Page 29 of Wrangled By the Minotaur
The question edges us toward more dangerous territory, and I choose my words carefully. “Hostile takeovers, mostly. Contract disputes where negotiations had stalled. Situations where someone needed to… encourage cooperation.”
I can see Sage processing this, reading well between the lines. “And your minotaur heritage was an asset in these situations?”
“Eight feet tall, horns, hooves that sound like thunder when I’m angry?” I allow myself a rueful smile, remembering those early meetings where I’d watch grown men shrink back as I entered the room. “Let’s just say I rarely had to raise my voice to make my point.”
“You were one of the first monsters to achieve that level of mainstream corporate success,” Sage continues, clearly having done her research. “Did you see yourself as a pioneer?”
The question hits deeper than I expected, touching on motivations I haven’t examined in years. “I saw myself as someone who refused to apologize for what I was. Every other monster I knew was trying to make humans comfortable, trying to prove they weren’t dangerous. I decided to be dangerous in a way that made me valuable instead of feared.”
It’s the most honest I’ve been about that period of my life, and saying it aloud helps me understand something I’d never fully articulated before. I was doing more than simply building a business. I was proving that monsters could be more than what humans expected us to be.
Sage nods, scribbling notes, and I can see her building toward something. When she glances at her research again, I know we’re approaching the part of the story I’ve been dreading.
“Which brings us to Marcus Kelloway,” she says, getting right into it.
The name turns my blood to static, every nerve firing at once as the proud, confident businessman I was just moments ago disappears, replaced by the guilt and self-loathing that have haunted me for years.
Monster. Beast. This is what you really are.
The familiar voice starts up in my head, and suddenly the small office feels like it’s closing in around me.
Then I feel Frankie’s hand, gentle and warm, settling at the base of my left horn. The touch is so unexpected, so perfectly calibrated to ground me, that my breathing automatically deepens. When I look at her, I see no judgment in her hazel eyes, only quiet support and acceptance.
“It’s okay,” she whispers, just loud enough for me to hear. “You’re safe here.”
The words, combined with her touch, pull me back from the edge of panic. I take another deep breath, drawing strength from her presence, from the fact that she’s choosing to support me even knowing what’s coming.
“Marcus Kelloway was the CFO of a mid-sized manufacturing company,” I begin, my voice steady despite the turmoil in my chest. “My client wanted to acquire them, but Kelloway was blocking the deal.”
Sage waits, her pen poised but not moving, giving me the space I need to tell this story at my own pace. I’m grateful for herrestraint, for the way she’s letting me control the narrative instead of pushing for sensational details.
“Standard tactical resistance to drive up the price—nothing unusual. But my client was impatient, and I was…” I pause, searching for the right words. “I was drunk on my own reputation.”
The admission tastes bitter, but it’s the truth. By that point, I’d started believing my own legend, convinced that my intimidation tactics were just business tools rather than barely controlled violence.
“I cornered him in a conference room after a board meeting. Alone.” The memory plays out in vivid detail, from Kelloway’s nervous sweat to the way he kept glancing at the door, to the moment when his fear shifted to something uglier. “I thought I was just going to intimidate him a little, get him to see reason. But he started talking about monsters, about how we didn’t belong in civilized society…”
My voice trails off as I relive that moment when everything went wrong. The casual dehumanization, the way he looked at me like I was nothing more than an animal pretending to be a person.
“What happened?” Sage asks, and there’s no judgment in her tone, just professional curiosity and what might be sympathy.
“I snapped.” The words catch in my throat, coming out rough and low, each one dragged up from some deep place where I’ve buried three years of guilt and self-recrimination. “I charged him like a bull, pinned him against the wall with my horns on either side of his head. For a moment—just a moment—I wanted to gore him. I wanted to show him what a real beast looked like.”
Frankie’s touch at my horn shifts slightly, her thumb stroking the sensitive spot where bone meets skin, and I draw strength from the contact as I force myself to continue.
“I came to my senses before I did any permanent damage, but barely. Kelloway ended up in the hospital with a concussion from hitting the wall. The deal went through—he was too terrified to keep fighting—but I realized I’d become everything they said we were. Everything I’d sworn I’d never be.”
“That’s when you retired,” Sage says, and I’m grateful that she states it as fact rather than a question.
“That’s when I realized I couldn’t trust myself anymore. The line between controlled intimidation and actual violence had disappeared, and I hadn’t even noticed.” I finally look up, meeting her gaze directly, expecting to see disgust or fear. Instead, I find something that looks like understanding. “I walked away from everything. The clients, the money, the reputation. All of it.”
“And came here to Sunnybrook.”
“Eventually. I spent two years trying to figure out who I was if I wasn’t the angry bull everyone hired. Trying to find some other way to use what I have.”
Sage sets down her pen and studies me for a long moment. “And what did you find?”
I mull it over for a moment. A question like this needs to be answered carefully. “I found that maybe… Maybe I could be the bull who protects instead of destroys.”
