In Bed With My Ex's Brother-in-Law

Chapter 5 Disgraced At The Office

Elena's POV

I moved in with May as soon as I was discharged. Her apartment was small and nothing like the spacious apartment Mark once provided for me, but it was enough for now.

"Elena, I'm telling you," May said, leaning against the doorframe with the air of someone repeating herself for the hundredth time, "Alpha Eric Thompson is interested. I can smell it from here."

I shook my head as I smoothed out a wrinkled blouse. "You're reading too much into it. He felt guilty, that's all. His sister stole my boyfriend, remember? He probably just wanted to even the score somehow."

"Uh-huh." May's laugh was knowing. "Men like Eric Thompson don't do guilt. They don't do favors for fun, either. They either want something, or they don't bother."

I said nothing.

But images flickered through my mind—the dark intensity in his eyes in the elevator, the way he'd looked at me as if he could devour me without touching me. That had felt like wanting. Like interest. But I refused to dwell on it. I wouldn't fool myself again.

"Look," May continued, a wicked glint in her eye, "even if it is guilt, use it. Thank him. Seduce him, if you have to. Make Mark choke on his own regret."

I spun around. "No. Absolutely not."

She blinked. "Why not?"

"Because I'm done." My voice was firm, final. "I'm not playing revenge games. I want my life back—a job, stability. I don't want Eric's charity. I'll pay him back... every cent... once I'm on my feet."

May snorted. "You're either naive or stupidly noble. Do you have any idea how long it'll take to repay someone like Eric Thompson?"

"However long it takes," I said flatly, meeting her eyes. "I'm done catering to powerful men. Done being someone's convenient entertainment. I want something real this time. Real people. Real life."

May sighed, finally backing down. "You're impossible."

She dropped it after that, but I could see it in her expression—she thought I was throwing away something valuable.

I turned back to unpacking, keeping my hands busy so I wouldn't think about him. About the way Eric smelled, the warmth of his touch, how his voice lingered in my head no matter how hard I tried to forget.

***

Two days later, I walked into Thompson Enterprises like I still belonged there. Four years I'd given this company—weekends, holidays, sleepless nights. I wasn't coming back to grovel. I just wanted what I'd earned.

I approached the HR desk and spoke clearly. "I need to process my severance package."

The woman behind the desk glanced up briefly, then started typing. She frowned at her screen, clicked a few more times, and frowned again. Finally, she looked at me. "Elena, you said?"

"Yes. Elena Grey. I reported to Mark—"

She held up one hand. "No need to explain. Just give me a second to locate your file."

Something in her tone made my stomach clench. She turned her monitor slightly toward herself, squinting at it. "This is odd."

"What's odd?" I asked, leaning forward slightly.

She sat back in her chair. "Your name isn't showing up anywhere in the employee database."

I let out a confused laugh. "That's not possible. I worked here for four years."

She typed again, slower now, more deliberate. "No employment contract. No payroll history. No benefits enrollment under your name."

My smile disappeared. "Then how did I get paid?"

She looked at me directly now. "According to this, all payments associated with your name came through Mark's personal accounts."

The air left my lungs. "Wait. What does that mean?"

She crossed her arms. "It means you were never officially employed by this company. Legally speaking, you weren't our employee."

My voice came out quiet, almost disbelieving. "So you're saying I don't exist in your system?"

She shrugged. "Correct."

Heat flooded my face. "Mark was my supervisor," I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

Her lips curled into something cruel. "Sounds more like he was your keeper."

Rage propelled me forward until I was braced against her desk. "I'm not here begging. I'm here for my severance. I earned it."

Her gaze traveled over me, slow and assessing. "Miss Grey, from the company's perspective, you weren't fired. You were... released from a private arrangement."

"A private arrangement?" I echoed.

She nodded. "And now you're demanding compensation you're not entitled to."

The meaning sank in—ugly and humiliating. I gripped the edge of her desk. "So you're telling me four years of work means nothing?"

Her eyes turned cold. "I'd say you have some nerve, coming here like this."

The room shrank. The air thickened. I finally understood—this wasn't a mistake. It was a calculated humiliation.

She leaned forward, lowering her voice. "Every proposal you touched had Mark's name first," she said. "Profit sharing, credit, approvals—all his."

"That doesn't erase my work!" I shot back. "I drafted those proposals. I ran those projects. Ask anyone on the floor."

A thin smile. "And how would we verify that?"

"Check the records," I said. "Emails. Meeting minutes. Performance reports."

She shook her head. "System access has been revoked. You're locked out."

My heart hammered. "Then pull the security footage!" I insisted. "You'll see me here every day. Early mornings. Late nights. Four years of my life isn't something I imagined!"

Her expression hardened. "Security footage is confidential."

"And stealing someone's labor isn't?" I snapped.

Her lips pressed together. "Be careful, Miss Grey."

"Careful?" A bitter laugh escaped me. "Careful about what? That I gave four years to this company and I'm nothing but... what? Mark's shadow?"

She didn't answer immediately. Then, in a voice cold and precise, she said, "Perhaps your... contributions... weren't limited to the professional realm."

Silence crashed down. I stared at her. "What does that mean?"

A tilt of her head. "Mark was first on every project. Who's to say what you truly brought to the table?"

My hands shook. "Say it," I demanded.

She met my eyes without flinching. "People might assume your influence came from... elsewhere."

The insult landed like a blow. "You're accusing me of sleeping my way through four years of work?" I whispered.

"I'm saying," she replied calmly, "that from the company's perspective, Mark Dalton was the asset. Not you."

Something inside me snapped. "I'm taking this public," I said. "Right now."

She pressed a button on her desk. "Security," she spoke into the intercom. "HR, please."

Two guards appeared in the doorway moments later.

"This woman is no longer employed here," she said, rising. "Escort her out."

I stepped back. "You can't do this."

She met my gaze. "We already have."

The guards advanced. I didn't fight. Couldn't. As they steered me out, heads turned, whispers followed.

Four years. Erased. And I was being dragged out like an intruder, like I'd never belonged at all.

The moment I was shoved out of the office, I stumbled straight into a solid chest.

Warm. Familiar. Hard.

I froze. I didn't need to look up. The scent—deep, earthy, laced with something dangerous—wrapped around me like a net. My breath caught before I could stop it.

And then his voice rolled over me, low and unmistakable.

"Why is it that every time I run into you... You look like the world just finished chewing you up and spitting you out?"