Chapter Two: The Man Outside the Door

For several seconds, I could only stare at the silver injector case lying near my shoe.

The case should have been inside my briefcase. I had placed it there myself before leaving home that morning. No one outside my immediate family and personal physician knew that I used suppressants, and even they believed the medication was necessary to control an unusual Alpha hormonal condition.

Ronan should never have seen it.

More importantly, he should never have touched it.

I bent down and picked up the case. The metal felt cold against my palm, but my skin was already burning. Another wave of heat moved through my body, stronger than the last, and I had to steady myself against the edge of the desk.

The suppressant could stop the cycle before my scent became noticeable, but only if I injected it quickly.

Ronan was still standing outside the door.

I could sense his presence even without seeing him. Alphas carried a natural pressure that became difficult to ignore during an Omega’s heat, and Ronan’s had always been stronger than most. Under normal circumstances, I could dismiss it. I had spent my entire life learning how to stand beside Alphas without reacting.

At that moment, my body was beginning to forget everything I had taught it.

“Where did you find this?” I asked.

There was a short pause before he answered.

“In the conference room.”

“That is impossible.”

“Then perhaps the impossible has been sitting beneath your chair for the last forty minutes.”

His voice sounded calm, but I knew him well enough to recognize the suspicion beneath it.

I opened the case and checked the injector. The safety seal was still intact.

“You expect me to believe you found it by accident?”

“I do not care what you believe.”

“You followed me here.”

“Yes.”

The honesty of his answer made my grip tighten around the injector.

“Why?”

“You were sweating in a room kept at eighteen degrees.”

“I was not sweating.”

“You missed a question from a man who had been speaking directly to you.”

“I was distracted.”

“You have never been distracted during a negotiation.”

I closed my eyes briefly.

This was the problem with Ronan. He noticed details other people ignored. He remembered weaknesses, patterns, and changes in behavior. At the academy, he had been the only student who could predict my strategy before I used it. Years later, he remained the only rival who could make me feel observed rather than merely watched.

“I am not discussing my health with you,” I said.

“That injector suggests this is more than a headache.”

“It is prescribed medication.”

“For what condition?”

“That is none of your concern.”

A quiet laugh came from the other side of the door.

“If it were none of my concern, you would have opened the door already.”

I looked down at the injector.

He was right, and that made me hate him more.

If I injected myself while he remained outside, he might hear the mechanism. If I waited too long, my scent blocker could fail. The room had no other exit, and the narrow window behind the desk could not be opened.

I needed him to leave.

“Return to the meeting,” I said. “Tell them I received an urgent call.”

“I already told them you were unwell.”

My head snapped toward the door.

“You told them what?”

“That you needed a few minutes.”

“You had no right to speak for me.”

“You were too busy running away.”

Anger rose through the heat.

I crossed the room and stopped before the locked door.

“Listen carefully, Ronan. You will return to that room, sit in your chair, and keep your mouth shut. If anyone asks, this meeting was delayed because of a technical problem.”

“Open the door.”

“No.”

“Then we are not returning.”

My pulse beat harder.

“What exactly do you want?”

His answer did not come immediately.

When he finally spoke, his voice had lost its usual mockery.

“I want to know whether you are in danger.”

The question caught me off guard.

I had expected suspicion, arrogance, or blackmail. Concern was not something I had prepared to hear from him.

“I can take care of myself.”

“That was not an answer.”

“I am not in danger.”

“You look like you are about to collapse.”

“You cannot see me.”

“I saw you before you left.”

I pressed my hand against the door, not because I wanted to be closer to him, but because my legs were beginning to feel unsteady.

“You have your answer. Leave.”

Ronan remained silent.

I thought he might finally listen.

Then a faint scent slipped beneath the door.

Cedarwood, smoke, and something darkly sweet.

Alpha pheromones.

The reaction was immediate.

My breath caught in my throat. Heat rushed through me so quickly that my knees weakened. I stepped back from the door, but the scent followed me into the room, subtle and controlled.

He was not releasing enough to threaten me.

He was testing me.

Rage pushed through the weakness.

“Stop that.”

The pheromones disappeared almost at once.

The silence that followed felt more dangerous than the scent itself.

Ronan spoke carefully.

“Why did you react like that?”

“I did not.”

“You moved away from the door.”

“You are imagining things.”

“I heard you lose your balance.”

I looked toward the desk, calculating how quickly I could inject the suppressant.

He had already noticed too much.

“Ronan, leave now.”

Instead of answering, he tried the handle again.

The lock held.

“You are hiding something.”

“Everyone hides something.”

“Not everyone carries Omega suppressants.”

The room became completely still.

For a moment, I wondered whether I had heard him correctly.

My heartbeat slowed, then struck hard against my ribs.

The injector case in my hand suddenly felt much heavier.

“What did you say?”

“I looked at the label.”

My blood turned cold.

The medication had been produced by a private laboratory under a coded brand name. Most people would never recognize it, but Ashcroft Group owned several pharmaceutical subsidiaries. Ronan would have access to specialists who could identify it within minutes.

“You had no right to inspect my medication.”

“You dropped it in a room full of competitors.”

“I did not drop it.”

“Then someone placed it there.”

That possibility had already crossed my mind, but hearing him say it made the threat feel real.

Someone had removed the suppressant from my briefcase.

Someone had taken it into the conference room.

Someone wanted it to be found.

I looked at the papers scattered across the desk.

The heat was no longer my only problem.

“You said you found it beneath my chair,” I said. “Did anyone else see it?”

“No.”

“Are you certain?”

“I picked it up before the Helix director noticed.”

“Why?”

Another pause followed.

“I did not know what it was at first.”

“And after you read the label?”

“I became curious.”

“Curiosity does not explain why you hid it.”

“No,” he said. “It does not.”

His tone unsettled me.

I walked back to the desk and placed the injector against the inside of my arm. My fingers shook as I released the safety catch.

A soft click echoed through the office.

Ronan heard it.

“What are you doing?”

“Leaving this conversation.”

I pressed the injector against my skin.

Before I could activate it, the lights went out.

The room fell into darkness.

I froze.

The city beyond the windows remained bright, which meant the entire building had not lost power. Only the private office and corridor had gone dark.

A second later, the electronic lock on the door released with a sharp beep.

The handle began to turn.

I stepped back, clutching the injector.

The door opened slowly.

Ronan stood in the darkened doorway, his broad figure outlined by the emergency lights at the end of the corridor. His expression was no longer amused.

He looked past me toward the window, then at the open case in my hand.

“Do not inject that,” he said.

My grip tightened.

“Why?”

He entered the office and closed the door behind him.

“Because someone replaced the cartridge.”