Chapter 5

The words left my mouth before I could stop them.

Mr. Valerius didn't move. His expression didn't change — not at first. He sat behind his desk, perfectly still, one hand resting on the edge of a leather folder.

Then something shifted behind his eyes. A flicker, fast and dark, like a blade catching light. His gaze dropped to my mouth and stayed there for a beat too long.

My skin prickled. I stepped back without thinking, my heel catching the leg of the chair behind me.

He wasn't just a teacher. He was a man — single, sharp-jawed, with the kind of quiet authority that didn't come from a classroom. His shoulders were broader than I'd noticed before, filling out his dress shirt in a way that had nothing to do with academics. In that half-second of stillness I glimpsed something underneath: controlled, dangerous, held on a very short leash.

My heart kicked hard. Once. Twice.

Then it was gone. He leaned back and the corner of his mouth lifted.

“I’m flattered, Miss Ashbourne.” His voice was light, casual. “But this dance is for students only.”

He tilted his head. "You should consider your classmates. I'm sure several would be honored."

I managed a laugh that came out too thin. "Right. Sorry. Bad joke."

"Not at all." He stood and held the door open. "Think it over. You still have time."

I walked out into the corridor. My heart wouldn't slow down. The image of that flicker — his eyes on my mouth, the sudden gravity in the room — stayed pressed against the inside of my skull like a thumbprint on glass.

I pressed my palm flat against my sternum and breathed until the hammering eased.

Enough. I had bigger problems.

The biggest one was leaning against the wall outside my classroom.

Adrian stood with his hands in his pockets, blazer pressed, posture relaxed. The picture of a gentleman who'd come to set things right.

"Kaia." He dipped his head. "Do you have a minute?"

A few students lingered by the lockers. Word traveled fast at this school. Whatever this was, it would have an audience.

"I owe you an apology," he said.

I looked at him. The rehearsed contrition in his posture, the slight tilt of his head. I'd watched this performance for years — in council halls, at pack meetings, at dinner tables where he needed something from someone.

"At the confession wall, earlier. I assumed you were responsible without any evidence. That was wrong." His voice carried the same measured sincerity he used at pack events — the slight pause before the key word, the downward glance of remorse. Polished to a mirror shine. "I'm sorry."

I said nothing.

Adrian nodded, as if my silence were acceptance.

"But I think we both know this situation didn't come from nowhere."

There it was.

"Your pursuit of me over the past three years was... passionate." He chose the word with care. "And I've always respected your feelings. But the public declarations, the letters, the disruptions — they gave people an impression. When the wall was destroyed, it was natural for them to assume."

He spread his hands. "You understand."

The apology had lasted ten seconds. The pivot to blame took less.

"That said." He stepped closer. His cologne reached me, cedar and something clean. "I've been thinking. And I'd like to accept your invitation to the mating dance."

My jaw tightened.

"I know I've turned you down before," he continued, warmth deepening in his tone. "But this year is different. I think we could be good together."

He held my gaze. "I do have one condition. I'd like to keep the option open to pursue my fated mate, should I discover one during the awakening ceremony. It's only fair." His voice stayed perfectly reasonable. "But if that doesn't happen, I'm yours. Completely. And I'll compensate the uncertainty — my family's trade agreements with Silvercrest, political support, whatever you need."

The hallway was quiet. Students watched from both ends.

Compensation. He was negotiating a merger with a buyout clause.

In my past life, Adrian had discovered I was his fated mate at the mating dance. The bond snapped into place the moment our wolves recognized each other, and he never needed this condition — it resolved itself. He got the mate and the pack in one clean move, no clause necessary.

But strip away that lucky discovery, and this was the real Adrian Blackwell. A man who weighed his options on a scale and kept a backup plan in his pocket. A man who saw a wife as an investment.

He had never loved me. Not for a single day. He chose the most useful option available, and that was all I ever was.

My palm connected with his face before I knew I'd moved.

The crack echoed off the lockers. Adrian's head snapped sideways. A red mark bloomed across his left cheekbone, vivid against his skin.

The hallway went dead silent. Someone's phone clattered to the floor.

His hand rose slowly to his face. His mouth parted. His eyes were wide open, the mask cracked clean through — not anger, not yet, just the blank shock of a man who had never once been struck. Nobody had ever hit Adrian Blackwell. Not in this life, and not in the one I'd already lived.

I was shaking. Not from fear. From the effort of stopping at one.

Lila appeared from somewhere behind him with a handkerchief already in her fist. She pressed it to his reddened cheek, fingers trembling.

"Adrian, are you okay?" Her voice wobbled. "I'm sure Kaia didn't mean it — she's just emotional—"

I watched them. Her hand cupping his jaw, her body angled into his side. His arm hovering near her waist, not quite touching but close enough to claim.

Already a pair. Already a portrait framed by fluorescent hallway light.

I turned and walked toward the classroom.

"Kaia." Adrian's voice was sharp behind me. The warmth was gone. "You'll regret this at the mating dance."

My steps slowed.

"No," I said. "I won't."

I stopped. Looked over my shoulder. Smiled.

"Best wishes to you both."