I didn't hesitate. I quickly stepped out of Oliver's office, the echo of his rough kiss still buzzing on my lips. I could still feel the heat of his touch lingering on my skin, and part of me hated how much I craved more of it. But another part, the part that had lived through enough manipulation to know better, told me that I was
walking a tightrope. I was just as much in danger of losing myself in Oliver's orbit as I was of climbing higher.
I needed air. I needed distance. But most of all, I needed something to ground myself in reality again before I spun completely out of control. That's when I found myself heading back toward the Isles, hoping Marge might have something for me to do to pass the time. Anything to keep my mind from replaying the tension with Oliver, the frustration in his grip, the way I'd felt him using me to relieve whatever burdens weighed on him.
I was almost at the halfway point between the Vault's deeper quarters and the Isles when a figure stepped into my path.
Aspen.
She didn't give me the chance to pass, standing firm in the narrow corridor with her arms crossed over her chest, a look of disdain flickering in her eyes. The tension between us was immediate, suffocating.
"Well, look at you," Aspen said, her voice low. "Delivering termination letters like some errand girl." She took a step closer, her eyes narrowing with thinly veiled contempt. "You must feel really important now."
"I did what Oliver asked me to do," I said, keeping my voice calm, though my insides were twisting. I didn't owe Aspen an explanation, but something in her glare demanded one. "If you have a problem with that, take it up with him."
Aspen's eyes darkened. "Oh, trust me, I'm already dealing with the blowback from the guys you fired. They're not too happy about it—and neither am I." She stepped forward again, her presence looming, trying to force me to back down. "Those guys were my people. My responsibility. And you think you can just waltz in here, play by your own rules, and start messing with my business?"
"Messing with your business?" I scoffed, my frustration bubbling up to the surface. "I was just following orders. If your 'people' were a problem, that's on you."
Her eyes flashed with anger, and I knew I'd struck a nerve. Aspen wasn't used to being questioned, especially not by someone like me—someone she saw as an outsider, a threat to her control.
"You don't get it, do you?" she sneered, stepping closer so that our faces were almost level. "You don't belong here. You belong down in the Isles with the rest of the whores, not meddling in Vault business." Her words dripped with venom, each one a calculated jab meant to remind me of my place—or at least, where she thought my place should be.
"I don't belong to the Isles anymore," I said firmly.
For a second, I thought she might actually lash out. Her hand twitched at her side, and I braced myself, ready for whatever might come next. But instead, she took a sharp breath, holding back whatever impulse had flared up.
"You think because you've gotten close to Oliver, that gives you some kind of power in this place? Let me tell you something—Oliver might be playing nice with you right now, but don't forget, you're nothing more than a pawn. He'll discard you the second you're no longer useful. And when that happens, you'll be back in the Isles, on your knees, begging for scraps."
Her words cut deep, not because they were true, but because they echoed the very insecurities I'd been grappling with. Was I climbing a ladder that didn't actually exist, or was I being used to clean up Oliver's messes, only to be tossed aside when I'd outlived my usefulness?
"I think you're scared," I said, narrowing my eyes at her. "Scared that Oliver's losing trust in you. Scared that you're not as indispensable as you think you are."
The shift in her expression was subtle but telling. She was losing her grip, and she knew it. And that terrified her.
"Just stay out of my way," Aspen hissed, stepping even closer so that I could feel the heat of her anger radiating off her. "Stay out of Vault business."
She stepped back then, her gaze casting over me one last time, sizing me up like a predator deciding whether to strike now or later. Then, without another word, she turned on her heel and disappeared into the shadows of the Vault.
I stood there for a moment, my heart pounding in my chest, the echoes of her words still rattling around in my mind. Aspen was trying to control me, to scare me back into submission.
I slipped away. I needed space. I needed to breathe, to think. Everything felt too tight, too heavy—the pressure of it all, the way Aspen had cornered me, the way Oliver had kissed me, the way it all seemed to be closing in.
I turned down one of the quieter corridors, away from the constant noise of the Vault, and found a small alcove where the walls seemed to breathe a little easier while I paced. Here, at least, I could try to sort through the mess in my head. But no matter how much I wanted to push Aspen's words aside, they kept circling back like a bad hangover.
The Isles were behind me, or so I thought. But if Aspen had her way, I'd be right back there on my knees, as if all of this—my climb out of the muck, my place in the Vault—had meant nothing. I could almost hear her smug voice echoing in my mind.
You belong with the whores, not meddling in Vault business.
The worst part? She wasn't just trying to knock me down; she was trying to protect her own spot. She was so entrenched in Oliver's business, so woven into the fabric of the Vault's operations, that pushing me back down was a way to keep her own power intact. That much was obvious.
I couldn't let her keep pushing me out. The more I thought about it, the more I realized there was something off in what Aspen had said. The way she talked about Marge, like she was some incompetent threat to the Vault—it didn't add up.
Marge wasn't stupid. Hell, if anyone knew the underbelly of the Vault, it was her. She ran the Isles with an iron grip, but not because she was reckless. She had the experience, the connections, and the know-how. Aspen, though… Aspen had something personal against her, and I was starting to think her accusations were less about Vault business and more about a vendetta.
My mind raced, piecing it all together. Aspen wasn't just trying to hold on to her position; she was undermining anyone who could pose a threat to her control—including Marge. That's why she was so quick to try to turn me against her. She wanted Marge to seem incapable. It was bullshit. She wasn't just undermining Marge—she was sabotaging anyone she thought could challenge her hold on Oliver and his operations. But this wasn't about incompetence. It was something far darker, far more calculated.
I stopped dead in my tracks, the echo of my footsteps fading as the air around me seemed to tighten. It all made sense. The whispers, the tension in the Vault lately, Oliver's frustration. Aspen hadn't just been covering her tracks
—she'd been stirring the pot, getting people killed to prove a point.
She was playing a deadly game, and I was right in the middle of it. If she could get one of her own killed, what would stop her from doing worse to me?
She wasn't just a manager of Oliver's people; she was manipulating the entire structure. If Oliver hadn't figured that out yet, it was either because he didn't want to admit it or because he didn't know how to deal with her without causing everything to spiral out of control. That had to be why he was in such a foul mood earlier. He was starting to see the cracks but didn't know how to fix them without tearing the entire operation apart.
It explained the tension between us, too. The frustration in his kiss, the weight of his touch—it wasn't just about me. It was about everything. The pressure of keeping the Vault intact while Aspen worked her manipulative games from the shadows. Oliver was smart, but even he had limits. Aspen had become too powerful, too entrenched. Cutting her out now would cause a collapse. He was trapped.
The thought of Aspen's smug face made my blood boil. I was sure of it now—she'd set me up to fail. Not just by undermining Marge or attempting to turn Oliver against me, but by creating chaos and pointing the blame anywhere but herself. She was hoping I'd stumble, that I'd be too blinded by my own insecurities to see her for what she really was.
But now I saw her clearly.
This was why Oliver had tasked me with those terminations. He was testing me, yes, but maybe he was also testing Aspen—seeing how she would react when her grip on the Vault was threatened. And she'd failed. Her immediate blowback, her rush to confront me, to reassert her dominance—it was proof that she was feeling the cracks in her control.
I needed to talk to Marge. I needed to know what she knew about Aspen, what their history was, and how deep this rivalry went. Marge had been in the Vault longer than anyone. She'd seen the rise and fall of more than a few power players, and I had a feeling she wasn't going to let someone like Aspen push her aside without a fight.
Oliver might be stuck in denial, but I wasn't. I needed to understand just how far Aspen was willing to go to keep her throne.
I strode toward the Isles. If Aspen wanted a war, then she was going to get one.
I had nothing to lose.