One day, Alaric Stone informed Anya that she would attend a social engagement with Mr. Blake on his behalf, while he stayed home to hold a meeting with Leo Lin.
"Boss, don't you have an appointment with Mr. Blake tonight?" Leo asked as soon as the door to the study closed.
"I don't want to entertain Mr. Blake," Alaric replied indifferently. "I sent Anya instead."
Leo froze. "What? You sent Anya alone to meet Mr. Blake?"
"Yes."
"Are you out of your mind?" Leo snapped. "Don't you know what kind of man Mr. Blake is? He's notorious. You're really not afraid he'll take advantage of her?"
"That's none of my business," Alaric said coldly.
Leo lost control. He stepped forward and grabbed Alaric by the collar.
"You've gone too far, Alpha. She's your mate. How can you let another man touch your mate? You're our Alpha! We look up to you!"
Alaric pushed him away. "This has nothing to do with you."
Leo took a sharp breath, forcing himself to calm down.
"Alpha, you sealed your bond towards Anya. That's why you feel nothing now. Listen to me. Unseal it. You've sealed it for too long. Honestly, you're like an empty shell. You need Anya to awaken your heart and soul."
Alaric fell silent.
It had been so many years that he had almost forgotten the truth. He had sealed everything. All that remained was instinct. Other than reacting to Anya's scent, he felt nothing.
"Come on," Leo said firmly. "We're picking her up."
*****
The bar was loud, pulsing with music that rattled through Anya's skull like a second heartbeat. Colored lights blurred together, streaking across her vision as laughter and voices melted into an indistinct roar. The air smelled of alcohol and perfume, heavy and suffocating.
Anya sat slumped beside Mr. Blake on the leather sofa, her fingers curled weakly around the edge of the cushion. Her head felt too heavy for her neck to support, thoughts drifting in and out like broken fragments. She tried to focus, tried to stay upright, but the room refused to stay still.
"Mr. Blake," she murmured, her voice barely audible over the music, "I really can't drink anymore."
Her words came out slow, clumsy, unfamiliar to her own ears.
Mr. Blake glanced at her, his smile widening as he leaned closer. "Is that so?" he said with a low chuckle. "You young people always say that."
She shook her head faintly. "I mean it. I don't feel well."
"Just one last drink," he said, waving the bartender over without waiting for her response. "Be good."
Before she could protest, his arm slid around her shoulders, heavy and possessive. The contact made her stomach twist. He pressed a glass into her hand, guiding her fingers around it when they trembled too much to hold it properly on their own.
"I really shouldn't," she whispered.
"Just this," he insisted, his grip tightening slightly.
The glass was cool against her lips. She barely remembered swallowing.
The world tilted.
Moments later, Anya collapsed against the sofa cushions, her body suddenly unable to obey her. The noise around her dulled, fading into a distant echo. Her limbs felt numb, unresponsive, as if they no longer belonged to her.
Mr. Blake's expression changed.
He nudged her gently at first, testing. "Anya?" he called, voice low.
She tried to answer. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out.
Satisfied, he shifted closer, guiding her back until she was lying against the cushions. One hand braced beside her, the other slipping to the front of her coat. His fingers fumbled with the buttons, impatience creeping into his movements.
Anya's mind screamed even as her body refused to respond.
He leaned down, his breath hot and unfamiliar against her cheek, his shadow swallowing what little light remained. Her vision swam as his face moved closer, closer—
And then—
A sudden, violent force ripped him away.
Mr. Blake was yanked backward so hard he crashed into the table behind him, the glass shattering as he fell. The music seemed to cut out all at once, replaced by the sound of a chair skidding across the floor.
"Touch her again," a low voice growled, vibrating with fury, "and you won't walk out of here."
Anya's consciousness wavered as the world finally went dark, her last awareness the instinctive certainty that she was no longer alone.
"Alpha, take Anya and go," Leo said urgently, positioning himself between Alaric and Mr. Blake. His voice was calm, but his eyes were sharp with warning. "I'll handle this."
Alaric did not argue.
His attention was already fixed on Anya.
She lay limp on the sofa, her breathing shallow, lashes trembling faintly against her cheeks. Rage surged through him again, hot and uncontrollable, but he forced it down. Right now, she mattered more than anything else.
He shrugged off his jacket and carefully draped it over her shoulders, shielding her from the cold air and from prying eyes. Then he slid one arm beneath her knees and the other behind her back, lifting her into his arms.
She was light.
Far too light.
The realization hit him hard. When did she become this thin and fragile. His jaw tightened as he held her closer, instinctively protective.
Anya felt the weight lift from her body, the air rushing back into her lungs as someone stepped between her and the man on the floor.
Through her blurred vision, she saw a broad figure standing over her, shoulders tense, fists clenched at his sides.
Power radiated from him, raw and barely contained.
*****.
The drive back to his house passed in silence, broken only by the steady rhythm of her breathing and the sound of his own heart pounding in his ears.
When they reached the house, Alaric carried her straight to his bedroom.
He laid her gently on the bed, adjusting the pillows beneath her head, making sure she was comfortable before stepping back. For a moment, he simply stood there, watching her chest rise and fall.
Then her fingers moved.
They reached out blindly, trembling, until they found his hand. She gripped it weakly, as if afraid he might disappear if she let go.
"Alaric…" she whispered, her voice hoarse and unsteady. "Is that you?"
He turned back instantly, closing the distance between them. He wrapped his fingers around hers, grounding her.
"It's me," he said softly. "You're safe."
The moment she recognized his voice, her composure collapsed.
Tears spilled from her eyes, silent at first, then breaking into quiet sobs that shook her small frame. She turned her face toward him, clutching his hand tighter as if he were the only thing anchoring her to the world.
Her crying pierced straight through him.
Something inside his chest cracked.
He sat on the edge of the bed and leaned closer, pressing his forehead briefly against her knuckles. The anger faded, replaced by a deep, aching pain he had tried to bury for years.
How much had she endured alone and close he had come to losing her.
Leo's voice echoed in his mind, calm but insistent.
Unseal it.
Alaric inhaled slowly. Then he tightened his grip on Anya's hand and closed his eyes.
The seal shattered.
Warmth rushed through him, flooding every corner of his being. The bond surged back to life, stronger than before, no longer muted or restrained.
Memories crashed into him all at once.
The beach at sunset. Sand between his toes. A six year old girl laughing as she built a crooked sandcastle, looking up at him like he was her entire world.
The way his chest had felt full and certain, even then.
The pull. The recognition. The promise.
The pain of leaving. The emptiness that followed.
Alaric sucked in a sharp breath as tears finally blurred his vision.
He opened his eyes and looked at Anya, really looked at her.
His mate.
"I'm here," he whispered, brushing his thumb gently over her fingers. "I won't leave again."
And this time, he meant it.
"Anya," he whispered as tears streamed down his face.
"Alaric… I'm sorry," she cried.
"I'm sorry too," he replied gently.
He lowered his head and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead.
For the first time in years, Alaric Stone felt whole again.
And he knew.
There was no escaping fate anymore.
*****
The next morning, Anya Holloway woke with a sharp intake of breath.
The ceiling above her was unfamiliar.
For a split second, panic set in. Her head throbbed painfully, and flashes of last night surfaced. The bar. The drinks. Mr. Blake's voice.
She threw the blanket aside and immediately checked herself.
Her clothes were still on and a relief washed through her.
Slowly, she pushed herself up and opened the bedroom door. The house was quiet, filled with the faint scent of coffee and something warm.
She went downstairs and froze.
Alaric Stone stood in the kitchen.
He wore a simple shirt with the sleeves rolled up, moving calmly as he prepared breakfast.
"Good morning," he said.
Her heart skipped.
"Good morning, Mr Stone," Anya replied, nervous. "Did you… bring me back here last night?"
"Yes," Alaric said evenly. "You drank too much."
He did not say more. He did not say how close she had been to danger.
"I'm sorry to trouble you," Anya said softly.
"No need," he replied. "Eat."
She hesitated, then nodded.
"I… I haven't washed up yet," Anya said softly, her fingers twisting together.
Alaric paused for only a second before walking toward her.
"This way," he said.
Before she could overthink it, he took her hand.
The warmth of his palm startled her. It was steady, firm, and familiar in a way she could not explain. Her heart skipped, and she instinctively tightened her fingers around his for half a second before realizing what she was doing.
Why does this feel so natural? she wondered. As if I have held his hand countless times before.
He led her upstairs, his steps unhurried, as if this were the most ordinary thing in the world. The bathroom light flicked on, bathing the room in soft white.
Alaric opened the cabinet and took out a new toothbrush.
"This is new," he said, placing a toothbrush into her hand. He squeezed toothpaste onto it with quiet precision, then handed her a small towel.
Anya stared at him, startled by the simple kindness.
"Thank you," she murmured.
"Take your time," Alaric replied. "I'll be downstairs."
He turned and left, closing the door behind him with a gentle click.
Anya remained standing there, frozen.
She stared at her reflection in the mirror, her cheeks faintly flushed, her eyes slightly red from lack of sleep.
She brushed her teeth slowly, the taste of mint grounding her, but her mind refused to calm. Every small movement replayed in her head. The way he had not rushed her. The way he had not watched her. The way he had simply… trusted her.
If he still hates her, she thought, why is he so gentle?
Her fingers trembled slightly as she rinsed her mouth.
*****
When she returned downstairs, breakfast was already plated.
They sat across from each other in silence for a few minutes, the only sound the faint clink of cutlery.
"About last night," Anya said finally, setting her chopsticks down. "Mr. Blake mentioned increasing the product orders. I thought—"
"Not now," Alaric interrupted quietly.
His tone was calm, but final.
She looked up, surprised, then nodded.
"I'm sorry," she said.
"There's no need," he replied, lowering his gaze back to his plate.
Understanding that the conversation was closed, Anya ate quickly. She did not linger.
When she stood, she gathered her bag and hesitated by the door.
"Thank you again," she said carefully. "I'll see you at the office."
Alaric did not stop her.
"Be careful," he said.
She nodded and left.
The sound of the door closing echoed faintly through the house.
Alaric remained seated long after she was gone, staring at the leftover food in front of him.
Watching her move so carefully, so politely, as if afraid to take up space in his world, left a dull ache in his chest.
*****
Not long after, Leo arrived to report what happened the night before.
"Alpha, I warned Mr. Blake not to touch our company's employees," Leo said.
"Cancel all cooperation with Blake Group," Alaric said coldly.
"Understood," Leo replied. He knew this meant Alaric cared deeply about Anya.
"Also, investigate Anya's life after I left Westbridge, and why she left," Alaric added.
Alaric's thoughts returned to the night before.
He had been helping Anya settle in, careful and deliberate, adjusting the blanket around her shoulders. When her sleeve slipped up, just slightly, he had seen it.
Scars.
Thin, pale lines crossing her arm. Some faint with age. Others deeper, uneven. Not fresh, but not ancient either.
And that was when the truth struck him.
She had been fine when he left, untouched by harm.
She had suffered in the years after, and the realization was unbearable.
*****
At the office, Anya arrived shortly after Alaric. After reporting his schedule, she returned to her desk and rubbed her temples, still feeling unwell from the alcohol.
Suddenly, Alaric's voice came through the desk phone.
"Anya, bring in the documents for the Western Corporation partnership."
Anya stood quickly and entered his office. After placing the files down, dizziness overtook her, and she could no longer stand.
Alaric rushed forward and caught her as she fell into his arms. In his embrace, Anya instantly felt safe and comfortable. She closed her eyes, savoring the feeling she had not felt in years.
Alaric felt her weight against him and remembered his old desire to protect her.
"Stay like this for a moment. You'll feel better soon," he said gently, patting her head.
Skin contact with the mate was a powerful form of healing. Though Alaric had not formally claimed Anya, their connection was stronger than ever now that they were adults and when he had unsealed their bond.
After a while, Anya stepped back, feeling much better.
"Thank you, Mr Stone. I feel much better now," she said, blushing.
"No need to thank me. Do you want to go home and rest?" Alaric asked.
"No. Thank you for your concern. I'll head out now," Anya said softly and left.
Watching her back, Alaric felt deeply lonely. He knew he needed to be more proactive in mending their relationship.