Eavesdropping on Secrets

***Bryony Hinsley POV***

I ravenously devour the meager cheese and tomato sandwiches. I tear into the soft bread, not caring how desperate I look. The dry crackers from earlier barely lined my empty stomach, and my body screams for actual substance. I swallow the last bite right as the ward doors push open. Tessa strides in, carrying a plastic grocery bag in her hand.

Tessa is my age, twenty-three, but she carries herself with a maternal warmth that I desperately need. She has dark hair styled in a sharp pixie cut and kind, dark brown eyes. She is a beautiful woman, standing around five-foot-six with a slim, athletic build. More than her looks, she possesses a terrific bedside manner. She never rushes my mother’s care, and she always takes the time to explain the confusing medical jargon the doctors toss my way.

Every single shift, she makes time to check on me. I push myself up from the plastic chair as she approaches. She sets the bag down and wraps her arms around me, pulling me into a warm hug. She rubs my back in soothing circles, grounding me for just a second. When we pull apart, she hands the plastic bag over.

I look inside and find several bottles of water and a small orange juice. I pull the juice out immediately, cracking the seal and gulping it down to wash the heavy bread from my throat. Digging further into the bag, I see Tessa went out of her way to raid the vending machines and cafeteria for me. She packed protein bars, bags of chips, and a few pieces of fresh fruit.

"I was hoping you were still in the shower," Tessa says, her voice gentle but firm. "I know you don’t like accepting help, Bryony, but you need to start taking care of yourself. When was the last time you sat down and ate a proper meal? You look so skinny."

I offer her a sad, tight smile. It takes effort to keep my emotions from spilling over around her. Tessa sees me at my absolute lowest, week after week. She reaches out and pinches the fabric of my track pants, then tugs lightly at my shirt, showing me just how much loose fabric hangs off my frame.

I am not blind to the changes in my body. I know the weight is falling off me faster than I can manage. None of my clothes fit right anymore. I spend half my day hiking my pants up or rolling the waistbands tight enough to grip my hip bones.

"I know," I say, my voice raspy. "I have been trying. It is just hard with how chaotic my life is right now."

Tessa lifts a hand and rubs her thumb across my hollow cheek. "I have to get back to my rounds, but please, do not forget to eat this. I am on shift again this Wednesday. I will bring a few more things for you."

She grabs the plastic bag of food, jams it into my oversized work handbag, and pulls the zipper shut to ensure I take it with me. Giving me one last sympathetic look, she turns and heads back out into the corridor to tend to her other patients.

I sit back down in the quiet room. I wait for my phone battery to tick up a few more percentages before pulling the charging cord from the wall. I check the screen. Eight-thirty. I need to get back to the parking garage before nine to ensure security does not lock the gates on me. I step up to the bed, lean over the railing, and press a long kiss to my mother’s forehead.

"Goodnight, Mom," I whisper.

I turn and leave the hospital, walking out into the night air. The walk to the parking structure is quick, and thankfully, the wind is not as biting as it was last week. I unlock my old sedan and pop the trunk. I grab my thick duvet and my pillow, then walk around to open the driver's side door.

I climb into the front seat and pull the lever, reclining the seat as far back as the mechanics allow. It is never flat. There is always an awkward angle that hurts my lower back, but I manage. I pull the heavy duvet over my shoulders, curling my knees to my chest to trap the heat. I close my eyes, burying my face in the pillow, and pray for sleep to take me before the cold sets into my bones.

The next morning, I wake up trapped in a cocoon of blankets. My phone alarm blares a harsh, repetitive tone, vibrating across the hard plastic of my dashboard. I rip my arm out from under the warm duvet and slap the screen to kill the noise before a migraine sets in.

I stretch my legs and let out a long, painful groan. My muscles ache from being locked in the same awkward position for eight hours. The seatbelt clicker dug into my hip all night, leaving a sore, bruised feeling behind. I miss my mattress. I miss being able to roll over without hitting my elbows against a steering wheel or a door panel.

I push the driver’s door open and step out into the dim concrete structure. The air is freezing. I bend at the waist, touching my toes to stretch the stiffness from my spine and shoulders. Once I get the blood flowing again, I open the rear passenger door.

My back seat functions as a makeshift closet. I have a few work outfits hanging from the grab handles. I quickly sort through the hangers, picking out a pair of dressy dark blue skinny jeans, a black zip-up blouse, and my tailored blazer. I toss them onto the seat and climb in, shutting the door to give myself a shred of privacy.

Getting dressed in the back of a car requires acrobatics. I pull my bra up under my pajama shirt, slipping my arms out of the sleeves and twisting the clasps into position without exposing myself to the empty garage.

I sit back down, kick off my sweatpants, and yank the dark blue jeans up my legs. When I stand up, slightly hunched under the car roof, I sigh. The denim sags dangerously low. These are my favorite jeans, but they are practically falling to my knees.

I pop the trunk again and rummage through my scattered belongings until I find a stiff leather belt. I wrap it around my waist, but even the tightest hole is too loose. Grabbing my car keys, I wedge the sharp metal tip against the leather. I twist and push with all my strength, scraping the metal until I punch a brand new hole through the thick material. I thread the buckle through my makeshift hole, finally securing the pants to my hips.

I strip off my sleep shirt and pull the black blouse over my head, pulling the zipper up the front. The fabric settles against my skin just as the loud, mechanical grinding of the parking garage roller door echoes through the concrete walls. Morning traffic is starting.

I lean down and check my reflection in the side mirror. I look decent. This top used to be a little too snug before my life fell apart, but now it fits like a glove. It hugs my frame and highlights my bust, leaving ample cleavage. I usually prefer to cover up, but the sharp cut of the blouse gives me a small boost of confidence. I grab my black heels, slide my feet in, and bend down to fasten the ankle straps.

I grab my handbag, lock the car, and walk down the concrete ramp.

Arthur stands near his usual post, holding two paper cups. The moment he spots me, his weathered face breaks into a massive, crinkling smile.

"There is my girl," Arthur says, his voice booming in the quiet garage. "How was your night?"

"Good," I say, forcing cheer into my tone. "It wasn't too cold last night, and it was rather quiet. How is the wife?"

Arthur steps forward and hands me one of the cups. The heat of the cappuccino seeps through the cardboard, warming my freezing palms. I take a grateful sip, letting the rich caffeine wake my brain.

"She is good," Arthur replies, his eyes shining. "I have a surprise. Helen made meatballs last night and there were plenty of leftovers, so I brought a Chinese dish in for you."

A lump forms in my throat. I lean in and wrap my free arm around him, giving him a tight side hug. He reminds me so much of a grandfather, always looking out for me when he has no obligation to do so. Arthur chuckles and hugs me back, his strong arm wrapping securely around my shoulders.

I thank him again before following him through the main entrance and into the sleek, modern lobby of the office building.

I take the elevator up to our floor. Dropping my heavy bag under my desk, I start flicking the power switches, bringing my monitors and the office systems to life. Once my station is running, I finish the last drop of my cappuccino. I slip into the bathroom to fix my hair and apply a light layer of makeup to hide the dark circles under my eyes.

I walk over to the small kitchenette to begin brewing the morning coffees for my bosses.

Like clockwork, the elevator chimes. The heavy metal doors slide open. Dorian and Darius never run late. They are always on time down to the exact minute.

But this morning is different.

The moment they step out, harsh voices bounce off the marble walls of the foyer. They are arguing.

I freeze in the kitchenette, pressing my back against the counter. I do not want to step out and interrupt a heated argument, but the layout of the floor makes it impossible not to overhear. Dorian is rarely angry. He is the calm, charming one. Hearing him raise his voice at Darius sends a spike of anxiety straight through my chest. Darius sounds furious, his deep voice vibrating with a dangerous edge.

Usually, if they have a disagreement, they take it behind the heavy mahogany doors of their private offices. Arguing out in the open foyer is completely out of character.

"You can’t keep ignoring the bond hiding in your office," Dorian snaps, his voice climbing higher with frustration. "You will snap and that will scare her even more."

I stop breathing. My hand hovers over the coffee filters. I listen intently, my brain working in overdrive. What bond? Who is the mystery woman hiding in Darius's office?

"Stay out of it," Darius spits. The words roll off his tongue with sheer venom, dripping with a dark, primal threat. "I have control of my urges. It is yours I’m more worried about."

"Well, at least I am not denying them like you," Dorian retorts.

"She is human, she is weak, and she don’t belong in our world," Darius roars, his anger finally breaking past his restraint. "I am sick of having this same argument. This isn’t just about us, this would put her in danger. Is that what you want, Dorian?"

My mind reels.

*She is human?*

The words hit me like a physical blow. Aren’t we all human? I must have misheard him. The acoustics in the foyer must be warping his words. And who is in danger?

My heart rate skyrockets. It pounds a frantic, deafening rhythm against my eardrums. A wave of unexplainable terror washes over me, paralyzing my muscles. I cannot move my feet. Cold goosebumps erupt along my arms, tracing a path of pure dread over my skin. My hand locks around the handle of the electric kettle, my knuckles turning bone-white from the force of my grip.

Why is my body reacting like this? Why am I suddenly paralyzed with a fear so deep it feels woven into my DNA?

"Boo, you know what they say about eavesdropping," a voice whispers directly into my ear.

I jump out of my skin.

Dorian’s voice is right there. Not down the hall. Not in the foyer. Right against my ear. I feel the solid, radiating heat of his chest pressing flush against my back. The sudden proximity is a physical shock.

My hands tremble violently as I force myself to let go of the kettle and place it back on the counter without dropping it.

"You okay, Bryony?" Dorian asks. His tone shifts, sounding genuinely concerned.

I swallow the massive lump of terror in my throat. I plaster a bright, fake smile on my face and spin around to face him.

My breath catches in my lungs.

Dorian is not standing behind me. He is standing all the way by the doorway of the kitchenette, a good ten feet away.

I stare at him, my mind breaking trying to process the visual. Did I just imagine the heat of his chest? Did I imagine the breath on my ear? There is no physical way he could have moved from right behind me to the doorway in the fraction of a second it took me to turn around. And he made zero noise. No footsteps on the tile. No rustle of fabric.

I am losing my mind. The stress of the hospital, the starvation, the sleeping in the freezing car—it is finally causing a mental breakdown. The words of their argument replay in my head, mixing and muddling together until the logic of it shatters. *Bond. Urges. Human. Danger.* I cannot even string the context together anymore.

Before I can form a single word to respond to Dorian, a shadow falls over the doorway.

Darius steps in close behind Dorian. He pops his head around the corner of the doorframe, his dark eyes locking directly onto mine. He just stares at me. The sheer intensity of his gaze sends a thick, heavy blanket of unease rolling over my entire body, leaving my thoughts entirely scrambled.