[Sophie’s POV]

The next day arrived quickly. So did the notice.

The meeting request appears on my calendar at 9:15 a.m. No subject line. No context. Just a fifteen-minute block with Mark and two senior editors in Conference Room B—where careers get rerouted, sometimes upward, sometimes into oblivion.

I spend the next hours pretending to focus, but my mind keeps circling back to possibilities. The holiday party fallout. The whispers. The way my name became a conversation piece instead of just a byline.

At 2:00 p.m., I smooth my blouse, square my shoulders, and walk in.

Mark sits at the head of the table. Rebecca from acquisitions and David from marketing flank him. No HR. No legal. That’s either very good or very bad.

“Sophie, thanks for coming,” Mark begins. “We wanted to discuss your trajectory here.”

Rebecca leans forward. “We’ve been reviewing your recent work. Particularly your manuscript on relationship dynamics.”

My breath catches. The book I’d poured myself into for months—the one I worked on before Vaughn’s interference, before everything unraveled.

“The response has been different,” David says. “But good different. Very good, actually.”

Mark nods. “It’s generating conversations we didn’t anticipate. About unconventional narratives. About trusting writers to explore complexity without sanitizing it. Three major reviewers requested early copies. Presale numbers are strong.”

“You didn’t soften the edges,” Rebecca adds. “You wrote about agency, consent, and power dynamics with honesty. That resonated.”

David slides a folder across the table. I open it. The words cut through clearly: Promotion to Associate Editor. Effective immediately.

“We won’t pretend the backlash didn’t concern us,” Mark continues. “Your personal life became visible. But you didn’t hide. You let the work stand on its own merit.”

Silence stretches. I feel the weight of the moment settling into my bones—not triumph, but alignment.

“I accept,” I say. No qualifiers. Just truth.

Mark smiles. “We thought you might.”

I leave the room praised and trembling. I take out my phone and do the only thing that comes to mind first—text them, fingers shaking as I type.

I need to talk to you both. Coming home early.

Cassian responds first: We’ll be here.

Adrian’s reply follows seconds later: Waiting.

The apartment is quiet when I arrive, but the tension is immediate. Cassian and Adrian, both were waiting in the living room, maintaining a gap, of course, but also not making it obvious. They’re not competing for space. They’re aligned. Waiting.

“What happened?” Adrian asks, pushing off the counter, his brow furrowed with concern.

I drop my bag by the door, letting the silence stretch for a moment. Their expressions are tense, worried—prepared for the worst.

“I got promoted,” I say. “Associate Editor. Effective immediately.”

Cassian’s arms drop to his sides, his composure cracking. “You… what?”

Adrian goes completely still, his eyes widening. “They promoted you?”

“The book,” I continued, a smile tugging at my lips. “The one about relationships. They said the response was different. Good different. It’s generating real conversations. Presales are strong. Reviewers are requesting early copies. My edits, my suggestions to the author. They.. they paid off.”

Cassian crosses the room in three strides, his hands cupping my face. “Sophie… that’s incredible.” His voice is rough, thick with emotion I rarely see him show. “After everything—the party, the whispers, the backlash—they saw you. They actually saw you.”

Adrian moves toward me, stopping just behind Cassian, his hand finding my waist. “You did this,” he says quietly, and there’s something reverent in his tone. “Not despite everything. Because of who you are.”

I look between them—Cassian’s patient intensity softened by shock, Adrian’s controlled demeanor cracked open with pride—and feel something loosen in my chest. All those months of fear, of bracing, of wondering if loving them would cost me everything I’d built. And here I am. Still standing. Still chosen.

“Thank you,” I whisper, my voice catching. “Both of you. Thank you for trusting me. For letting me figure this out on my own terms. For not trying to fix it or fight my battles for me. You just… believed I could handle it.”

Cassian’s thumb strokes my cheek. “You never needed us to save you.”

“We just needed to stand beside you,” Adrian adds, his grip tightening on my waist.

The air shifts. Something warm unfurls between us—relief bleeding into something deeper, something hungrier. I feel it in the way Cassian’s gaze drops to my mouth, in the way Adrian’s breath hitches against my neck.

“I want to celebrate,” I murmured. “With both of you.”

Cassian’s eyes darken. “How?”

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