Page 48 of Heat Me

He nodded, then suddenly stepped closer and wrapped his arms around me, pressing his head to my chest. The simple gesture filled me with warmth and protective instincts. I leaned down and kissed the top of his head, but it didn’t feel like enough. Tilting his face upward, I gently held his chin and kissed his soft, pouty lips.

"I’ll be back soon," I promised.

"Take care of yourself," Damien whispered. "My intuition—it’s not as sharp as yours, but I’ve got a bad feeling. Something weird is going on."

"We’ll see. I’ll stay vigilant."

With that, Jordan and I left the room. I locked the door behind us, scanned the hallway, and then turned to him.

"What’s in the second room?"

Jordan pulled out another keycard, unlocked the door, and showed me the room. It was almost identical to the first one.

"I’d like the keycard for this room as well," I demanded.

Jordan handed it over, his expression sour as usual.

Just then, his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen and looked up in alarm.

"He’s here! We need to get downstairs right now!"

We rushed to the elevator, and thirty seconds later, we were already on the first floor. Mr. Ragu stood in the lobby, looking extremely frazzled. One security guard was with him, but the other two were nowhere to be seen.

"Let’s go meet him outside," Mr. Ragu muttered, gesturing toward the security guard. All of us exited the building. Only then did I notice the other two guards standing on either sideof the entrance, scanning the area, though they didn’t seem particularly focused.

Right at that moment, Mr. Lowen’s limousine pulled up in front of the main entrance. A black car in front of it came to a stop first, and three men—evidently his personal security detail—stepped out.

They approached the limo and positioned themselves strategically, completely shielding Mr. Lowen from view as he exited the vehicle. Another man followed him out of the car.

The group of five began walking toward us. As they got closer, I finally laid eyes on Mr. Lowen for the first time, after hearing so much about him.

The powerful CEO of the biggest pharmaceutical corporation in this country was very short—as Damien mentioned, not more than 5’3", small even for an omega. His hair was strikingly unique, styled in a straight, navy-blue fringe that fell over his eyes, with the back reaching his shoulders. The strands were absolutely smooth and even. Small, sleek glasses perched on his nose—clearly not regular lenses. They looked electronic, possibly synced to his phone.

When his pale sapphire-blue eyes locked onto mine for a brief moment, I knew immediately. People always looked at me like that, with that distinct mix of recognition and unease. He could tell I was a purple alpha.

Although Mr. Lowen was around forty years old, his appearance was ageless. To anyone unfamiliar with his background, he could easily pass for a man in his mid-twenties! No doubt, his youthful looks were thanks to his immense wealth—he could afford the best rejuvenation treatments money could buy. His delicate build and boyish hairstyle only amplified that impression.

As I studied him, a realization hit me like a freight train…

At that moment, I knew exactly who his True Mate was. The clarity of it was absurd, and I had to stifle a laugh at the irony of it.

So, definitely, my talent was taking off. I was just getting started!

Mr. Ragu stepped forward to greet Lowen, but the omega waved him off impatiently, his high, piercing voice carrying an icy tone. "Let’s go inside. I dislike open spaces."

Mr. Ragu nodded fervently, and we all moved into the lobby.

Only once inside did the formal greetings take place. I noticed, however, that Lowen didn’t shake Mr. Ragu’s outstretched hand, completely ignoring it. Behind us, another man entered—a beta in his fifties, probably one of Lowen’s lawyers.

We headed toward the stairs instead of the elevator, as per Lowen’s pre-arranged instructions. Apparently, he had been very specific about his preferences for this visit, and I’ll admit, I felt a bit out of my element. I didn’t know the protocol, nor what the exact security requirements were. Mr. Ragu’s guards seemed equally clueless, following no clear plan.

We climbed the stairs to the floor where the conference room was located. During this time, Mr. Ragu chatted with Lowen, whose responses were sparse, but I wasn’t paying attention. An unsettling feeling had taken root in my chest and was growing stronger by the second.

When we entered the conference room, that unease exploded into full-blown alarm. It took everything I had not to yell for everyone to leave immediately.

The area was set up with a podium near one wall—likely a spot where the company’s CEO typically delivered speeches. My eyes were drawn to it with inexplicable intensity.

In front of the podium was a long table surrounded by chairs, with snacks and water bottles neatly arranged on top. Mr. Ragu and Mr. Lowen sat at the table, with Jordan and Lowen’s other lawyer taking seats beside them.

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