The Contract We Never Honored

Madison's POV

“Is this the best you could come up with? Have you lost your mind, Madison?” Harold’s voice echoed loudly through the newsroom, cutting through the oppressive silence like a sharpened blade.

I had barely lifted my head up from the table when my gaze met dozens of pairs directing their attention to me. This led to rumors and endless whispers being passed around like vices. My editor was usually coolheaded, but not today for some strange reason.

I was left standing with my hands gripping the side of my desk. “I did my job, Harold. I reported the truth.”

“The truth?” Harold came toward me with the printout of my article as if it was a weapon of some sort. “You call this the truth? This is a death wish!”

“I’ll never apologise for saying the truth,” I retorted angrily even if my voice trembled.

In essence, the atmosphere was electric enough; one could literally feel the tension and choke on it. Mobiles rang, type-writers clicked and all around there were people editing their files and documents but the real drama was on.

Harold threw a file paper on my desk and almost whispering the words he had screamed just this morning. “Did you have any concept what sort of scenario you’ve just triggered? Ethan Blackwell doesn’t play fair about it. But now you have ensured that the whole of this paper is in his sights.”

I was still trying to make a comment about what he said when the double doors to the newsroom flew open, and banged against the walls. Eyes widened and lips parted collectively as people in the room drew in their breath at the same time.

There he was. Ethan Blackwell.

He entered the room like the predator he was, wearing an expensive business suit, his eyes hissed with resentment. His polished shoes were the only sound heard in the large expanse of the newsroom.

I stood, willing my knees not to buckle. He was even more intimidating in person than I remembered.

“Madison Russo,” he said, his tone a deep productive rumble.

The anxious feeling grew in my chest but, despite the adrenaline, I had to control myself. “Mr. Blackwell.”

He stood in front of my desk leaning over me. As usual, he was taking up all the space; physically present but emotionally and mentally unbearable.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” he asked, in a calm tone, too calm. And it scared me but I couldn't back out now.

I met his gaze, refusing to back down. " I just brought your evil deeds to light."

He gave a sarcastic smile. “You really believe this is all about telling the truth?” No. It is more directly about you writing the lies. Fabrications. Baseless allegations that will be costly to you.”

“Everything in that article is backed by evidence,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

He leaned in closer, as he stared deep into my eyes. “Evidence that won’t hold up when I’m through with you. Do you know how easy it is to bury someone like you, Ms. Russo?”

The threat hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. My palms were clammy, but I clenched them into fists at my sides. “You can try, Mr. Blackwell, but I won’t be silenced.”

His expression darkened. “You’ll regret this. That’s a promise.”

Not a word more was said than he went out, and the door banged to after him.

Again there was whispering in the newsroom and I dismissed it. My hands shook as got back on the chair.

A shadow loomed over my desk. It was Harold, my editor looking uncomfortable, his tie slightly loosed.

"Madison,” he started with his deep voice.