Chapter 7 Compromised Trust

"Sofia," Kendrick's black eyes fix on me as I enter the conference room, his words slicing through the air. I hesitate, looking his face for anything that would indicate his thoughts. But all I see is that old mask of apathy, as if nothing's wrong. How could he pull this off? How can he keep behaving as though everything is normal? "You're late," he replies, his voice cutting yet not harsh. I say nothing. Being on time today doesn't matter with all that's on my head. "I need answers," I declare, my voice stronger than my actual feeling.

Kendrick's gaze moves to the table's files and his jaw tightens. You will obtain them. But you are still not looking at the complete picture. I fold my arms. Then let me see. Show me then; I don't know who you are anymore right now. His face falls for a second; then he returns to his typical frigid attitude. Sofia, you have been collaborating with us for months. You know how this game works. Tension fills the room. My determination strengthens as I move closer. "And I'm tired of playing it," I retort. Kendrick, I have to know. Kendrick, I have to ask: Is this about you or the business? I can't say the difference since at the moment. His eyes spark with something, perhaps both pain and annoyance. It's about both. But for now, it's about survival. I look at him, my heart pounding in my chest. Living? From what? Rising, he moves as though carrying the weight of the planet. From an insider, he says quietly. Someone we believed we could trust. It's one of us. Though the names, the links, they don't fit, my fingers loiter over the papers. How could someone he trusts, so near to Kendrick, betray him in this manner? Sofia, you're flirting with danger. And at this time, I am holding the match. Now what do we do? Though I try to remain calm, my voice shakes as I say. I look up at Kendrick; his face is tight and unreadable as he is buried in the papers. His finger gliding over a name on the paper, he exhales gently. We locate them. We reveal them. I'm finished allowing this business collapse owing to someone's avarice. I nod in disbelief. Kendrick, I'm finished being kept in the dark. Who is the mole? Why can't you say? He avoids looking at me. "Telling you now will make you too engaged. Sofia, I need you to remain concentrated. Concentrated. I wish to laugh, but the room's tension is suffocating. Every step away from the truth makes it more difficult to breathe; every step towards the truth feels like a dance around one another. 'Stay focused?' What do you mean by that? Kendrick, this is my life. You can't just keep me in the dark." "I'm doing this my way," he mutters, barely above a whisper. "And you'll thank me later." I feel the sting of his words. "I'm not a pawn in your game, Kendrick," I retort, frustration slipping into my voice. He looks at me then, eyes dark and filled with something I can't decipher. "Then what are you to me, Sofia?" Before I can speak, Mason enters the room, his presence abruptly frigid. His eyes flit between us, detecting the tension. "We have bigger problems," he replies, his voice like ice. I lean against the desk, watching Kendrick from across the room. He's pacing, his mind clearly elsewhere, but I can't stop myself from feeling the sting of doubt. I thought I knew him. I thought I understood his objectives, his wants. But today, every conversation, every look feels like a warning sign. Mason's words resound in my mind: "You think you're in control? Don't deceive yourself." I'm starting to believe him. I'm not in charge anymore. I never was. Kendrick turns suddenly, and his gaze rests on mine. His voice quiet, he enquires, "What's wrong?" I gulp. Kendrick, what do you want from me? Really. Really, what is all of this about? Though his jaw tightens, he remains silent for a long time. When he does, it is not what I anticipate. Sofia, I need you to believe me. Sofia, I need you to believe me. This entire affair... it's more than us. "I don't trust you," I say, my voice quaking under the burden of the last several days. "I no longer trust you." He moves closer, his breath caught in his throat. Sofia, you have to choose now. You can leave, but remember: there's no turning back. My heart is racing. What do you mean? He steps in front of me, his hand softly caressing my cheek. Though the contact is soft, I can sense the chill in his gaze. Trust me once more, please. Only this once. That's all I'm asking for. Though I can feel my will breaking, I cannot let myself fall for this once more. I want the truth. But I also have to know whether I am strong enough to confront it. Heart racing, I straighten up straight and meet Kendrick's gaze. "I can't," I respond softly. "Not if you keep concealing information from me." The figures flashing back in mockery on the screen before me hold my gaze. Gone goes the contract we toiled so hard to close that would have rescued Blackwell Enterprises. Just like that. All because Kendrick believed he could bet with our future. Tell me this is not real, I say, my voice hoarse. Though the quiet on the other end only increases my scepticism, I push the phone to my ear harder. A door opening pulls me out of my reverie. I turn, and there Kendrick stands. He seems as frigid and distant as always, but I can detect the glimmer of remorse in his gaze. What transpired? I say, pushing the words out. This came about how? His eyes avoid mine, and I get a chilly shiver down my back. "I did what needed to be done," he adds frankly, almost as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "This business required a wake-up call." A wake-up call? I bitterly laugh. You have only lost us all. Are you aware of that? His jaw tightens, his eyes narrowing, but he doesn't say anything. The silence between us is thick, and the tension in the air presses down on my chest. "I gave you a chance to fix this, Kendrick," I snap, my voice rising. "And now you've ruined it." He steps forward, his hands spread in a defensive gesture, but I step back, preserving my space. The betrayal is too painful, too close to my heart. "I didn't want this to happen," he continues, his voice lower now. "But it was the only way." "Don't, I interrupted him." "Don't you dare tell me it was the only way." You always believe you know best. You always believe you can govern everyone, everything. His eyes dance with something unreadable, and for a moment I nearly believe I see regret. "I'm working to correct it," he says, almost whispering. My heart races in my chest as I shake my head. "It's already worse." Kendrick steps closer, his voice frantic. You are correct. I goofed. But you have to believe me, just this once, believe me. Though his words hang in the air, I can no longer believe him. Not after all. Across the room, Kendrick's shoulders are tight and his mouth set. I can sense the physical and emotional separation between us. The man I once loved, the man I once trusted, is so different from the person I see in front of me now. I look up from the documents in front of me and see his gaze. Though his face is unreadable, there is something desperate about it. What now then? I say, shattering the stillness. Before responding, he exhales deeply. We mend it. We mend all. I chuckle, the noise sharp and unpleasant. How exactly do you suggest we accomplish that? You have already wrecked everything. What remains to be mended? His voice is low. "I'll find a way," he says. "I always do." I look at him, but all I see is a man who has exploited, twisted, and now expects me to trust him once more. I want to scream, to walk out and toss everything off the table. Instead, I remain there gripping the pen in my hand, my fingers shaking. Kendrick, you have crossed a line, I say softly. So now you expect me to assist you in tidying up the chaos? His expression toughens, but perhaps guilt is a glimmer of something else. I require you. I want you to assist me in correcting this. Only you can. "I don't know whether I can still trust you," I say, my words slicing through the stillness. Walking towards me, he stands with purposeful movement. I don't expect you to believe me. I want you, though. Now, more than ever." He reaches out, his fingers brushing mine, and for a minute, I feel a spark, a glimmer of the connection we once shared. But the hatred and betrayal still burn too fiercely for me to ignore. I draw my hand away, my heart racing in my chest. "You don't get to ask me for anything anymore," I cry, my voice thick with passion. "Not after everything you've done." Yet, notwithstanding my comments and the continuing rage inside of me, I sometimes question whether I might not be ready to leave.