Page 25 of The Alpha's Crimson Vow

I try again, knocking louder this time.

Still nothing.

An uneasy feeling creeps into my chest, slow but insistent. I don’t know why, but it’s there. I knock once more, my knuckles pressing harder against the wood. The silence on the other side is deafening now, the kind that makes your throat dry and your pulse quicken.

Finally, I turn the knob and step inside, my movements careful, like I’m expecting something to jump out at me.

What I see makes me stop just inside the door frame, a quiet sigh slipping from my lips. Relief, yes, but there’s something else mixed in—something softer.

Katherine is there, but her head is resting on her desk, her body still except for the steady rise and fall of her breathing. The room is silent, save for the faint sound of it, soft and rhythmic.

The poor thing is asleep. Exhausted.

I take a step closer, the tension in my chest easing as I take in the sight of her. Even like this, there’s something about her that pulls at me—her hair spilling over her shoulders, her face relaxed in a way that makes her seem almost fragile.

She works too hard. She always does.

For a moment, I stand there in her doorway, watching her as she sleeps. A part of me wants to wake her. Just to hear her voice, to see her look at me with that sharp but somehow soft gaze of hers. But I stop myself. She needs this. She’s clearly worn out, and waking her now would be selfish.

So I let her rest. She deserves that much, at least.

Quietly, I step back, clicking the door shut behind me as gently as I can. The sound barely registers, and I’m already walking down the hall toward the janitors' room, my mind spinning with thoughts that refuse to settle.

Katherine works harder than anyone I’ve ever met. She doesn’t just run the company; she carries it. Every decision, every plan, every challenge—it all falls squarely on her shoulders. Most people would crumble under that weight, but she doesn’t. Somehow, she keeps going, even with all the doubt she has to face.

It’s what she talks about the most when we have those late-night dinners: the constant pressure, the endless scrutiny. Every move she makes, every word she says, is analyzed, criticized, dissected—professionally and personally. And yet, she keeps fighting. Keeps winning.

But that’s not the part that twists in my gut.

It’s the danger she’s in. The people around her who don’t just want her to fail—they want her gone. People like Frank, her snake of a cousin, or Lawrence. They’d do anything to take her down, and she knows it.

I reach the door to the janitors’ room, my hand resting on the cold metal handle. My shift is over and there’s nothing left for me to do here tonight. I could go back to the apartment, sit on that worn-out couch, pour myself another drink, and let the night pass.

But something pulls at me. A weight in my chest, a voice in my head that tells me I can’t just leave. Not tonight. Not after seeing her like that, head down on her desk, completely vulnerable. Not with everything I know about the people circling her like vultures.

I let go of the handle and take a step back, exhaling slowly. I’m staying. There might be no danger to her—or there might be. Honestly, I don’t know. What I do know is I can’t bring myself to leave. I’ll stay a little longer. Just in case.

My thoughts churn as I walk, an undercurrent of unease weaving through them. I won’t always be here to protect her. That’s the reality, isn’t it? When this mission is over, when I leave this place for good, Katherine will be here alone, facing everything and everyone without me. The thought sends a hollow ache straight through me. If I hadn’t been there the day Frank laced her coffee—if I wasn’t in her office in that exact moment—what would’ve happened? I don’t even want to imagine it.

I hope she’ll be okay when I’m gone.

Reaching the lobby outside her office floor, I slow my steps, my eyes scanning the space. It’s quiet, the kind of quiet that makes your ears strain for sounds that might not even be there. I walk the perimeter slowly, deliberately, keeping myself as unobtrusive as possible. My gaze flicks occasionally toward Katherine’s office door, always keeping it within view. If Frank—or anyone else—tries anything, I’ll be here.

The faint click of heels against the floor cuts through the silence.

My pulse picks up, not quite racing, but steady and sharp. Something changes in the air around me, like a pressure I can’t quite define. The clicks get louder, closer, each one carrying an odd weight.

And then, rounding the corner with a calm, deliberate stride, is Alice Kassel.

What the hell is she doing here?

The lobby, once merely quiet, now feels utterly still. Just the two of us, her heels marking time as she walks, her presence fillingthe empty space. I duck my head instinctively, keeping my face down as I move to pass her quickly, my steps fast but controlled.

We cross paths. She’s heading toward Katherine’s office, and I’m moving toward the far hallway, thinking—hoping—I’ve dodged this one.

But then she calls out, her voice crisp and clear.

“Alex Valkov.”

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