Page 45 of Fated to the Enemy Alpha

“I trust you have no meet-ups that will conflict with this date?” His tone dared me to oppose him.

“No, Alpha,” I murmured, the authority in his voice telling me not to try to sugar-coat my answer.

The silence stretched, heavy, and I fought the urge to squirm under his gaze. Submissiveness was all he desired. Dread curdled in my stomach the longer the quiet wound on for. I fought the urge to look away or fidget with my clammy hands.

“Let me say this only once,” he continued, the gravity of his words sinking into my bones. “The union your parents brokered with me will be honored. But any hint of deceit, and you will regret crossing me.”

I nodded, dread coiling within me. Magnus didn’t want me. He wanted absolute control over me.

“Before you return to work,” he added, a glint in his eyes suggesting something sinister, “I remember your mother had a pendant, a family heirloom she wore during your parents’ mate ceremony. It must be in your parents’ lockbox. Do you remember where she kept her lockbox?”

A frown tugged at my lips as I pretended to search my memories. The realization struck me like ice water. That was why he kept my mother alive.

“I don’t recall a lockbox, unfortunately,” I replied, affecting confusion while frustration darkened his brow.

“Very well,” he growled, dismissing me with a wave. “You best be getting on.”

Relief flooded me as I escaped his unsettling presence, my instincts still reviled by his scrutiny.

As soon as I shut the door to our office behind me, Stephen’s tense frame came into focus. “What did he want?” he growled.

“To set a date for our mate ceremony,” I said, refusing to meet his gaze, knowing it would fill with a mix of anger and hurt.

“And when is that happy event?” he demanded, his voice tight.

“This Saturday,” I stated flatly, withholding Magnus’s inquiry about the lockbox.

We don’t share our secrets.

The day passed in a painful silence, and every short exchange was reduced to work-related messages via our internal chat. I told myself the distance between us was what I wanted, yet it was the absence of connection that ate at me, gnawing away at my thoughts.

In the relative silence of the office, the mystery of the lockbox loomed large in my mind. What did Magnus want inside it, and why did he keep my mother alive? More importantly, had my mom ever mentioned it to me?

That evening, as the workday drew to a close, I remained seated at my desk, thankful to have finally reached the last page of the dry medical study I had been reading, when a flicker of memory teased at the edges of my thoughts: a sun-drenched day in Central Park, the vibrant fall colors around me like flame.

I’d been waiting for my mom for one of our usual catch-ups. She always made time for me, regardless of her demanding duties as Silvermoon luna. But this time, she’d been late, and I’d sat on a bench, the sun beating down on the two steaming coffees in my hand, growing lukewarm, and the first stirrings of worry had flickered.

When she appeared, she was out of breath and her eyes too bright. She waved away my concern about her tardiness, attributing it to a meeting at the docks on pack business—a matter that had taken longer than expected.

But by the time we’d walked through the park and wandered through the Met art gallery, my worries had gone. I could almost hear her laughter now, light and melodious, lifting my spirits. But later, in the gallery, she’d lingered over a striking abstract of silver and blue, and she’d turned to me, her eyes sparkling with intensity.

“It reminds me of an ornate lockbox we have in storage at the docks, made of chromium. Beneath the second window to the right of the door.”

“A lockbox? At the docks?” I’d echoed curiously. “Like where you were today?”

She shook her head, suddenly looking embarrassed. “Art stirs the strangest associations, doesn’t it?”

Her manner and her distractedness had struck me as odd at the time. But when she hadn’t elaborated, I’d taken her words at face value.

But with wonder, now, I realized she’d been telling me a secret without me knowing it at the time. I knew my father had rented a warehouse by the docks for storage. And unknown to me now, she’d given me the means to find whatever she’d hidden.

“Lina?” Stephen’s voice cut through my reverie, pulling me back into the present.

I startled, looking up from my laptop. I caught sight of the message on my screen, too. He’d messaged me three times and was looking at me, concern stamped across his face.

“Sorry,” I said, shaking my head as my gaze fastened onto him. But whatever he saw there only made him more agitated. “You’ve gone really pale, are you all right?”

“Yeah, just…tired,” I said, leaning back in my chair and massaging my temples. “What do you need?” I asked.

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