Page 57 of Heart of the Rebel Mate

A name.

Lena Vasquez.

She should have been bonded to a man named Elias Rowan. The records confirm it. Legal documents, signed and sealed. But cross-referencing her medical records tells a different story.

She was already bonded before she met him.

Her original mate—a low-ranking council employee—vanished months before her official bond to Rowan. His death was marked as an accident, but the autopsy report shows inconsistencies. Signs of forced separation. Agony syndrome.

They ripped her mate from her.

Rebonded her to someone else.

A calculated move. A reallocation of assets.

My stomach turns.

I keep digging, and I find more. A dozen cases, maybe more. Some less obvious, others blatant once you knew what to look for. The pattern is clear. The Council has been arranging bonds...possibly for political advantage, severing those that no longer serve their needs.

I sit back and breathe out slowly.

This is bigger than I thought.

And it's not just about power. It's about control.

A flicker of movement in the reflection of my screen makes me glance toward the door.

Elara.

She's standing there, arms crossed, leaning against the frame like she's been waiting.

I shut my laptop. "How long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough." Her voice is quiet, but there's an edge to it.

I don't answer. I'm still sorting through too many emotions, too many tangled thoughts to find the right words.

Elara steps inside, closing the door behind her. "You've been avoiding me."

I rub a hand over my face, exhaling through my nose. "I've been busy."

She scoffs. "Right. Because work suddenly became more important than talking to me."

I push back from my desk, standing. "What do you want me to say, Elara? That I enjoyed watching Cassian put his hands on you? That I liked seeing you two together?"

Her expression hardens. "Nothing happened."

"I know that," I snap. "But that doesn't mean it didn't bother me."

Her eyes narrow. "So that's what this is about. Not work. Not whatever excuse you've been telling yourself to avoid me. Just your damn jealousy."

I grind my teeth. "I'm not jealous."

She laughs, but there's no humor in it. "You're lying to yourself if you believe that."

The worst part is, she's right.

Iamjealous.

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