without comment and headed toward the printing station. My wolf bristled beneath my skin, sensing the power play but reluctantly submitting for now. This wasn’t the hill I wanted to die
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When I returned with the printed documents, Megan was waiting
with that same saccharine smile. “Iris, I need a coffee. Could you grab
me an Americano, no sugar? Use my special mug–the white one with
the gold rim.”
The office fell quiet, several designers pretending to be absorbed in
their work while clearly listening to our exchange. I stood there, the
freshly printed papers still in my hand, feeling heat rise up my neck.
“Anything else?” I asked, my voice carefully neutral.
“That’s all for now,” she said, turning back to her computer. “Thanks,
sweetie.”
I set the papers on her desk and walked back to my station, every
muscle in my body tense. This had been going on for days–Megan
treating me like her personal assistant instead of a designer. I knew
she was testing boundaries, seeing how far she could push before I
broke.
I returned to my jewelry design, losing myself in the intricate pattern
I was creating. Forty minutes later, Megan’s voice cut through my
concentration again.
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“Iris, did you forget my coffee?”
I didn’t look up, my pencil still moving across the paper. “I was
finishing this design concept. It’s due tomorrow.”
“The coffee, Iris,” she repeated, her voice hardening. “I asked you
almost an hour ago.”
I finally looked up, aware that the entire office was watching us now.
My eyes met hers, and something inside me shifted. I’d spent too long
being the accommodating one–with my family, with Sebastien, with
everyone. I was done.
“Claire, I’m not sure what gave you the impression that fetching
coffee is part of my job description,” I said, my voice steady despite
my racing heart. “I’m a designer, not your assistant. You want coffee?
The break room is right over there.”
A few of my colleagues stifled gasps. Megan’s eyes widened slightly
before narrowing to slits. She rose from her chair and strode over to
my desk, leaning down until her face was uncomfortably close to
mine.
“I’m your supervisor, Iris,” she said, loud enough for everyone to hear.
“And if I ask you to get me coffee, you get me coffee.”
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I held her gaze, refusing to be intimidated. “Actually, Marcus is my
supervisor. And I have work to do–real design work, not running
errands for someone who seems to have plenty of free time herself.”
Her face flushed. “If this project goes sideways because you’re not
being a team player, you’ll be the one taking responsibility.”
I couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped me. “Team player? Is that
what you call this?” I gestured between us. “Look, I thought you were
busy with important creative director stuff. That’s why you’ve been
giving me all these menial tasks, right? But if you’ve got enough time
to micromanage me fetching your coffee, maybe you should be the
one handling the simple stuff.”
Lisa made a choking sound, clearly trying not to laugh. Megan’s face
cycled through several emotions–shock, rage, and finally, a forced
smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
“I suppose I got a bit carried away,” she said, voice tight. “You go
ahead and keep working.”
I nodded once and returned to my design, refusing to show any
satisfaction at her retreat. This wasn’t over–we both knew it–but I’d
established a boundary, and that was enough for today
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As I glanced at my calendar that evening, a realization hit me. The
cooling period was officially over. According to werewolf law,
Sebastien and I could now complete the formal dissolution of our
mating bond.
“Time to end this properly,” I murmured, picking up my phone. I
typed out a simple message to Sebastien: [The cooling period is over.
When you get back, we should schedule the mark dissolution ritual
and finalize the divorce papers.]
I hit send before I could overthink it, then set my phone down and
tried to focus on the book I’d been reading. But my thoughts kept
circling back to what would happen next. The mark dissolution wasn’t
just paperwork–it was a ritual that would sever the mystical
connection between us. Once completed, any lingering bond would be
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