Five

Chapter Five

Mirabel’s POV

By the time I reached my desk, my hands were already trembling, and no amount of controlled breathing could steady them because my body was reacting faster than my mind could keep up with what had just happened in that elevator. Seeing Maxwell Mackenzie again after everything felt unreal, like my memory had stepped out of my head and taken physical form, solid and unavoidable, standing inches away from me with eyes that saw too much.

I sat down and forced myself to focus on the screen in front of me, but the words blurred together no matter how hard I tried, my thoughts looping endlessly back to the way he had said my name, not cold, not angry, but deliberate, as if speaking it had weight.

We will need to talk.

The sentence echoed in my skull like a warning.

I tried to remind myself that this was my job, that I was just another human employee buried deep in a department no Alpha ever bothered with, that one mistake during a festival did not suddenly give him the right to pull me into his world whenever he pleased. The reminder did not help. Nothing helped.

Less than an hour later, my phone vibrated.

Internal message. Executive floor.

My stomach dropped.

“Miss Smith,” the message read. “Report to my office immediately.”

I stared at the screen, my chest tightening as whispers of curiosity and irritation rose around me, coworkers glancing up as they noticed the sudden change in my posture, the way my face drained of color.

“Are you in trouble,” someone murmured.

“I do not know,” I replied quietly, standing on unsteady legs.

The ride up felt suffocating. Every floor that passed tightened the knot inside me, my pulse racing as if my body already knew what my mind refused to accept. When the doors finally opened, the difference between the human levels and the executive floor hit me like a wall, the air cleaner, the space quieter, the entire atmosphere heavy with authority.

His assistant barely looked at me before gesturing toward the door.

“Go in,” she said.

I stepped inside.

Maxwell Mackenzie stood by the window, the city stretched out behind him like a possession, his hands clasped behind his back as he stared down at Moonshade Bay with a detached intensity that sent a shiver through me. He did not turn when the door closed, and the silence stretched until my nerves screamed.

“You should not have come to work today,” he said calmly.

I swallowed. “You do not get to tell me when I can work.”

He turned slowly, amber eyes locking onto mine with a focus that made it hard to breathe. “You are pale. Your heartbeat is irregular. Your scent is off.”

Heat rushed to my face. “That is none of your business.”

“It became my business the moment you collapsed against the wall in my presence,” he replied evenly.

“I did not collapse,” I snapped. “I took an elevator.”

His gaze sharpened, something dangerous stirring beneath the calm exterior. “Do not lie to me.”

The room felt smaller suddenly, his presence dominating the space in a way that made my instincts scream even though I was human, even though I had no wolf to react with. My hands curled into fists at my sides, nails biting into my palms.

“Why am I here,” I demanded.

He walked toward his desk, picked up a tablet, then set it down with deliberate precision. “Because something is wrong,” he said. “And pretending otherwise will only make it worse.”

My heart pounded harder. “Nothing is wrong.”

“Your body disagrees,” he said. “And so does mine.”

That made my breath hitch despite myself.

“I have been Alpha for over a decade,” he continued. “I know when the bond reacts. I know when instincts are triggered. What happened between us should have ended that night, but it did not.”

“There is no bond,” I said quickly. “I am human.”

His lips pressed into a thin line. “That is what should make this impossible.”

A sudden wave of dizziness washed over me, sharp and disorienting, and I reached out blindly, my fingers brushing the edge of his desk as I struggled to stay upright. My vision swam, black spots dancing at the edges.

“Sit,” he ordered.

“I am fine,” I insisted, even as my knees weakened.

He crossed the distance between us in two long strides and caught me before I could fall, his grip firm around my arms, heat radiating from his skin in a way that felt wrong and far too familiar. My breath hitched as my body reacted instantly, a rush of warmth flooding through me that had nothing to do with fear.

“Do not fight it,” he said quietly. “You will only hurt yourself.”

I hated that he was right.

He guided me into a chair, crouching in front of me as his eyes searched my face with sharp intensity, his jaw tightening as if he did not like what he saw.

“When did it start,” he asked.

“What,” I whispered.

“The nausea. The dizziness. The exhaustion,” he said. “When.”

I shook my head. “I do not know. I have been under a lot of stress.”

“Stress does not alter your scent like this,” he replied. “Stress does not trigger my wolf.”

That word sent a chill through me.

“I do not want to hear about your wolf,” I said hoarsely.

“You need to hear it,” he said firmly. “Because it is reacting to you, and that should not be possible.”

The room went quiet again, the weight of his words settling heavily between us.

“You think this is about that night,” I said slowly. “You think this is some… consequence.”

His gaze darkened. “I think something was set in motion,” he said. “And I think you are in danger if we ignore it.”

A flash of anger cut through my fear. “I am already in danger,” I snapped. “Do you have any idea what it would mean for me if people found out about us, about that night, about you dragging me into your office like this.”

“I would not allow anyone to harm you,” he said instantly.

“You cannot control everything,” I shot back.

His expression hardened. “I control more than you realize.”

The words should have terrified me. Instead, they sent a strange shiver down my spine, equal parts fear and something far more unsettling.

He straightened, stepping back to give me space, though the intensity did not leave his eyes. “You will take the rest of the week off,” he said. “Paid leave. No objections.”

“I did not ask for charity,” I replied.

“This is not charity,” he said. “This is precaution.”

I stood, ignoring the slight sway in my balance. “I will not be monitored like some experiment.”

“Mirabel,” he said, my name rougher this time. “You are already part of this whether you accept it or not.”

The certainty in his voice chilled me.

“I want a doctor,” I said. “A human doctor.”

“You will see one,” he agreed. “And when they find nothing wrong, you will see mine.”

“I will not,” I said flatly.

His eyes flashed. “You will.”

I laughed bitterly. “You think you can order me around because you are an Alpha.”

“I think,” he said slowly, “that you are carrying something my wolf recognizes.”

The world tilted.

“What did you say,” I whispered.

His jaw clenched. “It is too early to be sure, but the signs are there, and I will not pretend otherwise.”

“No,” I breathed. “That is not possible.”

“Nothing about this situation was supposed to be possible,” he replied.

A sharp pain bloomed low in my abdomen, sudden and intense enough to steal my breath, and I doubled over instinctively, gasping as my body rebelled against me. Maxwell was at my side instantly, one hand braced against my back, his other gripping my arm as his eyes glowed faintly, unmistakably.

“That is enough,” he said tightly. “You are leaving.”

“I am not fainting in your office,” I protested weakly.

“You are leaving,” he repeated, and this time there was no arguing with the Alpha in his voice.

He escorted me out himself, ignoring the startled looks of his staff, his hand firm at my elbow as he guided me into a private elevator and down to the parking level without another word. The silence between us was heavy with unspoken truths, my mind racing to keep up with what my body was telling me.

At his car, he opened the door and waited until I was seated before closing it, then rounded the vehicle and got in beside me.

“You are taking me home,” I said.

“Yes,” he replied.

“I did not agree to this,” I muttered.

“You did not have to,” he said calmly.

The drive was fast and tense, the city blurring past as my thoughts spiraled. Every sensation felt heightened, the hum of the engine too loud, the air too warm, the presence of him beside me overwhelming in a way that made it hard to think straight.

When we reached my mother’s building, I moved to get out, but his hand closed around my wrist gently, stopping me.

“Listen to me,” he said quietly. “Do not tell anyone about what you are feeling. Not yet.”

“I will tell my mother whatever I want,” I replied.

“Tell her you are sick,” he said. “Tell her you need rest. But do not tell her about me. Not until I know exactly what is happening.”

“And if I do not agree,” I asked.

His gaze softened just slightly, though the intensity remained. “Then I will still protect you,” he said. “Even if you hate me for it.”

I pulled my hand free, my chest tight. “You already ruined my life,” I whispered.

He did not deny it.

As I climbed out of the car and headed toward the building, I could feel his eyes on me, heavy and watchful, like a shadow I could not escape. Inside my apartment, my mother fussed over me, insisting I lie down, pressing a cool cloth to my forehead as concern etched deep lines into her face.

I closed my eyes, exhaustion crashing over me in waves.

Deep inside, beneath the fear and denial, a terrible realization began to take shape.

If Maxwell Mackenzie was right, then my life had not just changed.

It had crossed a line that could never be undone.

And whatever was growing inside me was already tying my fate to his in ways I was not ready to face.