5

~ KAIA ~

His smirk falters just slightly.

Then he stills completely.

His nose twitches once… twice… and his grip on my wrist loosens like I just turned into something too hot to hold.

“What did you say?” His voice lowers, almost guttural.

“I said I’m your neighbor,” I snap, yanking my arm back. “The one with a sick six-year-old who was finally sleeping until you decided to DJ hell’s playlist next door!”

His gaze darts toward the half crowded dim hallway, then back to me—only this time, his pupils are dilated. His chest rises and falls like he’s trying to catch a scent in the air.

He inhales sharply then takes a slow step back.

“You’re… hu… man,” he mutters.

I blink. “What the hell is that supposed to mean? Am I supposed to be an object?”

But he doesn’t answer.

He just stares.

No. He studies me like I’m a puzzle piece that doesn’t fit.

Then… he growls.

A low, feral sound that doesn’t come from his throat. It rumbles out of him, like it came from somewhere deeper and his jaw ticks like something finally clicks. 

“Shit,” he mutters. “What are you doing here?”

Weirdo.

The music stops and the silence hits like a slap at first, followed by low murmurs. 

I’m still frozen near the wall when the front door bursts open behind me. My eyes dart behind me just to see a second man step in.

Taller. Broader. Darker. Not just in coloring—but in aura. He radiates power and danger and something else I can’t name.

The air shifts, my breath catching in my throat.

His voice is sharp and deadly.

“What the hell are you doing, Maddox?”

The guy who dragged me in—Maddox—whirls around, breathing hard.

“I didn’t know,” Maddox says. “She came to the door. I thought she was the girl I ordered, but then she said… I—”

The second guy growls, staring through me. “You touched her?”

“I didn't. She—”

“You shouldn’t have laid a hand on her at all. Don’t you smell it?”

They both freeze.

Then... their eyes snap to me.

Maddox inhales again.

The second guy’s nostrils flare.

“She smells like mine.”

“She's my mate.”

They say at the same time.

And I stare dumbly, my eyes darting between the both of them like they've grown two heads.

Mate?

Mate?!

Are they drunk?

Nope. Nope. NOPE.

I don't know what kind of culty-ass sex club this is, but I’m not sticking around for the afterparty.

I spin on my heel and bolt out the door, hoodie flying, heart racing.

“Maddox—wait—! No! Don’t chase her!”

Their voices slam behind me like hounds let off the leash.

But I’m already halfway down the porch steps, lungs burning, bare feet slapping wet pavement as I tear across the tiny front lawn and barrel into my apartment.

I lock the door. Deadbolt. Key. Chair under the handle.

Then I collapse, shaking, heart pounding like it’s trying to escape.

Mate?

They said mate?

And what the hell was with their eyes? That… growl?

What kind of psychotic Twilight fanfiction did I just walk into?

And I sit there for a long minute, just breathing, still trembling, and still half convinced I hallucinated the whole damn thing. Maybe I hit my head. Maybe that smoothie was expired. Maybe this town is cursed and I just moved us into the… discount version of Supernatural.

I glance at the door.

Deadbolt. Key. Chair. Everything is still there. 

Good.

I peel myself off the chair and head for the longer couch, limbs shaking like I just ran a marathon barefoot. Technically, I did.

My phone’s buried between the cushions so I grab it and open a new message to Ashby.

Me:

You forgot to mention my neighbors are kind of… feral. Like… actual feral. Yellow eyes. Growling. They actually called me their mate. *Laughing emoji*

I stare at it for a second. Then sigh and delete the whole thing.

Nope.

Ashby would laugh, say I’ve finally cracked, or worse, she’d send backup in the form of tequila and terrible advice.

I toss the phone in my hoodie pocket and leave the barricade exactly where it is. I don’t care if I have to climb over it like an Olympic hurdler tomorrow, which is my first day of work but that chair is staying.

The little hallway that leads to the room feels too quiet now. The kind of quiet that hums in your ears and makes your skin itch.

I tiptoe into the bedroom.

Hailey’s curled up like a baby bunny, breathing soft and slow. She’s still warm under her blanket, and I noticed after pressing the back of my hand to her forehead.

Cooler. Thank God.

I brush her soft red curls away from her face.

“You've gotten thinner baby.” I whisper with a sigh.

Then, I take a step back and inhale deeply as I shrug off my hoodie, suddenly aware of how clammy my skin is, and slip under the covers beside her.

My arms wrap around her little frame automatically, protective, desperate.

And then, I let my mind wander to just an hour ago. Again.

What the hell was that?

What kind of man growls at you like you’re… dinner?

What kind of two men call dibs on you like it’s primal Black Friday?

What kind of life have I stumbled into?

I don't know.

But I know one thing.

If they come back, if either of them so much as looks at Hailey, I’ll rip their throats out myself.

Even if I have to do it with a fucking soup spoon or my nails. 

 

Then. I slowly fade to dreamland. 

After what feels like a splendid sleep, I wake up wet.

It’s not the sweating-through-the-sheets kind. Not even the nightmare kind.

The other kind.

The kind that leaves a slow ache between my thighs and my skin too warm for comfort.

I blink up at the ceiling, heart thudding as the last flickers of the dream fade.

It was him again.

The faceless man from that one night.

The only man who didn’t force himself on me and didn’t demand.

He just did it with quiet confidence, lazy control, and lips that worshipped me like I was something sacred.

God, even in the dream, I was begging him not to stop.

I exhale hard, annoyed at myself.

What kind of broken woman wakes up dripping after the week I’ve had?

I turn my head toward Hailey.

Still sleeping.

She looks peaceful for the first time since I've last seen her, cheek pressed into her little pillow, lashes fanned out like she’s in a fairytale and not sleeping two feet away from the world’s most emotionally unstable woman.

I quietly reach under my pillow for my phone.

6:12 a.m.

Perfect. Just enough time to panic, fake peace, and pretend like I’ve got my shit together before work even though I've got my shit together but still I haven't got my shit together even though I've got my shit to… ge… ther.

“Haaaaaaaaa.” I silently scream as I sit up, pulling at my hair.

“You are past this bitch.” I tell myself.

But wait—work.

Today’s my first day.

I glance at the wardrobe where my folded grey scrubs hang like a symbol of freedom.

It's stupid, but… I smile.

I never thought I’d wear them again after my little IT.

There’s something about being with a man like Robert that makes the idea of a future feel… fictional. Like some other girl’s story.

He controlled everything. My time. My thoughts. My breathing.

There was a night—I still remember it clear as glass—he was choking me, his eyes blank, and I swore I’d never get to hold Hailey again.

I thought that was it. My last chapter.

But now?

Now I’m here. I’ve got a job. I’ve got a place. My daughter’s still sleeping.

And I’m going to pretend that I’m not scared out of my fucking mind.

I peel the blanket off and tiptoe out of bed.

Toothbrush. Cold water. Deep breaths.

Then I shower, let the water burn the edge off that dream, and towel off like it’s therapy. My skin still hums, but at least my head is clearer.

By the time I make it to the kitchen, I feel almost human.

I crack some eggs, pop a few slices of bread into the toaster, and lean against the counter, letting the early morning silence wrap around me like a promise.

This… this… is what peace tastes like.

Today, I have breakfast to make, a daughter to protect, and a job to show up for.

And that’s exactly what I’ll do.

A couple of minutes later, I’m dressed.

Grey scrubs. No wrinkles or stains. It still smells like new.

I stare at myself in the mirror, pulling my hair into a low bun with hands that feel steadier than I actually am. Hailey’s still asleep behind me, her soft breathing the only sound in the room.

I glance at her.

She’s due better.

Better than this cramped apartment. Better than running in the rain. 

I want to save enough. Enroll her in one of those bright, colorful schools I passed in Sundale. The ones with polished playgrounds and polite little uniforms. She’s brilliant—always has been—but I worry she’ll end up in a class behind her age group. That the damage her father did will leave marks in ways I can’t fix.

And maybe… maybe I shouldn’t have used that part of my sign-on bonus for that one-night stand.

The hotel, the dress, the wad of cash I left on the nightstand before slipping out like a coward. My stomach churns a little, guilt pooling like something sour.

But I shake it off.

I’m a mom not a corpse.

Just because I’ve been through hell doesn’t mean I don’t get to feel good. Doesn’t mean I can’t have one night that wasn’t about survival. That night made me feel human again. Like I was more than just a mother or a mistake or a bruise that hadn’t faded yet.

So yeah. No regrets.

Okay—maybe some regret.

I worry because I'm about to leave my sick girl at home all alone. However, there's no way I just show up to my first day of work with a toddler strapped to my hip.

I sigh, tucking the feeling away as I tear a sheet from Hailey’s doodle pad and scribble out a note.

Hailey baby,

There’s toast on the counter, climb the chair that's before it. Be careful not to fall, okay?

Your milk is in the oven. Press the pink sticker button, count to twenty in your head, then press the yellow sticker, and it’ll warm up. 

Snacks are in the middle drawer (yes, you can eat as many as you want).

Don’t open the door unless there’s an emergency. Don’t go outside but if you want to, the backdoor is unlocked butbdon’t tell anyone, okay?

Press mommy’s phone if you feel bored and rest as much as you can. Mommy will be back before pink fills the sky. Be good, okay?

Love,

Mommy.

I fold it and place it beside her little stuffed penguin. Then I lean down, press a kiss to her forehead and hold it for just a second longer than usual.

Just breathe, Kaia.

You can do this.

I sneak out, closing the door behind me like a spy on a covert mission. The chair’s still wedged beneath the front door, and I carefully drag it aside without scraping the floor. Deadbolt clicks, handle turns, amd I slip out into the morning air.

But I stop when I find two bikes.

Big, sleek, and sinful, parked right in front of the apartment across from mine like some kind of territorial pissing contest. Same apartment from last night.

Shiny chrome. Black leather. One of them’s still dripping from last night’s rain.

I inhale a shuddering breath and keep my eyes down and walk. Not too fast but not too slow either. Just enough to look like I'm not running.

They might be up.

They might be watching.

But I don’t look back.

I already checked out the clinic two days after moving to Sundale. The walk isn’t far. Ten minutes max. Enough to stretch, not enough to think too much. Enough to feel the excitement fill me up. 

The clinic is… not what I expected.

From the outside, it looked like something halfway between rural and modern. But the moment I step in?

Marble floors.

Sleek reception desk.

A faint hint of eucalyptus and fresh linen hanging in the air like money.

The lights are soft. The walls are that warm greige shade that P*******t moms die for. Everything feels oddly calm and clinical, yes, but chic.

I head to the counter and give my name.

The woman there—blonde, slim, matching grey scrubs and an aura that says “I run this place”—smiles professionally. “Kaia Merrick. First day. I’m Morgan. Come with me.”

She moves like someone who doesn’t have to raise her voice to be obeyed.

She gives me a brief tour. Reception. Supply closet. Two exam rooms. One emergency ward that she tells me “stays quiet unless it’s a full moon”—which I hope is a joke.

Then she stops just before a hallway leading toward the back.

“You’re almost set,” she says. “But you’ll need to see the boss before your shift officially begins. His office is down there. He handles final onboarding himself.”

“Okay,” I say, but my stomach knots.

Morgan raises a brow like she hears it. “He’s… intense. But fair.”

Intense. Of course.

Because I clearly haven’t had enough intense men in the last twenty-four hours.

I nod and start toward the hallway, every step echoing a little too loudly. My sneakers squeak once, making me wince.

The door at the end has no name on it. Just a smooth silver handle and a tiny plaque that says PRIVATE.

I take a deep breath, smooth my top, and knock.

No response.

I knock again, lighter this time.

Still nothing.

Maybe he’s not—

Screw it. If I wait too long, Morgan will probably come check.

I grip the handle and twist.

It opens easily.

Too easily.

The office is dark wood and glass, minimalist but luxurious. Shelves line the wall behind the desk. There's a tray of surgical instruments gleaming near the window like they were just polished.

But I barely register any of that.

Because behind the desk…

Sits a man.

One hand curled around a fountain pen. Sleeves rolled up over forearms veined and tensed. Black hair slicked back. Jaw sharp enough to cut glass.

And those eyes.

Icy blue and… familiar?