Chapter 6
Bianca's POV
When the alarm went off, I stared at the ceiling for five seconds before I remembered where I was. Another day. I pushed myself up, my stomach lurching, and swallowed hard to push it back down.
I toasted two slices of bread, heated a glass of milk, and ate standing at the counter.
After washing my face, I tied my hair into a ponytail and decided to put on a proper face of makeup to change my mood. Concealer, eyeshadow, eyeliner, mascara, lipstick—one by one.
When I was done, I stared at the brand-new me in the mirror for a moment. Silver hair framed a small face with features so fine they looked drawn stroke by stroke—green eyes clear and vivid under the makeup, pretty enough that even I looked twice.
I changed into a crisp shirt and tailored trousers, leaned toward the bathroom mirror with both hands braced on the counter, and stared at myself.
"Bianca, do a little better today." I gave the girl in the mirror a nod. "You already did great just getting into this company. Don't overthink it. Just do your job well."
I straightened up and gave myself a thumbs-up. "New day, new you. Let's go."
The girl in the mirror gave me a thumbs-up back, and her expression actually looked like she meant it. I smiled and headed out with my bag.
By the time I reached the office, it was just past eight thirty. I nodded to the front desk, stepped into the elevator, and greeted the colleagues I passed with a warm hello.
I set my bag down and sat. So far, so good. I opened my computer and pulled up yesterday's progress notes. I'd barely typed two lines—
"Bianca."
I looked up. My supervisor stood in his doorway, one hand on the frame, glaring at me. His jaw was tight, his eyelids half-lowered, and his gaze came through those narrow slits—heavy and cold, with not a trace of goodwill, pinned on me like a nail.
" Come to my office in three minutes," he said coldly. Before I could answer, he turned and shut his office door hard in my face.
I stared at the closed door, my palms instantly slick with sweat.
What was that look? My mind raced—did I do something wrong? What went wrong? The more I thought, the more afraid I got. The nausea rose in my stomach, my chest went hollow, and I didn't know what to do with my hands. The fear of the unknown wrapped around me and held tight.
A few werewolf colleagues who didn't like me were watching with barely concealed glee. Someone muttered under their breath, "What can a human even do right? Barely been here a few days and already screwed up. Serves her right."
"Exactly," another chimed in just as fast. "I told you she couldn't do the job."
Under their eager, watching eyes, I dragged my heavy feet toward my supervisor's office.
I knocked twice. No answer. I took a deep breath and pushed the door open, one foot barely inside—
"Close the door." My supervisor didn't even look up.
I turned and shut it behind me. He shoved a folder across the desk. It slid to the edge without stopping and hit the floor with a slap, pages scattering everywhere.
"Pick it up."
I crouched down and gathered the pages while he sat in his chair watching me. Then he spoke, slow and unhurried. "The merger files. All of them. Redo every page, every footnote. I want the complete version on my desk by the end of the month." He pulled another stack from the drawer—thicker than the first—and slammed it onto the desk. "And that's just the first part. Send me a progress report before you leave every day. Not one day off."
I held the folder and stood frozen. A month. The merger files alone would take two people a full month under normal circumstances.
"Sir, give me a little more time—"
"More time?" He looked up at me, his mouth twisting. "Bianca, go look in a mirror. Silver hair, green eyes—you don't even look human. You're an eyesore just walking through this building. If the higher-ups didn't need a 'diversity' display, would this position ever go to you?"
I gripped the folder tighter, my nails digging into the cardboard. "A month. It's impossible to finish in a month."
"Impossible?" He laughed, leaning back in his chair. "I don't care if it's possible. Can't finish it? Then get out." He picked up his pen and twirled it twice. "You're worse than the rags in this building. At least a rag can wring out some dirty water after it wipes the floor. What can you wring out?"
My eyes stung. My throat felt like someone was choking me.
"Don't look at me like that." He tossed the pen onto the desk. "Giving this to you is a waste of paper. I'm giving you a month as a courtesy. If I weren't being courteous, you could pack your things and leave right now—there's a line of Betas outside waiting to take your spot." He jerked his chin at the stack of folders. "Understood? Then get out and close the door behind you."
I stared at him, my throat choked with words I couldn't get out. I wanted to say it wasn't fair, that one person couldn't possibly finish all this. But what was the point? He wouldn't listen. If I argued with him, I'd be packing my bags tomorrow. And if I lost this job, where would next month's rent come from? If something happened to Helen, what would I use to get her out? I couldn't afford to lose this. This job was the only way up I had.
I forced the tears back. "I'll finish it."
"What?" He tilted his head.
"I said, I'll finish it." I spoke one word at a time. "One month. I'll finish it."
He looked at me for two seconds, then snorted and leaned back. "Fine. I look forward to seeing what you turn in a month from now. Get out."
I carried the stack of folders back to my desk and sat down. Looking at the mountain of documents on my desk, I took a deep breath. Even if it meant overtime, even if it meant staying in the office and never going home, I was going to finish it.
Over the days that followed, I practically lived in the office—arriving early, leaving late, working overtime, pouring everything into the work my supervisor had assigned. I sent my progress report to his email on time every day without fail. He never replied, and I didn't expect him to. I just needed him to find no fault.
It had been a month since that night—that one-night mistake with Nicholas. In that month, he'd barely shown his face. His office door stayed closed. One afternoon in the break room, I overheard Kayla talking to someone, saying Nicholas had been overseas handling cross-district business and wouldn't be back anytime soon. I stood in the corner with my cup, and a wave of relief washed over me—then, inexplicably, something hollowed out inside my chest, like something had quietly dropped and left nothing to catch it. I frowned and pushed the vague sense of loss down. Not running into him—that was good.
By the third week, something started feeling off. I was drowsy and nauseous all the time.
One night around ten, Sophia came back to the office to grab something she'd left behind and found me still there. She frowned. "You look really awful lately." She set a carton of milk on the corner of my desk. "Go get checked out when you can."
"I will once this is over." I waved her off. "It'll be fine by the end of the month."
She looked at me, didn't say anything more, and left. When I went to the bathroom, I looked at my exhausted reflection. Something really was off with my body lately—probably the late nights, the irregular meals, plus my stomach issues acting up. Once this work was wrapped up, I'd go to the hospital and get some medicine. It should be fine.
