CHAPTER SEVEN: THE CONTRACT SIGNING

ELENA POV

"Miss Hartwood, Mr. Vandenberg is ready for you now."

The assistant's voice was too cheerful for what I was about to do, signing my life away for a year to the man who destroyed me this morning.

I followed her down a hallway that smelled like expensive cologne and power, my heels clicking against marble that probably cost more than my entire sanctuary.

Cassian was already in the conference room when I walked in.

He looked awful, with dark circles under his eyes, stubble on his jaw, his shirt wrinkled as he'd slept in it.

"Elena," he said.

"Cassian,"

I sat across from him, the table between us felt miles wide, two lawyers in expensive suits flanked us like referees at a boxing match.

"Shall we begin?" the older lawyer asked, sliding a thick contract toward me.

I picked it up, started reading it, even though my hands wanted to shake.

One year pretending to be his mate, public appearances at pack functions, living in his mansion, playing the devoted partner.

Six million dollars at the end.

No personal questions about the past five years, no contact after the contract ended.

"Everything is in order," the younger lawyer said to Cassian, "unless you want to add anything?"

Cassian didn't look at him; his eyes were locked on me, searching for something I couldn't let him find.

"No," he said quietly, "it's fine."

The lawyer slid a pen across the table.

I picked it up, felt the weight of it; this was more than just signing a contract, this was walking back into hell for money.

But it was six million dollars, enough to save everything, enough to give Maya the life she deserved.

I signed, Elena Hartwood. The signature looked small on the expensive paper.

Cassian took the pen, our fingers brushed, and the mate bond sparked between us, hot and alive.

He flinched, I saw it in the way his jaw clenched.

He signed without reading the contract, just wrote his name while staring at my face.

"Excellent," the older lawyer said, gathering papers, "Miss Hartwood can move into the estate tomorrow, we'll coordinate the details."

The lawyers stood, shook hands, and packed their briefcases with practiced efficiency.

The door clicked shut behind them.

Suddenly, we were alone, and the room felt too small.

"So," I said, standing up, "I'll see you tomorrow then.

"Wait,"

His voice stopped me at the door.

I turned back. He was standing too, gripping the back of his chair like he needed something to hold onto.

"Before you move in tomorrow," he said carefully, "there's something I need to ask you,"

My heart started pounding.

"What?"

He reached into his pocket, pulled something out, and walked around the table until he was standing right in front of me.

Too close, I could smell him, cedar and smoke and something wild that made my wolf stir inside me even though I hadn't shifted in five years.

He held out his hand, opened his palm.

A hospital bracelet lay there; the plastic was worn, but the writing was still clear.

My hospital bracelet, from five years ago, from when I found out I was pregnant.

The room tilted, and I grabbed the edge of the table to steady myself.

"Where did you get that?" My voice came out barely above a whisper.

"Someone left it on my desk," he said, watching my face like he was trying to read every micro expression, every tell, "the same person who's been leaving me clues about you."

I couldn't breathe, couldn't think, my mind was racing through possibilities, who knew about the bracelet, who would give it to him, who wanted him to know.

"I don't understand what this has to do with me."

"Don't lie to me, Elena,"

His voice was soft, but there was steel underneath it, the voice of an Alpha who was used to getting answers.

"I'm not lying," I said, even though we both knew I was.

He stepped closer, so close now I had to tilt my head back to meet his eyes.

"The date on this bracelet," he said quietly, "is from five years ago, three months after I rejected you."

I said nothing, just stared at him and tried to keep my face blank.

"Prenatal care," he continued, his voice getting rougher, "first trimester."

My heart was beating so hard I was sure he could hear it.

"It could be anyone's," I managed.

"Could it?" he asked, "because I've been having these dreams, these blackouts where I lose time and wake up miles from home, and every time it happens I find things I don't remember, drawings of children I've never met, scents I can't explain,"

"That sounds like a medical problem," I said, trying to step back, but there was nowhere to go; the table was behind me, and he was in front of me. "You should see a doctor."

"I am seeing a doctor," he said, "I'm seeing lots of doctors, none of them can explain what's happening to me."

"I'm sorry, I don't know how I can help you."

"Yes, you do."

He moved even closer, his hand came up like he was going to touch my face, but he stopped himself, letting it fall back to his side.

"Before you move in tomorrow," he said, his eyes burning into mine, "before we start this charade where we pretend to be mates in front of everyone, I need the truth."

"The contract says no personal questions."

"The contract can go to hell," he said, his voice raw, "I need to know, Elena, I need you to look me in the eyes and tell me the truth.

I could feel tears starting to burn behind my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. I'd cried enough over this man, I wouldn't give him more.

"What's the question?" I asked.

He took a breath, his whole body was tense, coiled tight like he was preparing for a blow.

"Do you have a child, Elena?" he asked quietly,

"And I need the truth.”