Chapter Fourteen

Julian sat behind his desk, the glow of his computer screen casting pale light across the office. Spreadsheets filled the screen, reports detailing supply shipments and land contracts. His eyes moved steadily, each keystroke deliberate, as though order on the page might impose order everywhere else.

The door opened with a quiet knock. Jace stepped inside, a few files under his arm.

“Alpha.” His voice was even, efficient. “Border scouts reported no disturbances today. The new patrol rotations have been implemented without issue.”

Julian gave a curt nod, eyes still on the screen.

Jace set another file on the desk. “Also—financial records from the west holdings. The tax revisions will benefit us more than projected.”

Another nod.

Finally, Jace hesitated, the last folder still in his grip. “And…the test came back negative.”

Julian’s hands stilled over the keyboard. For a fraction of a second, the silence stretched taut. He knew exactly what test Jace meant. His expression, however, never shifted. “Good.”

Jace slid the folder across the desk. “These are the results, along with everything I could find out about her.”

Julian glanced at it once, then swept the file into the trash bin at his side without breaking stride. “I didn’t ask for anything beyond the result.”

Jace’s jaw shifted slightly, like there was more he wanted to say. But in the end, he decided against it.

“Understood, Alpha.”

Julian resumed typing, posture unchanged, as if the exchange had never occurred.

Jace inclined his head once more. “If there’s nothing else, I’ll leave you to it.”

The Beta slipped out, the door shutting with a muted click. Silence settled heavy over the office, broken only by the low hum of the air vent. Julian returned his gaze to the spreadsheets, fingers poised over the keyboard.

But the lines blurred. Numbers that had always anchored him wavered, meaningless. His hand flexed once, then stilled.

The result was good. Clean. Exactly what he wanted. No complications. No ties. It should have been finished.

So why didn’t it feel finished?

Why did she continue to push through the cracks of his control, unbidden? Why did her voice cling in the back of his skull, low and soft, whispering his name? Why did his sleep betray him, dragging her into his dreams when he had sworn he was done with her?

His jaw clenched, muscles ticking. He forced his eyes back to the screen, but the columns might as well have been blank. The only thing he saw was her—always her.

With a sharp exhale, he leaned back, gaze sliding to the door. Still closed. No footsteps in the hall. No prying eyes.

Julian reached down. The folder lay where he had tossed it, half-buried in the wastebasket. His hand hovered for a breath—the hesitation foreign, unwanted. Then, with a decisive motion, he plucked it from the bin.

He flipped open the file, eyes skimming the first lines. The name of her pack leapt out at him. A pack he knew far too well. His brow ticked. “Small world,” he muttered under his breath.

Rank: Omega.

His gaze dragged lower. Lineage: Unknown. Orphan.

He read on. Failure to thrive. Possible human origin. Exiled at eighteen. The words landed heavy, catching him off guard.

His gaze snagged on the photograph clipped inside. A grainy image taken for pack records, the kind no one ever expected to matter. She looked no more than fifteen or sixteen, her hair pulled back for formality, her expression reserved. Yet her eyes—sad, guarded—pulled at something in his chest he hadn’t realized could be touched.

And then, beneath the picture—her name.

His eyes lingered on the letters. His finger brushed across the page, tracing the curve of her name as it echoed in his mind.

Kaelani.

His wolf stirred, a restless ripple beneath his skin.

The door burst open.

Julian’s head snapped up, the file slamming shut. In the same breath, he slid it into the top drawer of his desk just as Elara waltzed in as if she owned the place.

“You need to knock,” he said sharply, his tone edged with command.

She arched a perfectly shaped brow, lips curving into a smirk. “And what? Wait out there like some servant until you decide I’m worthy of being let in?” She let the door fall shut behind her with a careless flick of her hand. “Please, Julian. I’m not some insignificant omega. I’m your future Luna.”

“What do you need, Elara?” Julian asked, keeping his voice measured though his jaw tensed with irritation at her entitled tone as she drifted closer, eyes glittering with intent.

She scoffed, “That’s it? No hello, no I missed you?” She slid onto the edge of his desk, crossing her legs slowly, deliberately. “You’ve barely spent any time with me since I got here.”

“You know I’ve been working.” He barely glanced up, shuffling a stack of reports so she wouldn't see the restless twitch in his fingers.

Her perfect, manicured nails tapped against the wood, a soft staccato. “You’re always working. You think I don’t notice you disappearing here night after night? Do you plan on sleeping in this office forever?”

Her tone sharpened, but there was a flicker of something else underneath—hurt, not just anger. She slid into his lap without warning, draping her arms around his shoulders as if daring him to push her away. Her lips grazed his jaw as she whispered, “Stop working for one night. Be with me.”

Julian’s hands caught her waist. He tried—really tried—to let her presence spark something. She shifted closer, her robe parting just enough that her thigh pressed bare against him. Her scent filled the space—roses—wrapping around him like a net.

Julian lowered a hand, fingers slipping beneath the thin fabric between her thighs. She inhaled sharply, lips parting as she arched against him. “Julian…” she whispered, hopeful.

Her breath hitched as his fingers moved against her, already finding her slick and eager for him. She shivered, her hips tilting forward, a soft moan slipping past her lips. Her body still melted under his touch, still craved him with the same easy hunger it always had.

But for Julian, there was nothing. No spark of desire, no tightening heat in his gut. The wet heat under his hand should have driven him wild, should have hardened him instantly the way it used to. Instead, he felt detached, moving his fingers with remembered precision, as though performing a routine. Mechanical. Hollow. His wolf growled below the surface, offended by the pretense.

Elara gasped, grinding into his hand, but after a moment her pleasure faltered. Slowly, her lashes lifted, her eyes opening to search his face. The distance in him was impossible to miss.

“What’s with you lately?” She whispered, a hint of frustration curling through the softness of her voice. “Do you not find me attractive anymore?”

His hand stilled, resting against her thigh, Elara’s question lingering sharp between them. He looked up, meeting her eyes—bright, expectant, searching.

“Of course I find you attractive,” he said, the words quiet, deliberate. He brushed his thumb across her inner thigh as if to prove it.

Elara wasn’t convinced, her eyes narrowing. “Are you fucking someone else?”

Julian drew in a long breath, “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Elara slid off his lap in one smooth motion, pulling her robe tight around her body. “Well you sure as hell aren’t fucking me. And I know you—you’re not the type of man who goes without for very long.”

Julian leaned back in his chair, already turning toward the papers on his desk. “I’ve got too much on my plate to entertain your dramatics tonight.”

“Dra—dramatics?” She repeated, her voice rising, incredulous. She stood, hands on her hips. “You think this is dramatics? Wondering why my soon-to-be mate hasn’t fucked me in weeks?”

He finally looked at her then, his gaze cool as steel. “I told you—I’m busy. My focus is on the pack. Not every moment of my life revolves around stroking your ego.”

Her face hardened, a sharp flush climbing her cheeks. “Maybe if you spent half as much energy on me as you do on your damn ledgers, you wouldn’t have to worry about my ego.”

Julian didn’t answer. He simply reached for the next file.

That silence was worse than any argument. Her lips curled into a sneer before she spun toward the door. “Unbelievable,” she hissed, yanking it open.

The slam rattled the frame, her scent lingering like smoke after fire.

Julian dragged a hand down his face, the scrape of his palm against his jaw doing nothing to ease the taut coil in his chest. His collar felt suffocating, so he loosened it, tugging the top button of his shirt open until he could breathe again.

This should have been simple. Elara wanted him—always had. She was beautiful, desirable, the kind of woman any Alpha would claim proudly. Once, she’d been enough. More than enough.

But she had ruined him.

Not Elara. Not the endless stream of women before her.

Her. The woman who haunted him.

Kaelani.