Chapter 8

(Emi’s POV)

Along with my name and reputation in shambles in the headlines, I notice a surge of pictures and videos of Alpha King Lucian and Jasmine’s romantic date at ‘Moonlit Craving’. I gaze at my mate in his dark burgundy dress shirt while he looks infatuated by his date’s effortless beauty. The way her waterfall of golden tresses shimmers as she moves and my mate’s pale green eyes sparkle in amusement and awe as he watches her.

This video hurt me more than him savagely fucking Lysette’s mouth in his office, because he genuinely adores this beautiful woman. I watch another video of them leaving the restaurant and taking the same vehicle. The headlines gushes about how the perfect couple went back to his place and my heart shatters, because I realize that I’m giving more away to him than I ever should.

Does his fiancée know that he gets sucked off by his secretary and probably fucks her too? Does she even know that he found his mate? Does she know about me? Would he even dare? Probably not. In their world, fated mates don’t mean a thing. Fated mates don’t mean true soulmates to them but only a sign of weakness.

Sylvie is out with her university friends and I don’t expect her to return tonight. Iris is probably making pups by now with Mr. Delacroix. I’m pathetically stalking my mate’s date pictures with his fiancée. Life is funny like that. Everyone is living their best life but me.

Well, except I do have my bakery and patisserie shop… at least for right now, I still do. I was living my best life before finding out my silent business partner is my fated mate in the most painful way imaginable, but my life was my dream life up until that point. I had and still have a thriving business no matter what happens in the future. He can’t kick me out of my… our business partnership.

Can he? Oh no. My heart burns. It’s not can he, is it? He’s the Northern Alpha King. He is the law in this part of the city. He can strip me of everything. Will he though? What about Sylvie? How could I’ve been so reckless? What happens if… I’m so stupid. How could I be this stupid?

This is ridiculous. I’m not going to throw a pity party without cake and wine. My shop is literally downstairs. I have all the ingredients I need to make something delicious. I drag myself up off my sofa only to jump when my phone begins to ring. I glare at a private number that flashes across the screen.

Nope, not tonight random stranger. I’m not wasting my time on you. I immediately click decline. For good measure, I silence my phone’s notifications for tonight. Tomorrow, I’ll deal with life. Tonight, I bake for my stupid, foolish broken heart.

I head downstairs to my bakery’s extravagant kitchen. What should I make? What should I…? I’m just going to bake something. I’m just going to grab ingredients and bake a cake.

I add ingredients and start whipping things up together. Baking centers me. It helps me focus on the task at hand rather than dwell on the heartbreaking things. By the time I’m done, I gawk at the cake I just made in frustration and defeat. Did I really just make tiramisu cake?

“You’re pathetic,” I grumble to myself as I glare at the scrumptious cake.

I huff as I give in and slice myself a piece of it. I plop it on a plate and stare miserably at it. Even when I don’t want to think of him, I’m not subconsciously thinking of him. I scoop a forkful of cake and shovel it in my mouth.

Damn him.

I sigh as I blissfully eat more of this decadent cake. I have a dessert wine upstairs in my apartment above. I’m planning my sad little night to myself when a familiar scent warms me and confuses me because it doesn’t make sense at all. There’s no way he’s actually here. The alarm would go off and there hasn’t been a sound.

The scent gets stronger, more intense, and more overwhelming. My heart races in my chest like a bird flapping wildly in a cage begging to escape. I hear footsteps in the front of my shop. My eyes flick to the doorway leading to the front when the Northern Alpha King suddenly appears filling up the space.

***

(Lucian’s POV)

“You can’t be in here!” Emi gasps, stumbling back in shock. “How did you even get in here?”

She’s a cute vision of pajamas, a messy bun of hair piled up on her head, and smudges of flour across her flushed cheeks. Her violet eyes focus on me and her pupils dilate. I smirk, shaking my head at her as I watch her flail a bit. No, this isn’t the way I truly imagined meeting her and definitely not like this, but for some reason, I adore it more than any other way.

“I own this building,” I tell her with a shrug of my shoulders.

Her mouth drops open in shock. She looks like she’s going to protest, but her nose wrinkles in confusion. She raises her eyebrows at me.

“Please tell me you’re joking,” she whispers. I bite my bottom lip to keep from laughing. She groans and stomps her foot like a child throwing a temper tantrum. “Let me guess you also know the alarm code.”

I give her a look. “I have the master code.”

“There’s a master code?” she squeaks in shocked disbelief. “You know what—whatever— I’m not doing this now. No. I’m not going to have a panic attack in front of you.”

I tilt my head to the side, giving her my own look of disbelief. “Are you sure about that?”

“Yes!” she cries out.

I chuckle, shaking my head. “Emi, you need to breathe.”

“Shouldn’t you be fucking your fiancée?” she fires back, taking me a tiny bit by surprise. Her eyes flash like lightning in a storm and I’m fascinated. “With your-your secretary last week, who is it going to be next week?”

You. If you’re not careful. I keep that to myself. She’s trying to be psychotically brave. I’ll let her have time to shine with her with comebacks and bravado until her shock wears off.

“Is that really any of your concern?” I ask her.

Pain slices through those violet eyes and her body tenses then curls in like she’s a wounded animal protecting herself. My first instinct is to comfort her, but I stay where I’m standing in the doorway. Her bravado deflates and I regret saying it, but it has to be said. She backs down, glancing down at the piece of cake on the plate she’s holding.

“You weren’t answering your phone,” I tell her honestly. “I looked on the video security feed of the bakery and I saw you were up.”

She frowns at that. “So you thought it was a brilliant time to drop by?”

“Were you really ever going to contact me voluntarily?” I ask her sharply and her eyes snap to mine. “I gave you the opportunity to come to me on your own and you thought career suicide was your best option.”

Her violet eyes are back to an intense storm, filling with lightning and threatening thunder. “You never bothered to open that door four years ago,” she growls back me with hurt and fury in her eyes. I deserve all of it. I know I do. “You also had plenty of opportunity to come to me, but looks like we’re both disappointed.”

“I did come to you,” I state plainly, keeping calm in face of her anger. “I offered you a business opportunity to better your life so you can thrive and you have. Your shop is a success, Emi. I’m giving you more opportunities to further your quality of life and you do that.”

Tears fill her eyes, because I know it isn’t the response she wants. She wants an explanation on why I walked away four years ago. She wants to know why I didn’t open that door to confront our connection and bond.

She bows her head, looking down at the cake. Her fingers grasps that plate like it’s the only thing keeping herself together. A few tears slip down her cheeks before she breaks before me.

“I never thought I’d hate someone more than Spencer until I met you,” she finally says before she looks up at me. “I should know better, because you both fall from the same rotten apple tree.”

I take a deep breath before releasing it. “We take our charity work very seriously.”

She throws the plate at me and the piece of cake smashes against my chest, but I don’t move. It kills me that I can’t save her from all of this… that I need to become her enemy instead of her everything. I’d rather she hate me if it helps her move on, because she deserves more than what I can give her right now.