9: Who Are You?

The ring felt heavier than it should have as it sat on Tasha's finger.

Rupert was already planning their future, talking fast, stringing together apologies and promises, as if words alone could plaster over the wounds he'd carved open.

Tasha wasn't listening.

Her body sat on the bed, but her soul hovered somewhere outside the window. Her chest was tight, her mouth dry. It all moved too fast.

But Rupert didn't notice. He was already texting someone. "She said yes."

"I'm going to bed," Tasha whispered.

"Ok," Rupert answered as he texted the world.

******

The next morning, thousands of miles away, in the upper levels of the Grind estate, Joseph Grind's fingers curled around a manila envelope thick with new intel. His office was silent, too silent. The city's glow barely filtered through the tinted windows. On his desk lay Tasha's file.

Photos. Academic reports. Community service logs. A pastel pamphlet from her church choir.

And the newest addition: a grainy cell phone photo of Tasha holding a ring box. She was smiling because she was engaged.

To this Rupert Myrie.

Joseph stared at the man's image. He had a narrow face, a hollow jaw, untrustworthy smile. The kind of man who would fold under real pressure.

'Unworthy,' growled Rex.

Joseph's lips twisted. 'Agreed.'

He picked up the file and slammed it shut. Then, slowly, he lit a cigarette—his first in nearly a year. The flame sizzled against the paper. He inhaled deeply, trying to calm the hot pulse burning under his skin.

But nothing worked.

He shoved his chair back and stood. The next second, the file flew across the room. A photo of Tasha fluttered to the floor, catching briefly on the edge of a whiskey tumbler before sliding under his desk.

Joseph didn't notice. He was already tearing through his office, smashing the glass top of the coffee table with a growl, hurling a crystal decanter against the wall. Whiskey spilled in golden arcs down the wallpaper. Shards rained like hail.

"She's mine," he muttered under his breath. "Mine."

Even though she was not his in name, but she was in bond. She was his mate. He'd watched over her for the past four years. Paid for her schooling, her church activities, her safety. All in her father’s name. Sent anonymous donations to keep the power on during hurricane season. Assigned men to watch the house when she was sick. He'd even stopped Rex from tracking her scent more than once.

But now, she belonged to someone else.

Someone who didn't deserve her. Who walked her into danger and let strangers speak of her like property.

Joseph's hands trembled with rage.

He yanked his phone from his back pocket and dialed his beta’s number. The phone only rang once but the line was connected. Joseph didn't wait for him to say hello. As soon as he heard him breathinh, he barked into the receiver, "find out everything about Rupert Myrie," he commanded. "Where he works. Where he sleeps. Who he cheats with. I want it all."

"Yes, Alpha," came Christopher's voice on the other end. "Do you believe he's a threat?"

Joseph's eyes narrowed. "Not to me. To her."

He ended the call and stalked onto the rooftop, the cool air biting against his skin. He rolled his shoulders, trying to release the tension, but Rex clawed at the inside of his chest.

'You should have marked her when we had the chance.'

Joseph ran a hand over his face. 'She wasn't ready. She's still not ready.'

'But we are.'

He didn't answer. He just stared into the skyline, his jaw clenched tight.

"If Rupert Myrie thought he'd won, he hadn't met Joseph Grind."

******

The next night, Tasha tossed in her bed, her body restless despite Rupert's arm draped across her waist. The air in the room felt heavy. Claustrophobic.

Her eyes fluttered shut again... and the dream returned.

She stood in a forest drenched in moonlight. Her yellow dress shimmered like silk, the hem brushing over dew-laced grass. Trees arched above her like ancient guardians. The wind played with her curls.

Then she saw him.

The man with the red car.

He stood at the edge of the clearing, half in shadow, dressed in a black suit that made him look like a phantom carved from midnight. His eyes locked on hers. They were intense and possessive.

She took a hesitant step forward, then another. Her bare feet made no sound on the mossy earth.

"Why are you here in my dreams?" she whispered.

He didn't speak. Instead, he reached for her hand and lifted it to his lips. His kiss was warm, almost reverent. A pulse throbbed in her wrist like it recognized him. Like something inside her soul stirred, reaching out across lifetimes.

Then his voice, deep and husky echoed in her mind.

'You were never meant for him.'

"Who are you?"

'Joseph.'

Tasha's breath caught.

She blinked, and then she woke up.

The room was dark and Rupert was snoring lightly beside her.

And Joseph's name burned on her tongue like a prophecy.

******

Back at the Grind estate, Joseph stood in front of a mirror in the training wing, shirtless, blood streaking his knuckles from a punching bag session that had turned savage.

The mirror reflected more than muscle and fury.

It reflected longing.

And obsession.

'She dreams of us,' Rex said.

Joseph's jaw tightened. 'I know.'

'Soon,' Rex whispered. 'She'll know the truth.'