Page 518 of Rage

Trust Me Not

By: K. Rose

Chapter One

The city pulses around me, a living, breathing entity of concrete and glass. Neon lights flicker to life as dusk settles, casting a kaleidoscope of colors onto the wet pavement. The scent of rain hangs in the air, mingling with the aroma of street food and the distant hum of traffic. I stand across from the towering monolith that is Zenith Corp’s headquarters, its mirrored surface reflecting the chaotic beauty of the city.

My fingers tighten around the strap of my messenger bag, and the weight of my recorder and notes presses against my side. The cool breeze carries a hint of autumn, rustling the leaves of the sparse trees lining the sidewalk. I take a deep breath, the crisp air filling my lungs, grounding me.

“Truth is the most potent weapon we have,” I whisper to myself, the mantra steadying my nerves. As an investigative journalist, uncovering the hidden injustices that plague society is more than a job—it’s a calling.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. Pulling it out, I see a message from my best friend, Mia:

Dinner tomorrow? Got news to share!

A small smile tugs at my lips. Mia’s been my rock since college, her optimism a beacon in the often murky waters of my work. I type back:

Count me in, around six…I’ll bring the prosecco!

Turning my gaze back to Zenith Corp, a shiver runs down my spine—not from the cold, but from the enormity of the task ahead. Rumors have been swirling about a new contraceptive they’ve developed—a breakthrough with no side effects—that they’ve allegedly decided to bury. The implications are staggering, especially for women like Mia, who suffer from the adverse effects of current options.

Last year, she nearly died from a blood clot that traveled to her lungs, and now she can’t take any of the traditional hormonal contraceptives. That leaves little by way of protection against pregnancy—that a woman has full control of with a high success rate. Implants, rings, patches, most IUDs, and pills are all hormone-based and the best options for the prevention of unplanned pregnancy. Diaphragms can be placed incorrectly and cause more problems than they’re worth, and are really only good with spermicide gel, and that stuff comes with its own side effects too. For a woman who hasn’t had a child yet, getting her tubes tied isn’t an option either. The state’s laws suggest that since it’s irreversible, they won’t allow it regardless of the patient’s wishes. Insert eye roll.

I want this for her. I want this for all women. Sure, it makes this investigation, this story, personal, but that is what’s going to make it the best piece I have ever done.

My editor’s warnings echo in my mind. “You’re treading on dangerous ground, Wynter. Zenith isn’t just another corporation; they’re a powerhouse with friends in high places.”

I shake off the doubt, my resolve hardening. “If not me, then who?” I murmur, stepping forward as the crosswalk signals it’s safe to proceed. The cacophony of revving car engines pulling away from where the red light held them at bay and chattering pedestrians surrounds me, but I feel strangely isolated, focused.

As I near the entrance, a sleek black car pulls up, drawing my attention. The door opens, and out steps Romello Reid. Even in the dim light, his presence is commanding. Tall, with sharp features softened by a hint of stubble, he exudes a mix of charisma and something else, something darker. He’s the man every woman wants, and every man wants to become.

Our eyes meet briefly as he adjusts his tailored suit jacket. The silk fabric hugs perfectly to his muscular body like a second skin. For a moment, I swear a flicker of curiosity crosses his gaze, but then he’s swept away by a group of associates, their laughter punctuating the night air. I assume they’re having some sort of meeting.

I exhale, realizing I’ve been holding my breath. Romello Reid, the recluse executive rumored to be Zenith’s rising star. His reputation precedes him, a man both admired and feared within the industry. He’s been the most sought-after CEO in the last decade. He makes every company he graces with his presence a fortune in the first year…every…single…time.

I have done my research, and I know more about him than I should. I might have a photo or four of him on a super yacht that was leaked last summer when he was being recruited to this position with Zenith stuck to my storyboard at home. And I may or may not have pulled out a rose a time or two too many, while staring intently into those piercing dark eyes. Ignoring the fact that he is old enough to be my father, I still wouldn’t mind playing out my fantasy.

“Focus, Wynter,” I chastise myself, pushing aside the unsettling distraction. I have work to do. I quicken my paceand walk to the ground-level coffee shop in the next tower. The familiar green and white mermaid sign illuminated in the window promises a safe haven for me to get some work done.

Entering the nearby café, the warmth envelops me, and the rich scent of coffee beans provides comfort. I walk to the counter and place my order for my favorite chilled franken-beverage. It’s better to have a cold coffee that stays relatively drinkable over time than to have a hot coffee that gets cold and undrinkable after a while.

I find a corner table and pull out my laptop. The hum of conversation creates a soothing backdrop as I delve into my research, fingers flying over the keys.

“Winter! Trenta Vanilla Frap extra shot caramel drizzle with whipped cream and sugar sprinkles.”

I personally hate it when they call out the order at the pickup counter. I always get this sense of embarrassment that’s wholly unfounded, but it’s there nonetheless.

Hours slip by unnoticed until the barista’s gentle tap on my table brings me back. “We’re closing up, miss.”

I blink, rubbing my tired eyes. “Oh, sorry. Lost track of time.”

She smiles kindly. “Happens to the best of us.”

Gathering my things, I step outside and into the night. The city’s vibrancy has dimmed, leaving a quiet stillness. I hope the contact I have is right about the meeting tomorrow. This could be the big break I need to get the scoop on this story.

Chapter Two

The morning sun filters through my curtains, casting golden stripes across my hardwood floor. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafts from the kitchen, beckoning me. I wrap a robe around myself; the soft fabric brushes against my skin as I pad barefoot to the source.

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