The door clicked shut behind him.
That sound shouldn't have meant anything.
But it did.
It felt final.
I took a step back without thinking, my heart pounding too loud in my chest, my breathing uneven. The room suddenly felt smaller. Warmer. Like the air itself had changed the moment we were alone.
He didn't move.
He just stood there, watching me.
Not casually. Not with curiosity.
With intent.
"You're shaking," he said quietly.
I hated that he noticed.
"I'm not," I shot back, even though my voice betrayed me.
A lie. A weak one.
His lips curved slightly—not a smile. Something sharper. Like he enjoyed catching it.
"Lying already," he murmured.
I clenched my fists. "Why am I here?"
Straight to the point. I needed answers. Needed something solid to hold onto before I completely lost myself in whatever this was.
His gaze didn't shift. Not even a little.
"Because I chose to bring you here."
That wasn't an answer.
"That's not what I asked."
"Then ask better."
The way he said it—calm, controlled, like he wasn't even trying to dominate the conversation, yet somehow already was—made something twist in my chest.
I forced myself to stand straighter. "Why did you accept me?"
Silence.
For a second, I thought he wouldn't respond.
Then he moved.
Slow. Deliberate.
One step.
Then another.
I held my ground. I told myself I would. But when he got too close—closer than necessary, closer than safe—my body reacted before my mind could catch up.
I stepped back.
He noticed.
Of course he did.
"Don't," he said softly.
It wasn't loud.
It wasn't aggressive.
But it stopped me instantly.
My back hit the wall before I realized I had nowhere else to go.
He was right in front of me now.
Too close.
Way too close.
"Why did you accept me?" I repeated, quieter this time.
His eyes dropped briefly—to my lips, then back to my eyes.
That small movement did something I didn't understand.
Something dangerous.
"Because," he said slowly, "you're not what you think you are."
My breath caught.
"What does that mean?"
He didn't answer.
Instead, he reached out.
Not roughly. Not gently either.
His fingers brushed my wrist—just barely.
And still, my entire body reacted like I'd been struck.
I pulled back immediately. "Don't touch me."
The words came out faster than I intended.
For a second, something in his expression shifted.
Not anger.
Something colder.
More controlled.
"Careful," he said quietly. "You're in no position to give commands."
"I'm not giving commands," I snapped. "I'm telling you to stay away from me."
A mistake.
I knew it the second the words left my mouth.
The air changed.
Not dramatically.
But enough.
Enough that my instincts screamed at me to stop.
Too late.
In one smooth movement, he closed the distance again—faster this time.
His hand came up, gripping my wrist before I could pull away.
Firm.
Unyielding.
Not painful.
But impossible to ignore.
"Do you always speak like this," he said, voice low, steady, "when you don't understand the situation you're in?"
My heart was racing now. Not just from fear.
From something else.
Something worse.
I tried to pull my hand free.
Didn't work.
His grip tightened slightly.
A warning.
"I'm not your property," I said, forcing the words out.
He tilted his head slightly, studying me.
"No," he said after a moment.
Then, quieter—
"But you were given to me."
That hit harder than anything else.
Given.
Like I wasn't even part of the decision.
Like I didn't matter.
Something inside me snapped.
I pushed against him, using my free hand, trying to create space.
For a second, I thought it might work.
It didn't.
He barely moved.
If anything, it only made him more aware of me.
Of how close we were.
Of how easily he could stop me.
"Let me go," I said, my voice lower now, strained.
He didn't.
Instead, he leaned in slightly—just enough to make my breath catch.
"Or what?" he asked softly.
I didn't answer.
Because I didn't have one.
Because he knew I didn't have one.
And that was the problem.
The real problem.
He released my wrist suddenly.
The absence of his touch was almost as jarring as the contact itself.
I stepped back immediately, putting distance between us this time.
He let me.
That confused me more than anything else.
"You can try to run," he said calmly, turning away slightly. "You won't get far."
"I'm not staying here."
"You are."
The certainty in his voice made my stomach twist.
"You don't know me," I said.
"No," he replied, glancing back at me. "But I know enough."
Silence fell between us again.
Heavy.
Uncomfortable.
"You still think this is about him," he added.
My chest tightened.
Kael.
I hadn't even said his name.
"You were wrong about him," he continued. "You'll be wrong about this too."
"What is this?" I asked, frustration breaking through. "Because all I see is someone who thinks he can control everything."
His gaze sharpened.
And for the first time—
Something real flickered there.
"Not everything," he said quietly.
Then, after a pause—
"Just you."
My breath caught again.
Not because of what he said.
But how he said it.
Like it wasn't a threat.
Like it was already true.
A knock suddenly echoed from the door.
Sharp. Urgent.
We both turned.
The moment broke—but the tension didn't.
"Alpha," a voice called from outside. "There's been a report."
His expression changed instantly. Controlled again. Untouchable.
"What is it?" he asked.
A pause.
Then—
"They're coming for her."
My blood ran cold.
Slowly, he looked back at me.
And the way his eyes darkened—
It wasn't fear.
It wasn't surprise.
It was something far worse.
Interest.