Page 521 of Rage

“Was I reckless?” I whisper to the empty room. The silence offers no answers.

My phone buzzes, startling me. It’s a call from my editor, Mark.

“Hey, Wynter. Got a minute?” His voice is gruff, tinged with concern.

“Sure, what’s up?”

“I heard you were snooping around Zenith Corp tonight.”

“How? There’s no way. I didn’t even talk to anyone!”

“I have my sources,” he says with a serious tone.

Word travels fast, I guess. “Just following a lead,” I admit.

He sighs heavily. “Listen, I admire your dedication, but you need to be careful. Zenith isn’t a small-time operation. They’ve got resources, connections.”

“I can’t just ignore this, Mark. They’re hiding something that could impact countless women, maybe even the world as we know it.”

“I get it, but I don’t want to see you get in over your head. Promise me you’ll tread lightly.”

“I’ll be careful,” I assure him, though my resolve remains unshaken. Someone needs to get to the truth; why not me?

After we hang up, doubt creeps in. Is this worth the risk? A memory of Mia’s hopeful face flashes before me. She’s suffered so much due to the side effects of her medication—the migraines, the mood swings. Not to mention the life-altering near-death experience. If there’s a chance to bring about change, I have to take it.

I pour over my research again. I need to find the missing link, the piece that connects everything together. Why would they want to suppress millions of dollars in research and a new product if there really isn’t anything wrong with it?

I get lost in rereading my notes until my eyes close of their own accord.

The next morning, I decide to dig deeper from a safer distance. I head to the public records office, the musty scent of old paper greeting me as I enter. The dim lighting and rows of filing cabinets create a labyrinth of information.

Hours pass as I sift through documents, my fingers tracing over financial statements and patent filings. Patterns begin to emerge—shell companies, redirected funds, suspicious gaps in reporting.

“Find anything interesting?” a familiar voice asks.

I look up to see Romello leaning casually against a nearby shelf, a curious glint in his eyes.

My heart skips a beat. “Wh-what are you doing here?”

He smiles faintly. “I could ask you the same question.”

I close the file slowly. “Research.”

“Ah, the relentless pursuit of knowledge.” He steps closer, and the scent of his cologne—a subtle mix of cedar and something distinctly masculine—envelopes me.

“Isn’t that what drives us all?” I reply evenly.

He chuckles softly. “Some more than others.”

An uncomfortable silence settles between us. His gaze holds mine, and for a moment, the air feels charged.

“Well, I won’t keep you from your work,” he finally says, turning to leave. “Just remember—curiosity killed the cat.”

He winks, then turns. I can’t help but watch as his toned, muscular body walks away from me with that very sure-of-himself swagger. His almost too-tight suit pants hug his firm body in all the right places.

“Oh, and kitten. Don’t sneak into my building without being invited.”

As he walks away, a mixture of frustration and intrigue swirls within me. There’s more to Romello Reid than meets the eye.

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