Chapter 7

SOPHIA'S POV

I woke early, dressed, and headed for the elevator, moving on autopilot through the motions of a morning I hadn't fully braced myself for.

I stopped cold halfway down the hall. A werewolf scent, coming from the room next to mine, unmistakable and far too familiar.

My pulse quickened before I'd even let myself consider who it might belong to. I knocked, dread already settling in my chest, and the door opened to reveal exactly who I'd feared it would.

"What do you want?" my stepsister said, cold eyed, unimpressed, as though I were the one who owed her an explanation.

"What are you doing here? This is my building," I said, still struggling to process the sight of her standing in that doorway.

"I live here now. Problem?" she asked, one eyebrow raised.

"Why would you move here? Of all the buildings in this city?" I demanded.

"None of your business," she said, already starting to close the door.

"It is my business, Leah, when it's my hallway too," I said, refusing to let it drop that easily.

"Get over it. I own this floor just as much as you do," she said, the indifference in her voice more infuriating than any insult could have been.

"You know exactly what you're doing, moving in here," I said.

"Believe whatever you want. I have places to be," she said, and shut the door in my face before I could get out another word.

I stood there a moment in the empty hallway, my keys still in my hand, before finally turning and heading for the elevator alone.

By the time I reached Mondragon's, I was doing my best to hold myself together and failing badly, the elevator ride down having done nothing to steady me.

"You look like you've been crying the whole way here," Miranda said, catching sight of me at the door, her expression shifting instantly from casual greeting to concern.

"Close enough," I admitted.

"What happened this time?" she asked, already steering me toward a quieter corner of the break room.

"You don't want to know," I said, though even as the words left my mouth I knew she wasn't going to accept that as an answer.

"I asked, didn't I?" she said, and waited.

I told her everything, the words spilling out faster than I meant them to once I started. Leah. The building. The door slammed in my face. Miranda listened without interrupting, her expression darkening with every detail.

"Your stepsister? The one who took your mate?" she asked once I'd finished.

"That's the one. Same floor. Same hallway. I can't even leave my own apartment without walking past her door," I said.

"That's cruel, even for her," Miranda said.

"That doesn't feel like an accident," I said.

"It's not. I know it's not," she agreed.

"Then say something. Tell her to back off," I said, though I already knew how little good that had done.

"I did. This morning. It didn't go anywhere. She just slammed the door, same as always," I told her, the frustration still fresh.

"Sounds about right for her," Miranda said, and pulled me into a hug without another word, the gesture doing more to steady me than anything she could have said.

We didn't have long to sit with it. Mia's voice cut across the room before I'd even let go of the hug.

"Aww, look at this," Mia said, clapping slowly, her tone dripping with mock delight. "Two rejected, forbidden souls, best friends now. Fitting, really." She laughed and walked off, leaving the comment to hang in the air behind her.

"She's really not going to let this go, is she," I said, watching her go.

"Never does. Best thing you can do is stop reacting. It's the only thing that actually bores her," Miranda said.

"Ignore her," she added, murmuring it low enough that only I could hear. "She feeds on this. Don't give her the reaction."

I tried to take the advice to heart, but Mia wasn't finished with either of us for the day. She found me again later, near the supply closet, clearly looking for round two.

"And you," Mia said, turning on me, "cleaner or werewolf, doesn't matter which, go mop the floor."

"I'll do my job," I said, cold. "But you don't get to talk to us like that."

"Sure, whatever, loser. Get to work," she said, already turning away.

"You know, Mia, at some point you're going to run out of new insults," I called after her.

"I doubt it. You give me a lot to work with," she said, glancing back over her shoulder.

"Lucky you," I muttered.

"I mean it. Half the office thinks it's charming," she said, clearly enjoying herself now.

"The other half?" I asked.

"They think it's a liability. But nobody's fired me yet, so," she said, and left it at that.

I mopped in silence after she'd gone, trying to keep my head down and get through the rest of the morning without further incident, but it wasn't long before she wandered back over anyway, apparently unable to leave well enough alone.

"What's it like?" she asked, out of nowhere. "Being rejected in front of your whole pack?"

"Why do you want to know?" I asked, my grip tightening on the mop handle.

"Curiosity," she said, as though the question cost her nothing.

"It's not something I owe you an answer for," I said.

"Fair enough. Go mop the east wing while you think about it," she said, and finally walked off for good.

I hadn't even finished the east wing before Derick found a new way to add to the morning's misery. He walked in holding a water bottle and, deliberately, tipped it across the floor I'd just finished, the water spreading in a slow, insulting arc across the tile.

"What the hell, Sir Derick? Why would you do that?" I demanded, staring at the mess.

"Be grateful I haven't fired you yet. Show some respect," he said, entirely unbothered.

"Respect goes two ways. You might try it sometime," I shot back before I could stop myself.

"Careful," he said, though there was something almost amused in his tone.

"I'm sorry, Sir Derick. I'll clean it again," I said, forcing the anger back down.

"See that you do," he said.

"Is there anything I do that would actually satisfy you, Sir Derick?" I asked, unable to help myself.

"Not today, apparently," he said, and smirked before walking off, leaving me to drag the mop across the same stretch of tile I'd already cleaned twice that morning, telling myself it cost me nothing that mattered, even though some part of me knew that wasn't quite true.

I hadn't even finished when a new scent cut through the disinfectant, one that made every muscle in my body go tense at once. Blake's scent. My stomach dropped.

A low growl behind me told me I hadn't been fast enough to slip away unnoticed. I turned, and there he was, standing just a few feet away, filling the hallway like he had every right to be there.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded.

"I work here. I need to make a living like everyone else. Why do you care?" I asked, holding my ground.

"You know exactly why I care," he said.

"I really don't. You made your choice. Remember?" I said, the old anger rising fast and familiar.

"That's not fair, Sophia," he said.

"Fair? You want to talk to me about fair?" I asked, my voice sharpening.

"I didn't come here to fight with you," he said.

"Then why did you come, Blake? Say it plainly, for once," I said.

His eyes narrowed at that, and for a moment I braced myself, remembering how that particular look used to undo me completely. It didn't have that power anymore, not standing here in a hallway that smelled like bleach and old resentment.

Before he could answer, Derick appeared at the end of the hall, his attention fixed entirely on Blake, the temperature of the moment shifting instantly.

"What are you doing here?" Derick demanded.

"I'm here to kill you," Blake said, calm and certain, the words landing with a weight that made my stomach turn over. "And nothing's going to stop me."

"You're no match for me, and you know it. You're trespassing. Leave," Derick said.

"I don't think so. I have business here, and I'm not finished," Blake said.

"Whatever business you think you have, it ends at my front door," Derick said, stepping closer.

"We'll see about that," Blake said.

"No, we won't. I'll make sure of it," Derick said, and for a moment I genuinely believed they were going to fight right there in the hallway.

Mia appeared out of nowhere just then, her voice cutting through the tension. "What's going on here?"

Derick hesitated, glancing between Blake and Mia, then turned and walked away without another word, leaving me alone with Blake for the first time since I'd left the pack.

His expression softened the moment we were alone. "We need to talk. There's a lot we haven't said," he said.

"We have nothing to talk about," I said flatly.

"Sophia, please," he said.

"You had your chance to talk, Blake. In front of the entire pack. You chose what you were going to say that day, and you said it loud enough for everyone to hear," I said, the old wound tearing open easier than I expected.

"I know. I know how that looked," he said.

"You don't know how that felt. There's a difference," I said.

"Then tell me. Let me understand it," he said.

"You don't get to understand it now. Not after everything," I said, turning to leave.

"This isn't over," he said quietly. "Whether you want it to be or not."

"It is over, Blake. You made sure of that yourself, in front of everyone who ever mattered to me," I said, stopping just long enough to say it.

"I know. I've thought about that day more than you'd believe," he said.

"Thinking about it doesn't undo it," I said.

"No. It doesn't. But I still wanted you to know it," he said.

"Well, now I know," I said, and started walking again.

He didn't answer that. He just watched me walk away, and I could feel his eyes on my back the whole way to the exit, still not entirely convinced he'd let this go as easily as I needed him to.

Whatever Blake had actually come here to do, walking away from me clearly wasn't part of his plan, and something told me the next time he showed up, it wouldn't be at the office.