Three weeks of this shit and I’m losing my mind.

Late nights in glass offices where every surface reflects my growing paranoia. Pretending I don’t go home to three kids with their fathers’ faces stamped on them. Pretending proximity to both brothers isn’t slowly shredding my carefully constructed self-control.

The Silverton case has become my personal torture device. Constant contact—which I’m convinced they engineered specifically to break me.

Depositions where Kieran sits too close. His thigh pressed against mine under the conference table for three goddamn hours. His hand dropping to his leg, fingers drumming inches from where I’m clenching my thighs together, discussing liability clauses like he’s not actively dismantling my composure.

Strategy sessions where Lysander shows up in just his dress shirt. That cocky lean against my desk while reviewing documents, close enough for me to see his pulse point. Remember exactly how it tastes.

Sleeves rolled up, forearms on display—forearms I remember gripping during my heat, nails digging in while he—

Stop. Don’t go there.

They’re weaponizing proximity. Casual touches that look accidental to anyone watching but absolutely aren’t.

A hand at my lower back guiding me through doors. Fingers brushing mine when passing documents. Standing just close enough that I’m drowning in cedar-and-smoke or pine-and-rain.

Death by a thousand professional interactions.

“You’re distracted.”

Kieran’s voice slices through my spiral.

Another late night. Office empty except for us. This is becoming a pattern I can’t afford.

“The Hartley deposition is tomorrow,” he says, watching me with that laser focus that makes my skin prickle. “You’ve read that page three times.”

I don’t answer. Keep staring at liability clauses like they’re the most fascinating thing on Earth instead of acknowledging that this room feels about three sizes too small.

“You’ve done well for yourself.” His tone is conversational, but there’s an edge underneath. “Law degree. Impressive case history. Built a whole new life.”

He sets down his pen. The click echoes too loud. “Where did you go, Thalia? After that night. Really.”

The question detonates between us.

“Away.” I keep my voice flat. Eyes on the contract.

“Just… away?” He studies me like a puzzle he refuses to leave unsolved. “Eight years. No contact with the pack. No family. No trace.”

I force myself to meet his gaze. “There was nothing left for me there.” My smile could cut glass. “You made sure of that.”

Something flickers in his eyes. Regret, maybe. Guilt, possibly.

“That’s not—”

“Fair? True?” I laugh, sharp and brittle. “Why do you even care? I was nothing to you.”

Less than nothing. The wolfless shame who made decent entertainment during her heat.

He moves closer. Not touching—yet—but invading my space. I can feel his body heat radiating, smell that cedar-and-smoke that makes my neurons misfire.

“You know that’s not true,” he says quietly. “That night—”

“Don’t.” I stand, but he mirrors me, keeping that lethal proximity. “Don’t you dare romanticize it now.”

My heart’s trying to punch its way out of my ribs, but my voice stays steady.

“You fucked the wolfless girl during her heat. You and your brother. Then you went right back to your perfect life.” I let the words land like blows. “Engaged two months later. Got your perfect pack princess while I—”

I stop myself just in time.

His eyes sharpen. “While you what?”

He’s backing me against the table now, arms braced on either side. Caging me in with muscle, heat, and a scent that’s annihilating my defenses.

“What happened after you ran?” The possessive edge in his voice makes my skin betray me. “Who helped you disappear so completely that even pack trackers couldn’t find you?”

I don’t answer.

He leans closer.

“What happened out there, Thalia?” His voice drops to gravel. “Who helped you? Who hurt you?”

“You don’t get to ask that.” My hands grip the table behind me, knuckles white. “You don’t get to play protective Alpha male now. Eight years is far too late.”

Something breaks.

I watch the polished CEO veneer fracture, something raw bleeding through.

“Do you know what that night did to me?” His voice is rough, stripped bare. “What you leaving did?”

His hand slides to the back of my neck.

Electricity detonates down my spine. I hate my body for responding.

“I looked for you,” he says hoarsely. “Every. Fucking. Day. For eight years.”

His other hand comes up, fully caging me now.

“I couldn’t eat. Couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t function. And Lia—” He closes his eyes briefly. “I couldn’t even look at her without seeing you. When she announced our engagement. When she kissed me in front of the whole pack—”

“Good.” The word rips out of me. “I hope it destroyed you. I hope it ate you alive.”

His eyes fly open, dark and desperate. “It did.” He leans in, breath brushing my ear. “Still does.”

His lips hover at my neck. I feel every word vibrate through me.

“Seeing you every day. Smelling your scent. Being close enough to touch but knowing you hate me…” He inhales. “Do you know what torture that is? Wanting something you destroyed?”

My body trembles—caught between desire and rage, between the girl who loved him and the woman who survived him.

“Then stop,” I whisper. “Let me transfer. Let me go.”

Please.

A knock shatters the moment.

“Mr. Fenris? Your nine PM is here—”

“Cancel it.” He doesn’t break eye contact. “Cancel everything tonight.”

Footsteps retreat fast. Smart woman.

The silence afterward feels like standing at the edge of a cliff.

“This isn’t over.” He finally steps back, but his gaze keeps me pinned. “Whatever you’re hiding. Whatever happened during those eight years—I’ll find out.”

He moves to his desk, voice dropping into pure Alpha command. It makes my knees weak and my pride flare at the same time.

“And Thalia? Don’t even think about running again.”

His eyes flash—possessive, feral, dangerous.

“You’re mine—” He stops himself, jaw clenching hard enough I see the muscle jump. “My employee. Under contract.” His voice goes cold. “And I don’t let go of what’s mine.”

I force my legs to work. Walk to the door with steady steps that cost me everything.

“I’m nobody’s,” I say without looking back.

“Not anymore.”

I make it to the elevator before my legs give out. Slump against the wall as the doors slide shut and his scent finally fades enough for me to breathe.

My phone buzzes.

Rosalie: Phoenix had another incident at school. We need to talk.

Perfect. Because my life clearly needed another crisis—specifically my seven-year-old developing uncontrollable Alpha powers in front of humans.

I straighten my suit. Fix my mascara.

Become the woman who survives impossible situations.

The elevator opens to the parking garage. I get in my car. Lock the doors.

Then I let myself shake.

Let myself feel the weight of his confession.

I looked for you. Every fucking day.

My hands tighten on the steering wheel until my knuckles go white.

Three weeks down. God knows how many left.

And Kieran Fenris just declared he’s not letting me go this time.

The broken girl inside me—the one who never healed, who still remembers how gentle his hands could be—is thrilled.

The woman I’ve become knows that’s the most dangerous thing of all.

I’m so completely fucked.