Page 31 of Royal Deception (Royals of the Underworld #2)

RORY

T he text shouldn’t have surprised me.

And yet, staring at the words on my screen— I’m quitting as your assistant —it still feels like a sucker punch.

I’ve read it so many times over the past couple of days that I could probably recite it by now. Not that it changes anything. The words remain the same. Clary’s still gone.

I thought maybe she just needed space. That after the gala, after everything, she’d cool off and we’d figure things out. That she’d come back.

But she hasn’t. And she won’t.

I should let it go. Move on, you know? I tell myself that as I shove my phone onto my desk and drag a hand down my face. If Clary wants to be done with me, fine. She was just an assistant. I can replace her.

Which is why, by midweek, I have a new one sitting outside my office.

Only, it turns out “replacing Clary” isn’t as easy as I told myself it would be.

I lean back in my chair, rubbing at the tension in my temples as my new assistant, Aaron, steps into my office.

“Got your coffee,” he says, setting the cup down with a loud thunk.

I don’t even have to take a sip to know it’s wrong. The smell alone is enough. Too sweet. Too much milk. Definitely not black.

I stare at it, then at him. “What is this?”

Aaron glances at the cup. “Uh… coffee?”

I inhale sharply. “What kind of coffee?”

“Caramel macchiato. Thought you could use something fun, Boss.” He grins like he's done me a favor.

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I don’t do fun coffee, Aaron. I drink it black.”

Aaron shrugs. “Could’ve fooled me. The guy at the shop said your usual was some oat milk nonsense.” He laughs, the sound awkward.

I blink. “Oat milk nonsense?”

“Yeah, I dunno. Something about how the lady who used to pick up your order always got a splash of oat milk and a double shot. Figured that was your thing.”

Clary.

I exhale slowly. “That was her coffee order, not mine.”

Aaron grimaces. “Oh. Well, your previous assistant must’ve had weird taste.”

I say nothing, just push the coffee aside.

“Did you confirm my lunch reservation?” I ask instead.

Aaron frowns. “Lunch reservation?"

"Yes, the one I asked you to make this morning. With Senator Burns.”

“Oh.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Um. No. I didn’t know I was supposed to confirm it. I mean, I booked it, so I figured it was fine.”

I close my eyes for a second. Clary always confirmed reservations. I never had to remind her.

“And the expense reports?” I ask, already dreading the answer.

Aaron makes a face. “Yeah, so… I took a look, but, man, those things are a mess. No offense, but it’s kinda your own fault. Your system’s all over the place.”

I drop my hands onto my desk, my patience thinning. “My system?”

"Yeah,” he says, giving me a nervous smile. “You know, there’s software to manage that kind of thing now. Maybe your old assistant was just a dinosaur. I’m hip with the times, though. Don’t worry.” He chuckles like he just told the funniest joke in the world.

I don’t laugh.

Because he’s right. They have fancy software now, but Clary had a special system of her own and things got done just as quickly and efficiently.

She knew how to handle every aspect of my life.

Now I realize she wasn’t just an amazing assistant. She was practically running my life.

And she did it flawlessly.

I glance at my untouched coffee, then at Aaron, who’s still standing there like he hasn’t completely botched the simplest tasks.

I already know he’s not going to last the week.

On top of Aaron’s incompetence, I’ve gotten the cold shoulder from Callie after the gala. I feel it even in her latest text.

Callie: Got the schedule. Let me know when your team is ready.

No sign of the usual lighthearted tone. I tap out a quick reply.

Rory: Will do. Thanks for sending over. I’ll have everything set up.

No response.

I keep busy, trying to make the day go by, but the emptiness of the office without Clary and the chill with Callie hang over me. I send a follow-up message, trying to make things right after last night’s rejection, but she just responds with brief, professional answers.

Rory: Can we talk about what happened?

Callie: The press tour is all set up. Finalized schedule coming your way.

That’s all. No friendly banter. No acknowledgment of anything other than the task at hand.

I hate it.

And as the day wears on, I’m reminded of how much I’ve lost—both at work and with the people around me.

I can’t sit still. Every second without Clary feels like it’s dragging me under. I’m losing everything, and I can’t stand it. I don’t know what I’m doing anymore without her.

I press her name on my phone again. I need to hear her voice. I need her to hear me.

The line clicks.

“Rory,” she says, sharp and unyielding, like she’s already anticipating my call.

“Clary, please. Will you at least meet with me?” I beg, my voice desperate. “I need you to hear me out. Can we meet? Please?”

There’s silence on the other end, a long, pregnant pause. And then, she speaks.

“Where?” Her voice is guarded, but it’s there—just beneath the surface—a hint of curiosity that I can latch onto.

“I’ll come to you,” I say quickly. “Anywhere. Just please give me a chance to explain.”

I wait as she considers it. Finally, she responds.

“Fine. Meet me at Cafe Benediction,” she says, her tone flat, but there's no refusal. “It’s in the Marlowe District. One hour.”

I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding. “Thank you.” I’m willing to travel to the ends of the earth if it means getting a chance to see Clary again. But before I can say another word, the line goes dead.

I arrive early, trying to calm my nerves, but the wait feels endless. I’m out of my element here, standing in a neighborhood that doesn’t belong to me. I feel like an outsider, like I shouldn’t be here, but I push the feeling down. I’ll do whatever it takes to get this right.

I check my phone again, hoping for some sign that she’s on her way—but there’s nothing. No message. Nothing.

When she finally walks in, her gaze is cold, calculating, and she doesn’t spare me a single second longer than necessary before taking a seat at the table. She crosses her arms, and I can already feel the wall between us.

“You wanted to talk,” she says, her voice sharp. “So talk. What the hell do you want from me?”

I swallow hard, trying to get my thoughts together. The words feel like they’re stuck in my throat, but I have to say it. I can’t keep pretending that everything is fine when I know I’ve screwed this up beyond measure.

“I want you back, Clary.” I can’t keep the desperation from creeping into my voice. “I want you as my assistant, as you—everything. I didn’t realize what I had until you were gone. Please, come back. Let me fix this.”

She doesn’t say anything at first, just stares at me like she’s waiting for the punchline.

“You don’t get it, do you?” She finally breaks the silence, her voice low and controlled, but there’s a dangerous edge to it.

“You want me back because it’s convenient for you.

Because you’re not getting what you want without me.

You want to snap your fingers and make me your assistant again, your sub again, but you never stopped to think about what I wanted. ”

I try to say something, but she holds up a hand to stop me.

“No.” Her tone is firm now, like she’s drawing a line in the sand. “I’m not coming back to be your doormat. I liked the submission, I did. But that’s not all I want to be to you, Rory. I’m not just going to crawl back into a role where you treat me like I’m disposable. I’m done being used.”

My chest tightens. I want to argue, want to explain, but the words are stuck. She’s right. I did take her for granted, and now I’m paying for it.

“I’m not asking you to come back for that,” I say, softer this time. “I just want you. I need you in my life. Not just as an assistant, not just as… that. Just you.”

She doesn’t look at me with soft eyes anymore. She’s standing her ground, unwavering.

“No. I’m done, Rory.” Her voice cracks just the slightest, but she stands taller, more composed than ever. “I can’t keep doing this. Not with you.”

I take a step forward, my heart pounding harder with every word that leaves her mouth. "Clary, please. Just give me a chance to prove I can do better. I’ll show you I’m serious about this. About us."

She crosses her arms, eyes narrowing like she’s trying to weigh my sincerity, but the hesitation is clear in her face. She opens her mouth to speak but stops herself, thinking it over.

I swallow hard, a wave of desperation rising in me. “I’ll take you out. A real date, somewhere nice. No work, no distractions. Just the two of us. Let me show you I’m not the guy I’ve been.”

Clary’s brow furrows, and for a long moment, she just stares at me. I can see the conflict in her eyes, the war between her hurt and her desire to believe me.

Finally, she sighs, but her tone softens just a touch. “One date, Rory. One. If you screw this up, I’m done for good.”

Clary’s words echo in my head, and I feel a weight lift off my chest as a spark of hope flares. She agreed. She’s willing to give me a chance, and I won’t screw this up. Not this time.

I head back to the office, a small smile playing on my lips. I can finally breathe a little easier, knowing that maybe, just maybe, things with Clary can be fixed.

But when I step inside, the air feels wrong. The office is too quiet, the lights too dim, like something’s off.

I look around, expecting to see Aaron at his desk, but he’s nowhere. My heart skips as I walk toward the file cabinet. It’s slightly open. My stomach drops as I pull it open further, revealing the empty space where several classified documents used to be.

“Goddammit,” I mutter under my breath.

The adrenaline kicks in instantly. My mind races as I try to process what’s happening. I turn to the office door and shout, “Aaron!”

There’s no response. I step into the hall, my footsteps echoing as I walk toward the break room, then the bathrooms, all empty. Panic starts to rise in my chest.

I rush to grab my phone and dial his number. When it picks up, I don’t waste time.

“Aaron, what the hell happened? Where are the security files?”

He sounds out of breath when he answers. “Oh, some guy came in earlier to get them. He said he worked for your friend.”

“What?” My mind spins as I try to process what he’s saying. I have to breathe slowly in and out to stop myself from exploding. “What friend?” I ask, trying to remain calm.

“Your friend, um… Mr. Volkov? He showed me some kind of ID. Looked official, you know?”

My stomach churns as I pace. “Do you have any idea what the hell he took?”

There’s a long pause, and then Aaron’s voice comes through, shaky. “Well, he took all those files that were marked ‘ Classified Security Intel ,’ I think?”

“You fucking idiot.” My hand tightens around the phone, nearly crushing it. The man’s already gone, and with him, everything I’ve worked for. Anatoly’s making his move. And I’m too late.

“You’re fired, Aaron.”