Page 55 of The Alpha's Crimson Vow

The past week has been a blur of activity, most of it under my supervision. Pinnacle Group’s assets are already moving, transferred seamlessly to my real estate holdings in Europe. The payments I’ve made into the company ensure that everything continues to run smoothly, no financial hiccups, no delays. I’ve been at the board meetings, sitting across from her as we discuss infrastructure development, strategic changes, the new financial landscape. Some of my key associates from Europe have flown in, and we’ve been going over the details, hammering out the short term and long term vision.

On paper, everything is falling into place.

But my mind hasn’t been on any of it. Not really.

Because all I can think about is her.

All I can think about is how badly I need to talk to her alone. But every time I try, she keeps her distance, like I’m a landmine she refuses to step too close to. She keeps things strictly business—curt, professional, detached.

It’s frustrating.

I would’ve thought—hoped—that after everything I’ve done for her, after saving the company, making sure the board didn’tvote her out, even getting those spineless bastards to turn on her treacherous, thieving cousin—she would’ve at least let me explain myself.

But I get it. I do.

I was cold before I left. It was necessary. I know she’s hurt, and I know she doesn’t trust me anymore.

But she’s still my fated mate.

She’s still mine.

And when I finally get to explain everything, when she hears the truth, she’ll come back to me.

I take a deep breath, inhaling the scent of the bouquet of flowers in my hand as I walk. The fragrance blooms in my nose—rich, delicate, lingering. My two guards trail slightly behind me, their footsteps steady against the marble floor.

A small smirk tugs at the corner of my mouth as I catch the looks from some of the staff still lingering in the building—heads of departments, assistants, the late night stragglers finishing up their work.

They nod respectfully as I pass, murmuring polite greetings, acknowledging me with subtle deference.

It’s almost laughable.

These same people never spared me a second glance when I was here as a janitor. Back then, I was invisible, a fixture in the background, someone they’d walk past without a thought.

I reach the door to Katherine’s office.

I know she’s in there, even though the workday is long over. She’s always there. Always working late, long after everyone else has gone home.

I glance at my watch. 8:59 PM. A familiar hour.

This is when I used to come by. When we’d sit together in her office, eating dinner, talking about everything and nothing.

I miss it. I miss it so much.

I miss the sound of her voice, the way her laugh would fill the space, the way she’d ramble about her day, sometimes venting, sometimes teasing, sometimes just talking for the sake of it.

I miss how easy it was to just be with her.

I stare at the door for a long second, letting the moment settle.

And then—9:00 PM.

The second the minute hand clicks into place, I inhale deeply, steadying myself.

And I knock.

“Come in.”

Her voice rings out—steady and familiar. The same way she always said it when I used to come here at this hour, back when I was just the janitor. Back when she didn’t know who I really was.

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