Switched Bride, True Luna - Chapter 39: Chapter 39

Emily
I wasn’t expecting to see my name on the agenda for the meeting today. It wasn’t printed in the margins or scribbled in as an afterthought. It was there—centered, bold, official—just beneath Logan’s.
The sight made my chest go tight for a moment, though I kept my expression neutral as I slid into my seat at the far edge of the long, dark wood table.
The others were already assembling. Cabinet members. Division leads. A few grizzled betas who looked at me like I was some kind of misplaced accessory.
Carla, naturally, took the seat nearest to Logan’s. She handed him a report with a too-bright smile and settled back, arms crossed like she’d delivered him world peace.
Logan didn’t return the smile. “Let’s begin,” he said.
His voice cut through the low hum of pre-meeting chatter, and the room snapped into silence. I opened my notebook, heart already racing ahead of me.
The first half of the meeting was status updates—Pack finances, territory disputes, and diplomatic overtures from two borderline allies. Then came the trade delegation report. Logan turned to me without ceremony.
“Emily’s been reviewing the outbound projections,” he said. “Walk us through what you found. Please.”
All eyes turned to me and against my better judgement my heart thumped at the tacked on ‘please.’ Logan wasn’t a man to ask for anything.
I smoothed the papers in front of me, keeping my breathing even. “There’s a discrepancy in the material transport between Titanfang’s northern armory and its supplier chain. The numbers we were given don’t match the actual deliveries. Either someone’s skimming or someone’s lying.”
A beat of silence. One of the older wolves, a senior logistics Beta, frowned. “That’s a serious accusation.”
“It’s not an accusation,” I said calmly. “It’s a pattern. Repeated inconsistencies over three shipments. I flagged it for internal audit yesterday. I’m not assigning blame, just stating fact.”
Logan said nothing, but his gaze sharpened on the Beta. The man shifted in his seat.
The next half hour passed with less resistance. No one challenged me directly again. When a minor debate arose over language in a trade memo, I offered a cleaner alternative that was adopted without comment.
Logan never once interrupted me. And when the meeting closed, he simply nodded.
“Good work,” he said. To me. In front of everyone.
I waited until the room emptied before gathering my things. As I slid the final folder into my bag, a shadow fell over the table.
“You missed a decimal in the financial summary,” Carla said sweetly. “If Logan had signed it, it would’ve been embarrassing.”
She handed me a packet—prepped and collated. I took it without flinching and flipped to the flagged page.
The mistake wasn’t mine.
It had been inserted—subtly—during the final formatting.
I looked up. “Interesting,” I said. “I’ll fix it.”
Her smile faltered for a heartbeat before she turned and walked away.
I corrected the document on the spot and forwarded it directly to Logan’s office with a private note: Revised and accurate. Let me know if you need anything else. Then I archived a copy of the earlier version—with her edit trail still intact.
I didn’t need to confront her. Not yet. Some mistakes revealed more when you let them breathe.
By the time I got back to our shared home, the place was glowing with late evening light. Pack members passed with polite nods. A few even smiled.
I couldn’t tell if it was respect or recognition—or just a shift in the wind now that Iris was gone.
I stepped inside our private rooms and found Logan already there, jacket discarded across the back of a chair, sleeves rolled, reading a file with his hair slightly mussed like he’d been dragging his hands through it again.
He didn’t look up when I entered. But he said, “I ordered us dinner.”
I dropped my bag by the door. “I’m not hungry.”
“Did something happen?” He set the folder down and gave me his full attention.
I turned toward my room, hesitating. “Not yet.”
His voice followed me as I started to walk away. “Then stay. Just for a bit.”
I paused. Just long enough to be uncomfortable, then I dropped my bag on a chair and turned back. I sat across from him without waiting for an invitation.
The room felt warmer than usual. Or maybe that was just me, still flushed from how close I’d come to breaking during that meeting. From the way he’d looked at me across the room like I belonged there.
Logan closed the folder. “You were right about the projections. That Beta’s been running unchecked for too long.”
“I didn’t say he was skimming.”
“No. But you wanted someone to check. That’s enough.” There was something in his voice. Not quite admiration. Not quite apology. Something close.
“I got a version of the report today with a decimal shifted,” I said, watching him carefully.
His brow furrowed. “From who?”
“Carla.”
That earned a pause. Then, slowly, he leaned back in his chair, studying me.
“You’re not going to say anything yet, are you?”
“No,” I said. “Not until I have what I need.”
He smiled faintly, just the corner of his mouth. “Smart.”
“You keep acting surprised.”
“I’m not,” he said. “Not anymore.”
That was... unexpected. I looked away first, gaze falling on the abandoned press release draft on the table. “You’re going to announce the conclusion of the internal investigation?”
He nodded. “Tomorrow. It’ll go out to all allied Packs.”
“I reworked the draft you gave me,” I said, pulling a marked-up version from my bag. “Your version was too aggressive. If we’re trying to restore confidence, we can’t sound like we’re hunting shadows.”
“I was trying to sound decisive.”
“You sounded defensive.”
He took the draft from me and read in silence.
“You changed the phrasing on the conclusion,” he said, voice neutral.
“Yes.”
“You removed the word ‘corruption.’”
“Because it implies the system is still compromised.”
He looked up. “It is.”
“But the point is that you’re cleaning it.”
We stared at each other for a long beat. The tension wasn’t combative—it was close. Pressed between us like a breath we hadn’t agreed to share.
Finally, I reached out and slid the folder across the table toward him. “If you want a puppet, Logan, you should’ve kept Iris.”
That did it. He laughed.
Not the cold, calculated chuckle he gave to nobles or rivals—but a real one. Brief, surprised, unguarded. A full bellied laugh I think caught us both off guard.
“I’d burn this place down if you ever let someone pull your strings,” he said, shaking his head. “You’d never survive as a puppet. You’d light the wires on fire and strangle the puppeteer.”
Something in me uncoiled at that—something I hadn’t realized was so tightly wound.
And when our eyes met again, it felt like the air changed.
His smile faded.
And the silence between us stretched, slow and heavy, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was full. Thick with anticipation and unfinished business.
His hand twitched like he was about to reach for mine, but then he stopped. I saw the hesitation. Saw the moment he decided to pull back.
He stood instead, tucking the folder under one arm.
“I’ll send the release with your revisions,” he said quietly. “Every word.”
He started toward the hall and I didn’t stop him. But I watched. And I felt it—the pulse in my throat, the ache behind my ribs, the echo of something that almost happened.
Almost.