Switched Bride, True Luna - Chapter 38: Chapter 38

Logan
The report sat unopened on my desk for a full hour before I touched it again.
Not because I doubted what was inside. I didn’t. I’d read it twice already the night before, memorized the sequence of events, the files, the log trails Emily had laid out perfectly.
She hadn’t missed a detail. That was what made it worse.
She’d done it all without me. And in spite of my doubt.
I was supposed to be the one protecting her. From the nobles. From my staff. From the vultures circling for a scandal.
Instead, I’d stood there—arms crossed, voice flat—and made her prove herself. Because I wasn’t sure I believed her.
Because part of me, the cold, calculating part, had whispered: If she’s guilty, don’t let her drag you down too.
I rubbed a hand over my jaw, trying to clear the guilt from my chest. But it stayed where I could feel it.
By the time I entered the meeting room, the key assistants and accountants were already seated. Iris sat near the center, legs crossed, back straight, wearing a deep purple blouse that made her look more like a queen than a secretary.
Her expression was perfectly neutral—professional, unreadable. She didn’t look concerned. That would change immediately.
I closed the door behind me.
“This won’t take long,” I said, dropping the folder onto the table with a dull thud. I stayed standing, towering over everyone else seated.
I pulled the first document free—an internal budget report flagged for fraud two weeks ago—and laid it flat for them to see.
“This was submitted under Emily’s name,” I said. “Logged under her credentials. There was an error in the transfer math that could’ve passed unnoticed. But it didn’t.”
I laid the next page beside it: a version of the same document, copied and altered, the file path linking it to a different terminal.
“Same document. Same date. Different edits. Different access point.”
Iris went perfectly still, her exterior frozen with rapt attention.
I continued, “The original proposal Emily submitted was clean. Her notes flagged inconsistencies before the accusations began. This version”—I tapped the second page— “was duplicated, edited, and uploaded to my inbox. The digital signature was traced.”
I turned my eyes to the table, “It came from your workstation, Iris.”
Silence spread through the room. Carla shifted in her chair.
Iris’s voice was calm when it came. “Anyone could’ve accessed that terminal. Emily’s quite skilled with system tools, isn’t she? Perhaps she’s clever enough to set me up.”
I looked at her then. Dead center.
“Iris,” I said evenly, “do you really think I’d bring this to the table without confirming the logs through I.T.?”
She blinked. Just once. It was the first crack in her composure.
“System admin confirms the file markers were created with your login,” I continued. “Your fingerprint is on the access key. The logs show repeated attempts to mirror her work, not sabotage it—overwrite it.”
I paused for effect, then I said the part I hadn’t decided until this morning.
“You tried to frame someone – my fiancé - using my name. My office. My seal. That’s not a mistake. That’s a calculated attack.”
I let the words settle.
“I won’t tolerate it. You’re dismissed, effective immediately.”
She opened her mouth—just a fraction—but the command in my tone left no room for argument. Her lips pressed shut.
No one in the room spoke.
Iris stood slowly, gathered her folder without meeting my eyes, and walked out. The door shut behind her with a hush.
I just stood there, staring at the empty chair, and felt no satisfaction.
Only silence. I’d removed the threat. But the damage? That was already done.
Carla was the first to move—rising slowly, gathering her tablet with overly careful hands like she was afraid of drawing attention. Two of the other aides filed out behind her, heads down, backs stiff.
“Emily. Please stay.”
She froze near the threshold. Just for a second. Then she turned, spine straight, expression masking the hurt I’d been trying to avoid the last couple of days.
She said nothing as the last person slipped out behind her and the door eased closed again, sealing us in.
I stayed where I was, hands braced on the table, eyes fixed on the wood grain. I couldn’t bring myself to look at her yet.
“You were right,” I said quietly. “About everything.” I was met with silence so I glanced up.
Emily stood with her arms loosely folded, the folder still clutched against her chest. She looked calm. But I saw a flash of hesitation.
I cleared my throat and tried again. “You didn’t just prove your innocence. You built a better case than half my advisors could have. You didn’t panic, and you didn’t wait for someone to rescue you.”
Still nothing. She was giving me the kind of silence that didn’t come from lack of words—but from too many unspoken ones.
“I should have seen it sooner,” I added. “I should’ve known Iris was capable of something like this.”
Emily’s mouth lifted—just slightly. Not quite a smile.
“Should have,” she echoed. “But you didn’t.”
That landed harder than I expected. Not because she said it with any kind of venom—but because she didn’t.
There was no anger in her voice. Just a tired truth.
“I didn’t want to believe you would do something like that,” I said, stepping around the table slowly, “but I didn’t want to look like a fool if you had.”
Her eyes flicked up, sharp. “So you picked the safer option and disregarded anything you knew about me.”
The words were like a blade—precise and bloodless. She didn’t raise her voice, but she didn’t need to.
“I picked wrong,” I said.
She nodded once. Not to agree—but to accept. Somehow that was worse.
“I didn’t ask for this role, Logan,” she said, quiet and level. “You brought me here. You put me beside you, in front of the press, in front of the Pack, and then when people started pointing fingers, you didn’t even defend me.”
“I was trying to protect you,” I said before I could stop myself.
That earned me a real reaction—her eyes widened slightly, incredulous.
“By letting them doubt me?”
“No,” I said, jaw tight. “By staying impartial. And not pulling you in deeper if it was true.”
She laughed, bitter and low. “And if it wasn’t?”
I had no answer. The silence folded in again.
Emily stepped forward then, slow and deliberate. She placed the folder on the table in front of me, tapping it once.
“You have everything you need now,” she said. “That’s what matters, right?”
She turned to go. My hand shot out before I could think, fingers closing lightly around her wrist.
She stilled.
“I don’t care about the file,” I said, voice low. “I care that you stayed. When you had every reason not to.”
She didn’t look at me.
“I stayed because I’m not the kind of person who runs or rolls over just because it gets hard and people are assholes,” she said.
Then she gently pulled her hand free. And I let her.
But as she walked toward the door, I realized something I hadn’t seen clearly until now—not when she brought me the folder, not when she took down Iris, not even when she stood silent while I hesitated to believe her.
I had broken something. Deeply.
Whatever trust she’d started to build in me—whatever sliver of belief she’d been nurturing—I’d crushed it beneath my doubt.
I’d asked her to stand beside me.
And then I left her alone in the fire.