Forbidden Game: Desire Against All Odds

Mia

My index finger was starting to hurt from biting too hard. I had been pacing the hallway for the past ten minutes, chewing on my nails like it was some miracle cure for nerves. I knew how embarrassing it felt to be caught doing it, especially when most girls my age had perfect manicures. But hey, who cared about nails when my entire day tended to explode?

It was ridiculous, really, the way I looked like a student summoned to the principal’s office for cheating on an exam. Except that wasn’t how it felt. The moment I got the call to come to my boss’s office, I knew this was not a routine meeting. My mind wouldn't stop replaying every article I had written in the past month, every headline I had pitched, every interview I had fumbled. Deep down, I already knew what this was about. The rumours about how badly my last report had gone were all over the newsroom today, and not even my wolf’s quiet reassurances could shut them out.

‘You’re panicking,’ Lyra’s voice whispered in my head. ‘He hasn’t even said anything yet.’

“I don’t need him to,” I muttered under my breath. “I know.”

Before fear could swallow me whole, the door to his office swung open, revealing his secretary, who gave a small nod. “The boss is ready for you.”

My heart skipped. My palms were clammy, so I wiped them against my skirt before stepping inside.

His office was the same spacious and proper place I remembered it to be. He didn’t smile when I entered. Instead, he gestured to the chair across from his desk.

“Sit down, Carrot.”

Even though he had not meant it cruelly, I still haven't gotten used to the nickname. He had given it to me on my first day at the Tribune, the moment his eyes landed on my bright auburn hair and the freckles scattered across my cheeks. “You look like a carrot,” he had said bluntly, and from then on, everyone in the newsroom followed his lead. I laughed it off most times, but I couldn’t help agreeing with him. Whenever I stood in front of the mirror, I saw the carrot too. My hair was like a flame-orange body, my freckles like rough patches on the skin. I would pass for a vegetable walking around in heels.

Today, though, there was no humour in his voice when he said it. He was wearing a serious look on his face instead. I sat down before him, fingers gently tapping my lap.

“Mia,” he began, and the way he used my real name instead of Carrot made my stomach clench. “We need to talk about your work.”

The fear that had been following me all morning finally sank in. I nodded slowly, my throat too tight for words.

“You’re one of the most passionate reporters here,” he continued, leaning back in his chair. “But passion can be a problem when it gets in the way of judgment. You were assigned to cover politics, and I know you don't like the current mayor, but you don't have to make it so obvious in your reports. The board has noticed. The sponsors have noticed. I can’t keep defending you.”

Every word hit me like a blow, and my chest tightened because he was right, of course. I had strong opinions, and I never learned to hide them well. But I never thought it would get bad enough to jeopardise my job.

“I–” My voice cracked, and I swallowed hard. “I didn’t mean for it to happen like that. I was only–”

“Being honest? Being yourself?” His tone softened, but his eyes were still sharp. “That’s not what this newsroom needs. We need impartiality, Mia. Discipline. Without it, you can’t stay.”

The last sentence echoed inside me like a slammed door. My fingers dug into my skirt, nails biting through fabric.

Lyra stirred again, her presence brushing against my thoughts like a hand on my shoulder. ‘Don’t cry. Don’t you dare cry in front of him.’

I bit down on my lip and forced myself to meet his gaze. “Are you saying I’m fired?”

The office was silent for a moment before he sighed and shook his head. “Not yet. But if you stay in politics, it will come to that.”

Relief and fear clashed inside me. I wasn’t fired yet, but it still felt like a blade was hanging over my neck.

“So, what then?” My voice was hoarse.

He folded his hands on the desk. “There’s another opening. It's temporary, but important. I'm sure you know that the national basketball team is preparing for the Olympics.” He paused, and I nodded in agreement. “They’ve given us full access to their training camp, so I need someone on the inside who can take care of the interviews, write about the players' interests, and provide behind-the-scenes coverage. You’d be reassigned to sports.”

For a moment, I blinked at him. Sports? I barely kept track of politics without losing my head. What business did I have chasing sweaty athletes across a court?

“I’m not sure I’m the right fit for–”

“You are,” he cut in firmly. “You’re persistent, you know how to dig for angles others miss, and you’re not afraid of difficult people. They’ll respect that.”

Difficult people. The meaning of those words hit differently because I knew exactly who he meant. Even though he didn’t say the name, I knew he was talking about Liam Montgomery.

My stomach twisted as the unwanted memories tried to come in. Liam was the star of the team, the golden boy of basketball, adored by fans and worshipped by the press.

And hated by me.

Our history was not something I liked to remember, yet it never went away. Every headline about him was a reminder of what happened. Every photo of that smug grin lit the fire of my anger all over again.

“Boss,” I whispered, my throat tightening again. “I really don’t think I can…”

“You can.” His tone left no room for argument. “This is your chance to prove you can keep personal feelings out of your work. If you can do this, perhaps we’ll discuss bringing you back into politics. If not…” He dragged, and I got the message.

I would be fired if I refused, but I would be trapped if I accepted.

Lyra’s voice came from her corner. ‘Take it. At least you’ll still have a job. You can’t afford to lose this.’

I closed my eyes briefly, steadying myself. She was right, as much as I hated it.

When I opened my eyes again, he was still watching me, patient but not willing to change his mind. “Do we have an understanding, Mia?”

“Yes,” I whispered.

Something eased in his shoulders, though he didn’t smile. Instead, he leaned forward. “One more thing. I know what people are like in those camps. I know how they treat reporters, especially ones who look like you. Don’t get close to the players. Do your job, write your stories, and keep your distance. Understood?”

I forced myself to nod. My boss was a disciplined man, not prone to exaggeration. If he said it, he meant it.

“Understood,” I replied with a forced smile.

He leaned back in his chair, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “I mean, what’s the worst that could happen? It’s not like you’ll fall in love with an athlete.”

I rolled my eyes so hard I thought they might get stuck. “Right.”