The Morning After

I didn't sleep.

I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying the kiss over and over. The heat of his mouth. The desperation in his hands. The way he had said "Because I can't" like it was a confession and a curse all at once.

At 5:00 AM, I gave up on sleep.

I showered. I dressed in one of my new outfits—a gray pencil skirt, a white silk blouse, the black heels that didn't pinch. I looked professional. Polished. Like a woman who hadn't been kissed senseless by her billionaire boss twelve hours ago.

The lie looked good on me.

I arrived at Blackwood Tower at 6:45 AM. The lobby was empty except for the night security guard, who nodded at me as I walked past.

The elevator ride to the sixtieth floor felt endless.

When the doors opened, I saw that Alistair's office door was already closed. A sliver of light glowed beneath it.

He was here. Early. Just like me.

I sat at my desk, turned on my computer, and stared at the screen without seeing it. The orchid on my desk seemed to mock me. Look at you, it seemed to say. Pretending everything is normal.

At 7:15 AM, I made his coffee. Black. No sugar. I carried it to his door and knocked.

"Come in."

I opened the door.

Alistair sat behind his desk, tie already knotted, hair combed back. He looked exactly as he always did—cold, composed, untouchable.

He didn't look at me when I set the coffee down.

"Your schedule today," I said, my voice steady. "Nine AM conference call with the Tokyo office. Eleven AM meeting with legal. One PM lunch with the board. Three PM site visit to the new development in Brooklyn. I've arranged the car."

"Fine."

"Anything else?"

"No."

I turned to leave.

"Clara."

I stopped. My heart hammered against my ribs.

He still wasn't looking at me. His eyes were fixed on his computer screen, his jaw tight.

"Last night," he said slowly, "should not have happened."

"I agree."

"It was a mistake."

"Absolutely."

He finally looked up. His eyes were whiskey brown—no gold. But there was something in them that I hadn't seen before. Uncertainty.

"Good," he said. "As long as we understand each other."

"We do."

I walked out of his office, closed the door behind me, and sat at my desk with shaking hands.

A mistake. Of course it was a mistake.

Then why did my wolf feel like she was dying?

---

The morning passed in a blur of emails and phone calls. Alistair and I spoke only when necessary. When I brought him documents, he didn't look up. When he gave me instructions, his voice was clipped and professional.

It was as if the kiss had never happened.

By noon, I almost believed it myself.

Then Victoria appeared at my desk. "Lunch meeting. The board room. Mr. Blackwood wants you there to take notes."

"I thought the lunch meeting was just the board."

"It is. But one of the board members requested your presence specifically."

My blood went cold. "Who?"

"Lydia Ashford."

The name hit me like a slap.

Lydia. My cousin. The woman who had stolen Derek from me. The woman who had whispered lies about Alistair at the gala.

"Why?" I asked.

Victoria shrugged. "She didn't say. But if I were you, I'd watch my back."

I gathered my notebook and a pen and walked to the board room on the forty-fifth floor. The room was all glass and chrome, with a long table that seated twenty. Most of the chairs were already filled with men in expensive suits.

And at the far end of the table, next to an empty chair that was clearly Alistair's, sat Lydia.

She smiled when she saw me. "Clara. So nice to see you again."

"Lydia."

"I asked Mr. Blackwood if you could join us. I hope you don't mind."

Before I could answer, the door opened and Alistair walked in.

He paused when he saw Lydia. His eyes flicked to me, then back to her. Something dangerous crossed his face—quickly hidden.

"Mrs. Ashford," he said coolly. "I wasn't aware you had joined the board."

"I haven't. I'm here as a guest of my husband, Derek Ashford." She gestured to a man at the other end of the table.

Derek.

My ex-mate.

He looked older than I remembered. More tired. His hair was still dark, his jaw still sharp, but there were shadows under his eyes that hadn't been there three years ago.

When he saw me, his face went pale.

"Clara?" he breathed.

"Mr. Ashford," I said, my voice perfectly neutral. "It's been a long time."

Alistair's gaze moved between us like a blade. "You know each other?"

"We grew up together," I said.

Derek opened his mouth, but Lydia cut him off. "Clara was a member of our pack. Before she was... asked to leave."

The word rejected hung in the air, unspoken but deafening.

Alistair's jaw tightened. He walked to his chair at the head of the table and sat down. "Let's begin."

---

The meeting was a blur of financial reports and strategic initiatives. I took notes mechanically, my hand moving across the page while my mind raced.

Derek couldn't stop staring at me.

Every time I looked up, his eyes were on me. Confusion. Regret. Something that looked like longing.

Lydia noticed too. Her smile grew sharper with each passing minute.

When the meeting ended, Alistair stood. "Thank you all. Clara, stay. I need to review your notes."

The board members filed out. Derek hesitated at the door, but Lydia grabbed his arm and pulled him away.

The door closed.

Alistair turned to me. His eyes were gold now—fully gold, blazing.

"You want to explain that?" he demanded.

"Explain what?"

"The way Ashford looked at you. The way you looked at him. Who is he?"

I set down my notebook. "He's my ex-mate."

Alistair went still. "The one who rejected you."

"Yes."

"Lydia is his wife?"

"Yes."

"And now they're on my board." He laughed—a cold, dangerous sound. "This is a game, Clara. And I don't like being played."

"I'm not playing anything. I didn't know they would be here."

"You didn't think to mention that your ex-mate is one of the most powerful wolves in the city?"

"I didn't think it mattered."

"It matters." He stepped closer. His hand caught my chin, forcing me to look up at him. "Everything about you matters now. Because you're mine."

"I'm not—"

"You are." His thumb brushed across my lower lip. "The moment the Goddess bound you to me, you became mine. And I don't share."

I should have been angry. I should have pushed him away.

Instead, I stood there, trembling, as his gold eyes burned into mine.

"Lydia knows about us," I whispered. "She knows you're my second-chance mate."

"Let her know. I don't care."

"You should. She's dangerous."

"So am I." He released my chin. "Stay away from Derek Ashford. Don't talk to him. Don't look at him. If he comes near you, you come to me. Understand?"

"Alistair—"

"Understand?"

I nodded.

He stepped back, and the gold in his eyes faded. "Good. Now go back to your desk. We have work to do."

I gathered my notebook and walked to the door.

"Clara."

I looked back.

He was standing by the window, his hands clasped behind him, staring at the city below.

"Last night," he said quietly, "was not a mistake."

My heart stopped. "What?"

"I said it was a mistake because I was scared. Because I haven't wanted anyone since Elena. Because the thought of losing someone again..." He turned to face me. "But it wasn't a mistake. And pretending it was won't make it go away."

I didn't know what to say. So I said nothing.

"I won't kiss you again," he continued. "Not until you ask me to. But I won't pretend you're just my assistant. Not anymore."

He held my gaze for a long moment.

Then he turned back to the window.

I walked out of the board room on shaking legs, my heart pounding, my wolf howling with joy.

Ask me to.

The words echoed in my head all afternoon.

---

At 5:00 PM, I was packing up my desk when the elevator doors opened.

Derek stepped out.

He looked lost. Uncertain. Nothing like the confident Alpha who had rejected me three years ago.

"Clara," he said. "Can we talk?"

"You're not supposed to be up here."

"I don't care." He walked toward me. "Please. Five minutes."

I glanced at Alistair's door. It was closed. He was on a conference call.

"One minute," I said.

Derek stopped a few feet away. His hands were shaking.

"I was wrong," he said. "Three years ago. I was wrong to reject you."

"You made your choice."

"I was young. Stupid. Lydia manipulated me—"

"Don't." My voice was sharp. "You made your own choices. You called me worthless in front of the entire pack. You threw me out like garbage. Don't blame Lydia for your cruelty."

He flinched. "I know. I know. And I've regretted it every day since."

"Then why are you here?"

He took a step closer. "Because I saw you today and I—" He reached for my hand. "I still feel the bond, Clara. It's broken, but it's not gone. Not completely."

"That's not possible."

"It is. I've asked the pack elders. A rejected bond can sometimes leave a trace. A... echo. And I feel it. Every time I look at you."

I pulled my hand away. "I'm not your mate anymore, Derek. You made sure of that."

"I know. But I want to make it right." His eyes were desperate. "I'll leave Lydia. I'll give you everything—"

"Derek." I stepped back. "I don't want you. I don't want anything from you. I've moved on."

His face hardened. "Moved on to who? Blackwood?"

"That's none of your business."

"He's a killer, Clara. He murdered his own mate."

"So everyone keeps telling me." I met his gaze. "But at least he's honest about what he is. You pretended to love me while you were sleeping with my cousin."

Derek's face went red. "You don't understand—"

I never found out what I didn't understand.

Because Alistair's office door opened.

And Alistair stepped out.

His eyes were pure gold. His aura pressed down on the room like a physical weight—heavy, suffocating, enraging.

"Ashford," he said, his voice deadly quiet. "You have three seconds to get off my floor before I throw you out the window."

Derek raised his hands. "I was just leaving."

"Then leave."

Derek looked at me one last time—something like longing in his eyes—and walked to the elevator.

When the doors closed, Alistair turned to me.

"He touched you."

"Alistair—"

"Your hand. He touched your hand." His voice was shaking with barely contained fury. "I told you to stay away from him."

"He came to me. I didn't—"

"I don't care." He walked toward me, and I backed up until I hit the wall. He caged me there, his hands on either side of my head. "You're mine, Clara. And I will kill anyone who tries to take you from me."

I should have been afraid.

Instead, I lifted my chin and looked into his golden eyes.

"Then kiss me," I said.

"What?"

"You said you wouldn't kiss me again until I asked." My voice was steady, even though my heart was racing. "I'm asking."

For a moment, he didn't move.

Then he made a sound—low, rough, almost a growl—and his mouth crashed down on mine.