I wake with a start, jolted by someone shaking my shoulder. Disoriented and running on instinct, I jump out of bed, adrenaline surging, and launch myself at the intruder with a sharp yell.

"Ouch, Steele!" a familiar voice exclaims as my fist collides with their jaw.

Blinking, I take in the sight of Luke sprawled on the floor beneath me. Relief floods through me as I realize who it is. Thank goodness it's him and not someone else—or worse, a genuine threat. My tense muscles begin to relax as the situation sinks in.

"Luke Sawyer!" I exclaim my tone a mix of irritation and disbelief. "What on earth are you doing in here, shaking me awake like that?"

I rise quickly, brushing off the excess adrenaline, and offer him a hand. My expression softens slightly, though the sharp edge of my scolding still lingers.

"Shhh!" he shushes me, his finger pressed to his lips. What the hell? I pull my hand back, narrowing my eyes at him.

"Don't shush me!" I whisper-yell, my voice low but sharp. "What are you even doing in my room? And what time is it?"

Luke leans against the doorframe, utterly unfazed. "I came to get you for our run, but you were out cold. I started to think you were dead," he says, his face scrunching up in mock seriousness. The ridiculous expression makes me laugh despite myself. Typical Luke Sawyer—always the joker.

"Is it five already?" I ask, disbelief lacing my voice. My insomnia rarely lets me sleep more than an hour, and I'd somehow managed nearly three this time.

"Yep. Now get your ass in gear so we can get the day started," he says, patting my shoulder with exaggerated enthusiasm.

I shoot him a pointed look. "You'd better get out of my room before your bestie hears the commotion you're making," I warn, nodding toward the wall that separates my room from Samantha's.

Luke's eyes light up, his grin widening into something utterly mischievous. "Wanna piss her off?" he asks, his tone practically gleeful.

I roll my eyes, already knowing where this is headed. Luke Sawyer, eternal child and constant mischief-maker. His green eyes are sparkling, and that awful grin of his is a clear sign of trouble.

"I'd love to," I admit with a smirk, "but not now. Let's give her a chance to at least eat her breakfast first—maybe she'll be in a better mood after."

Luke chuckles, but the laughter quickly shifts into something far more devious. Before I can stop him, he marches past me to the wall and starts pounding his balled-up fists against it, creating a loud, deliberate rhythm. Bang. Bang. Bang.

"Luke!" I hiss, darting forward, but it's too late—his impish grin says he's far too pleased with himself.

"Luke!" I whisper-yell again, grabbing his arm and yanking him back. He's laughing too hard to resist, his boyish giggle echoing through the room.

"You're insane," I mutter, shaking my head as I glance nervously at the wall. "If she comes in here, I'm letting her throttle you."

"Totally worth it," he says, still chuckling as he straightens up. "You should've seen your face—priceless."

I shove him toward the door, ignoring the faint heat of embarrassment creeping up my neck. "Go. Now. Before she really wakes up and turns this into a battle royale."

Luke gives me a mock salute, his grin never faltering. "Fine, fine. I'll meet you downstairs in ten. Don't keep me waiting, Steele."

As he slips out, I close the door behind him with a sigh of exasperation. My room feels calmer without his chaotic energy, but I can't help the faint smile tugging at the corner of my lips.

Shaking my head, I head toward the dresser, kicking those dreadful shoes out of my way, and pull out my running gear. The faint thud of footsteps in the hallway tells me Luke's on his way to find new trouble, and I silently hope he doesn't cross paths with her before I'm ready.

As I lace up my sneakers, I steal a glance at the wall. No sounds from the other side. Maybe she slept through his stunt. Or maybe she's planning a slow, calculated revenge.

Either way, I'm not sticking around to find out. Grabbing my phone and water bottle, I step out into the hall, ready to face whatever chaos this morning has in store.

I step into the hallway, the cool air brushing against my face as I pull the door shut behind me and lock my personal space. The apartment is quiet, except for the faint creak of wood beneath my feet and the hum of distant activity. Luke is nowhere in sight, probably already downstairs stretching or plotting his next prank.

I make my way to the staircase, the steady rhythm of my steps a comforting prelude to the run ahead. The familiar scent of coffee wafts up from the kitchen, and I allow myself a moment to savor it. A glance at my phone confirms it's still early—5:15 a.m.

As I descend the stairs, I hear a faint clinking sound from the kitchen. Luke, I assume, rifling through the cabinets like he owns the place.

But when I turn the corner into the kitchen, I'm greeted by a far more intimidating sight.

She's there. Samantha. Standing at the counter with a mug of coffee in one hand and an arched brow aimed squarely at me. Her hair is perfectly in place, and her expression is unreadable, except for the faint glint of suspicion in her eyes.

"Good morning," she says, her tone cool but pointed.

"Morning," I reply, keeping my voice steady. I set my water bottle on the counter and avoid her gaze, focusing instead on tying my jacket around my waist.

She takes a sip of her coffee, the silence between us stretching uncomfortably. I can feel her watching me, assessing every move, and it sets my nerves on edge.

"Did I hear some banging earlier?" she finally asks, her voice deceptively casual.

I freeze for half a second before turning to face her. "Banging? Oh, uh, probably just Luke being Luke," I say, forcing a light laugh. "You know how he is—never misses an opportunity to make noise."

Samantha narrows her eyes slightly, her lips pressing into a thin line. "Hmm."

The tension is palpable, but Luke strolls into the kitchen before she can press further, looking far too pleased with himself.

"Morning, sunshine," he says brightly, grabbing a banana from the fruit bowl and tossing it into the air. "Ready to hit the trail, Steele?"

I shoot him a look that screams shut up, but he just grins wider, completely unfazed.

Samantha's gaze shifts to Luke, her sharp eyes narrowing. "I trust you're both keeping things professional," she says smoothly, though her words carry a weight that's impossible to ignore.

Luke leans against the counter, peeling his banana with nonchalance. "Always, Sam. You know me—nothing but a model teammate."

I bite back a groan as Samantha's lips twitch into a tight, unamused smile.

"Good," she says, her tone crisp. "Because the last thing we need is any… unnecessary distractions." She places her mug in the sink and strides out of the kitchen without another word, leaving Luke and me in a charged silence.

"Unnecessary distractions?" Luke mimics in a hushed, mocking tone, his grin returning the moment she's out of earshot. "Man, she really knows how to set the mood, doesn't she?"

"Don't," I warn, grabbing my water bottle after filling it and heading for the door.

But Luke just laughs, trailing behind me. "You know she's just jealous, right? You're way more fun than she'll ever be."

I glance back at him, rolling my eyes. "Just keep up on the trail, Sawyer. And for the love of all things holy, don't make any more noise this morning."

"No promises," he says with a wink, striding ahead as we step into the staff elevator. The metallic doors slide shut with a soft hum, enclosing us in a brief, tense silence.

Luke and I jog back toward Escala, our steps falling into an easy rhythm on the pavement. It's been a challenging hour of cardio, but at least today didn't include kickboxing in the park. My limbs are still protesting yesterday's session, and I'm grateful he spared me that particular brand of torture.

The city is fully awake now, the hum of life surrounding us. Lights flicker on in apartments as their occupants move about, readying themselves for the day. Café owners flip signs to Open, inviting early risers in for coffee and pastries. Even on a Saturday, Seattle is bustling, its energy relentless.

Luke has been uncharacteristically quiet during the run, which I appreciated. It's rare for him to hold back his endless chatter, but it's given me space to think. My mind has been racing, cycling through scenarios of how to approach my next encounter with Mr. Grey. The man's intensity is a constant weight pressing down on me, and today is no exception.

But, of course, the silence can only last so long.

Luke coughs—a not-so-subtle cue that he's about to break it. I brace myself, exhaling sharply through my nose. So much for the peaceful end to our workout.

"So," he starts, his voice carrying that signature mix of curiosity and mischief. "I heard you're walking on thin ice. Prescott says Mr. G's ready to fire you."

I glance at him, irritation simmering beneath my carefully composed expression. Luke thrives on gossip, but hearing this from him feels different. He might be my friend, but even friends can be careless.

"And what else did she say?" I ask, slowing my pace slightly, trying to sound disinterested.

"That you messed up big time," he says with a shrug, his tone as casual as if he were commenting on the weather.

"Is that so?" I bite out, my voice heavy with sarcasm. Prescott, the self-proclaimed authority on everything Mr. Grey-related. The woman practically oozes smugness, and the idea of her discussing me like this sends a fresh wave of annoyance coursing through me.

"Yup," Luke says, popping the "p" for emphasis. He grins, oblivious to the storm brewing inside me.

"Well, she's an arrogant woman who feels threatened by anyone who might actually be competent," I snap, the words spilling out before I can stop myself.

Luke raises his eyebrows, clearly caught off guard. "Whoa. When did you grow claws?"

"I've had enough, Luke," I say, the frustration slipping through my tone despite my best efforts to remain composed. "And Mia isn't exactly making my life easier."

"You know you were set up to fail, right?" he says suddenly, his tone so casual it feels almost cruel.

I stop dead in my tracks, turning to face him. "What?" My voice is sharp, disbelief etched across my face.

"Yeah," he continues, unbothered by my reaction. "No one wanted to take Mia. You were just—well, convenient."

I stare at him, struggling to process his words. My chest tightens, a mix of anger and hurt bubbling to the surface. "I figured as much," I finally say, my voice quieter now. "But why would I be set up to fail?"

"It's like a game," he says, slowing his pace to match mine. "A bet among the other CPOs."

His words hit like a slap, and I stop again, turning to face him fully. "And were you a part of this game?" My question is sharp, each word cutting through the air like a blade.

Luke hesitates, his blue eyes flickering away from mine. That hesitation tells me everything I need to know.

"No," he lies, his voice unconvincing.

"Tell me the truth," I demand, stepping closer, my tone leaving no room for argument.

His shoulders slump slightly as he meets my gaze again. "Yes, I was—for a while. But, Steele, come on. Who wouldn't?"

"Who wouldn't?" I repeat, my voice trembling with a mix of anger and disbelief. I jab a finger into his chest, emphasizing my words. "Maybe a friend."

"It wasn't personal," he says quickly, trying to explain. "It's like hazing—a test to see how much you can handle before you break."

"And you went along with it?" I press, my voice sharp enough to cut. The betrayal stings, even more than I want to admit.

"I backed off," he says solemnly. "I swear, Steele. Once I got to know you, I couldn't keep doing it."

I shake my head, the disappointment sinking in. "Great. Good to know where I stood with you, Luke. Really."

We stand there for a moment in silence, the noise of the city filling the space between us. Luke's expression is contrite, but it does little to ease the ache of betrayal gnawing at my chest.

"Let's go," I finally say, my tone clipped. "We're going to be late."

I turn and start jogging toward Escala again, my steps heavier than before. Behind me, Luke follows, his usual lighthearted demeanor replaced by a somber quiet.

The remaining blocks to Escala feel longer than they should. The silence between us is thick, almost suffocating, and I can sense Luke struggling with whether to speak or not. For once, I wish he'd keep his mouth shut.

As we approach the familiar building, I focus on the sound of my sneakers hitting the pavement, the steady rhythm grounding me. My thoughts, however, are anything but steady. The idea that I've been nothing more than a pawn in some childish game is hard to stomach. It's not just about Luke's betrayal; it's about the lack of respect from everyone around me. The job was never supposed to be easy, but this? This feels cruel.

When we reach the glass doors of Escala, Luke holds one open for me. I stride past him without a word, my gaze fixed on the elevator ahead. The doorman greets us with a polite nod, but I barely register it. My focus is on getting upstairs, away from Luke and this awkward tension between us.

As the elevator doors close behind us, the silence becomes almost unbearable. I catch Luke glancing at me from the corner of my eye, his face etched with guilt.

"Steele," he starts, his voice soft.

I cut him off, my tone sharp but controlled. "Don't, Luke. Just… don't."

He exhales heavily, leaning against the elevator wall. "I messed up, okay? I know I did. But I'm not like the others. I stopped. Doesn't that count for something?"

I turn to face him, my arms crossed over my chest. "You're right. You did stop, and I appreciate that. But it doesn't erase the fact that you were part of it in the first place. Do you know what it's like to walk into a room and wonder who's laughing at you behind your back? To feel like you're constantly being tested—not because of your skills but because someone decided you're expendable?"

Luke looks away, his jaw tightening. "It wasn't supposed to be like that. It's just… tradition, you know? A stupid tradition."

"That's not an excuse," I snap, my voice rising slightly. "Traditions don't justify tearing someone down, Luke. Especially someone who's supposed to be your teammate."

The elevator dings as we reach our floor, and the doors slide open. I step out, not waiting for him to follow. My legs carry me toward my room with purpose, but my mind is a whirlwind of anger and hurt.

"Steele, wait," Luke calls after me, his footsteps quickening to catch up.

I stop just short of my door, turning to face him. "What?"

He runs a hand through his hair, clearly struggling to find the right words. "I'm sorry, okay? Really sorry. I never wanted to hurt you."

For a moment, I study him, searching for sincerity in his eyes. And I see it—genuine regret. But it doesn't erase the damage that's been done.

"I know," I say quietly. "But sorry doesn't fix everything, Luke. Trust isn't something you can just patch up overnight."

He nods, accepting my words with a solemn expression. "Fair enough."

Without another word, I step into my room and close the door behind me. The lock clicks into place, and I lean against the door, exhaling a shaky breath. The morning's revelations weigh heavily on me, but there's no time to dwell on them.

In less than an hour, I'll be standing in front of Christian Grey, and if there's one thing I've learned, it's that he doesn't tolerate weakness. I push off the door, determination hardening my resolve. Whatever games the others are playing, I'll prove to them—and to myself—that I'm not someone to be underestimated.