She falls away, and I slip past her and down the hallway.
A glinting gold placard shines with Dean’s name. He has his own office now, that’s new. The door’s slightly ajar, and I push it open and lean against the door frame. His eyes snap to mine, and I smile. That spark that always seems to be between us is still there.
“What do you want?” he barks.
I can feel the command in the words that make me utter the truth. “You’re attention.” I snap my mouth shut, and he looks like he’s grinding his teeth.
“My attention?” he scoffs. “I’m sure you can find attention from a lot of willing alphas. Go play your games with them.”
Ignoring his words, I glance around his office, entering the space like I belong. I finger a frame with an olympic medal. Thedate on it says it was the summer after everything happened between us.
“Why are you teaching tennis here? This medal alone would give you so many options. That doesn't include working for your father.”
“My dad’s dead.”
“So you picked up the torch? I swear back when we were teens you wanted adventure and freedom.” I move onto the next framed medal. He watches me, I know he does because I canfeelhis eyes on me.
“Sometimes life has other ideas,” he clips out. And the bitterness in his voice gives me pause. I stop moving and look over at him.
“You know—you don’t owe him anything, right?”
“You don’t get to do this,” Dean snaps, gesturing vaguely around the room before pointing directly at me, his frustration palpable.
I press my lips together, swallowing the retort bubbling up in my chest. Do this? What does he mean,do this? Talk to him? Make him confront the fact that he threw me away like I didn’t matter? Too bad. He doesn’t get to skate past it.
Honestly, if I really think about it, maybe he’s the reason for all my failed attempts at being the “perfect omega” for every alpha who followed. Richard was the final blow. I gave up everything for that man—did his laundry, cooked his dinners, kept our home spotless, all while ignoring my own dreams. And what did it get me? Five words.I want you to leave.
Even those five words didn’t cut as deep as Dean’s did, though.
Back then, after that humiliating heat, I thought there wassomethingbetween us. That kiss—desperate, consuming, like we were the only two people who existed—it stuck with me. Hisscent, warm and musky, lingered on my skin, haunting me for weeks. But when the haze lifted, I was left with the cold truth.
I was rejected by my scent match.
Figures. My parents didn’t want me. Why would he?
Now, as I study Dean openly, his tense shoulders and the guarded look in his eyes, I can’t stop the faint smirk tugging at my lips. The thought hits me like a spark of madness. “You know, Dean,” I start, watching his jaw tick. “For someone who acts like they’re above it all, you’ve been staring at me like I’m dessert after a very long, very boring meal.”
“What?” His voice is sharp, defensive, like I just stepped on a nerve.
I snort, tilting my head. “What?” I echo, feigning innocence. “You heard me. Once upon a time, I would’ve gotten on my knees for you.”
His eyes darken, his body tensing at my words. I lean in slightly, my voice dropping lower. “And you? You would’ve loved every second of it. Maybe it’s time you see exactly what you’ve been missing.”
Dean’s sharp inhale is audible, and I feel the shift in the room like a crack of thunder. His scent, rich and heady, rolls over me, pulling at something primal and instinctive. But this time, I laugh softly, shaking my head.
“Relax,” I say, stepping back just enough to reclaim the upper hand. “I don’t meanfeelingit. I meantwatchingwhat we could’ve been.”
His gaze follows me, his expression unreadable, but I see the flicker of conflict there—the same kind of conflict that’s been brewing inside me for years.
CHAPTER 6
Lakelyn
When I arriveat the club, the courts are still quiet, the only sound is the rhythmic bounce of tennis balls from a few early risers already practicing their serves. I spot Dean by the far court, his back to me as he arranges a few cones for drills. He’s always so composed, so in control, but today there’s something different about him—his movements are sharper, more abrupt, and the usual warmth in his posture seems to be replaced by a tense rigidity.
“Morning, Dean,” I call out as I approach, hoping to break through whatever cloud seems to be hanging over him. He turns to me, offering a brief nod, but the smile I’m used to seeing is nowhere to be found. Even after my failed attempt to seduce him, he would smile at me.
“Morning, Lakelyn. Ready for your lesson?” His voice is steady, but there’s a hint of something darker beneath the surface.
