Keith's POV
I sat in my oversized office lounge. Leaning on my seat and looking through the floor to ceiling windows.
Quiet, efficient, and private. Or it would be, if my brothers hadn't insisted we all share the same workspace. Sentimental nonsense.
Now I had to tolerate Kieran's chaotic energy and Kayden's silent judging from across the room.
My thoughts circled back to her. The woman I met couple of seconds ago.
Why did she feel so familiar? That silver-white hair. Those wide, anxious eyes. And her scent prickled at the edge of my memory.
Then it clicked.
Damon's club. The night we played strippers for a favor. The woman on the stage. It was her.
I shook my head. Impossible. Women in this city change their hair color more often than their passwords.
It couldn't be the same person. And even if it was—why did it matter? She shouldn't be taking up space in my head.
We have a fated mate. One who's meant for us. Once we bond with her, this centuries-old curse will lift. The restlessness. The hollow ache that never leaves will all leave without a trace.
If I can make myself want her. If I can make myself feel something other than obligation.
A sharp knock at the door cut through my thoughts.
I turned my chair, the seat groaning in protest, as someone entered.
Standing at the doorway like a ghost. Silver hair, nervous hands. Familiar. And Annoyingly so.
She closed the door softly and just stood there, hovering. I hate that. Indecisive people. Workers who waste time waiting for permission to breathe.
"Are you going to stand there all day?" I didn't bother masking my impatience.
She flinched but moved forward, stopping in front of my desk. Her eyes stayed down. Weak. Exactly the kind of employee I can't stand.
That feeling tugged at me again but I shoved it down.
"Name."
"Eleanor," she said, voice barely audible.
I rolled my eyes. "Eleanor what? Don't you have a surname?"
"Moore. Eleanor Moore."
I typed it into my laptop. Moore. That rang a faint bell somewhere in the back of my mind. Well I can't remember surnames of people I may or may not have worked with.
Her employee file popped up on screen. Newly appointed manager. Impressive qualifications—top of her class at a notable university, several certifications in engineering and design. Better credentials than half the senior staff.
Interesting.
I leaned back in my chair, eyeing her. "How does someone with this little spine have qualifications that surpass most of my senior engineers?"
She didn't answer. Just stood there, hands clasped tightly in front of her.
"Did you forge these?" I asked bluntly.
"No,"
"This is too good to be true," I muttered, scrolling further. Four years at this company. Ordinary performance reviews. No innovation. No notable projects under her name—nothing that matched the potential her academic history suggested. Definitely forged.
I made a mental note to have verification run through an external agency.
Then I checked her attendance logs. Perfect. No late arrivals. No unexplained absences. Not a slacker, then. Just… average. Unexceptional.
I rested a knuckle under my jaw, studying her. "When do you plan to pay for the damages you caused at the grand ceremony?"
Her face paled. "I—I apologize, sir. You can deduct it from my salary. I'm grateful… if I can keep my job. I truly value working here."
Pathetic.
"Spare me your life story," I cut her off. "Leave. And don't cause trouble again."
"Thank you, sir," she breathed, and practically fled.
The door clicked shut. Silence.
I stared at the space where she'd stood. Why didn't I fire her?
I don't spare people. Ever. Especially not emotional, unremarkable middle managers who disrupt company events and waste my time.
She's still useful, I told myself. Her attendance is flawless. She's cheap labor. That's all.
But the lie felt thin even to me.
I shook the thought away. She wasn't special. She wouldn't ever be.
The sharp ring of my phone cut through the silence. I snatched it off the desk without looking.
"What?"
"She's here," Kieran's voice came through. "Our mate. She's at the house."
"Good. I hope you gave her a warm welcome." Or as warm as it gets in a house full of cursed hybrids and unresolved tension.
"We did, but... Keith, I'm having second thoughts."
I pinched the bridge of my nose. Of course he is. "Why?"
"The bond is there. I feel it pulling me toward her, but... my wolf doesn't react. At all. It's like he doesn't even notice her."
That was odd. Our wolves were usually the first to recognize our fated mate, often before our own minds caught up. Still, I forced certainty into my voice. "It's normal. The bond is new. Your wolf will adjust. Give it time."
"I hope you're right. Because if not, I'm going to find that woman from the club."
"Not a chance," I growled. "We have a duty. A real mate. Not some... random human."
Kieran sighed but didn't argue. "Anyway, Alfred's here too."
A flicker of genuine relief cut through my irritation. Alfred.our butler. The only person who'd ever treated us like family. "Good. Hope to see him soon."
After we talked about other things, the line went dead. I dropped the phone back onto the desk.
A personal assistant. We'd need one soon, especially with schedules so full. Alfred would know how to handle the hiring. He always did.
***
I left my office, my steps purposeful. I didn't know why I decided to take the long way out, cutting through the bullpen instead of heading straight to the private executive elevators. A waste of time. Inefficient.
Workers scurried out of my path, offering quick, nervous greetings. I didn't acknowledge them. My gaze, against my will, flickered toward the glass-walled office. Hers. And of course, she was in there. Being dressed down by that senior manager—Dickson, his name was. The one who designed the race tracks. I'd read the reports. His work was competent.
She'd made mistakes again. Obviously.
A part of me itched to stride in there and demand to know what incompetence had occurred now. But I forced myself to keep walking. Not my problem. She's not my problem.
I entered the private elevator, the doors sealing me in silence. It descended smoothly to the underground garage reserved for my brothers, myself, and the rare individual I deemed worthy of the privilege.
I approached the car—a sleek, black model built for performance, not show. I pressed my thumb against the biometric scanner embedded flush in the driver's side door. It clicked open with a soft, satisfying hum. I slid inside, the engine purring to life with the same touch.
I drove on autopilot, the city blurring into a stream of light and motion. Then, I found myself pulling over at a flower shop.
Sentimental.
I should have asked Kieran what our mate liked. I didn't. I walked in, pointed at the first acceptable arrangement I saw—red roses, —paid, and left.
Soon, the iron gates of the Vexxon estate swung open. I parked precisely in my designated spot and stepped out into the cool evening air.
The heavy front door opened before I could reach for it. Alfred stood there, his old, lined face breaking into a genuine smile that reached his wise eyes.
"Master Keith," he said, his voice a warm, familiar rasp. "It has been too long."
I gave a curt nod, stepping past him into the grand foyer, the bouquet feeling awkward and unnecessary in my hand. "Alfred. You shouldn't have cut your vacation short, Alfred. We sent you away to rest."
The old man's smile didn't falter. "I know you still need me, Master Keith. And if I'm being entirely honest, I have a feeling things are about to become quite interesting around here again."
His eyes flicked to the roses in my hand. "Are those for your mate?"
"Yes," I said, the word feeling foreign and pointless.
We spoke for a moment longer, his calm presence a quiet anchor in the usual chaos of my thoughts. But duty, or perhaps morbid curiosity, pulled me forward. "Where are the others?"
"In the main living room, sir."
I walked down the hall, the bouquet a clumsy weight in my grip.
When I reached the living room, there they were. Kieran and Kayden, sitting on one of the large sofas. Opposite them, a woman. Her hair was an ombré blend of black and purple, artfully done. Expensive. She was precisely the picture of the noble-born mate we were told.
The mate bond was there—a persistent pull in my chest, a thread of fate connecting us.
But beneath it, where there should have been a surge of recognition, a primal claim from my wolf... there was nothing. Just a hollow silence. Kieran was right.
She turned at the sound of my footsteps. Her eyes lit up with a practiced, pleasant surprise. She stood smoothly, a perfect picture of grace.
"You're back... Mr. Keith," she said, her voice a soft, melodic thing.
I just stood there, holding the roses, my wolf utterly, completely silent.