I step away from the desk, even though my legs feel wooden. “I’ll let you get back to work.”
“Ms. Donaldson.”
I pause at the door with my back to him.
“I’m sorry,” he says. And those words come out so intently, so sincerely, that they burn into my soul. My eyes sting evenharder, but I squeeze them shut. I don’t turn around; I don’t even say anything in reply. I just nod my head and walk out.
The door closes behind me with a soft click. The hallway stretches ahead, empty. My footsteps echo distantly, muffled, as if it is someone else who is walking, far away from here.
That’s it. He is truly gone.
Chapter Five
Kain
The parking lot is half empty when I pull in, early enough that most of the HQ staff haven’t arrived yet. I cut the engine and sit for a moment, hands gripping the wheel, staring at the glass and steel building.
It has been three weeks since I looked my fated mate in the face and lied, telling her I felt nothing. I lied as though my heart didn’t break when she held that picture of us out toward me with her shaky hand. I denied feeling the mate bond even though my nails were leaving bloody crescents in my palms from how hard I was squeezing my fists to keep from reaching out to touch her.
I draw a deep breath before I grab my briefcase and head toward the entrance. The morning air is cool enough to clear my head for the few seconds it takes to reach the doors. Inside, the lobby is quiet, with only the two receptionists at their desk, already settled in with their coffee, their computer screens glowing.
“Good morning, Mr. Ashford,” the woman on the left says with a bright and professional voice. The man beside her nods along.
“Good morning.”
I keep my stride even and don’t slow down as I move past them and toward the elevators just around the corner. My hand is already raised, finger hovering over the up button, when I hear that same woman’s voice again, taking a different pitch now as she speaks with the kind of warmth reserved for someone familiar.
“Good morning, Anne!”
The sound of her name stops me cold.
“Morning,” Anne’s voice replies, completely flat.
I turn to look before I can stop myself.
She’s walking toward where I’m standing, her head down as if she doesn’t want to be seen. When she lifts her gaze, there are dark, heavy bags under her eyes, like she hasn’t slept in days. Her scent assaults my senses, and my wolf whines in protest at our mate appearing in such a state.
Our eyes meet for a fraction of a second. My chest tightens instantly, but before I can say anything, she’s already moving past me, heading for the other elevator bank. She jabs the button; the doors slide open immediately, and she steps inside without looking back. The doors close, swallowing her up, and I’m left standing here like an idiot.
I force myself to breathe. My hand moves for the button again, but I can’t help but pause when I catch the chatter coming from the staff behind the reception desk.
“Did you see her?” the woman says, her voice dropping to a whisper. “She looks exhausted.”
“I know,” the man replies. “She’s been like this for weeks now. Something must have happened. She used to always come in so cheerful, you know?”
“Yeah, and now she barely says two words.” A pause, then quieter, “I think she’s losing weight, too. Did you notice?”
“Probably work stress. We all go through it sooner or later.”
My jaw locks so tightly, I feel my teeth grind. I punch the elevator button hard, step inside the moment the doors open, and let them close behind me.
Work stress. Right.
The ride up feels too long and too short all at once. When the elevator opens on my floor, I head straight to my office, shut the door, drop into my chair, and try to focus on the screen in front of me.
The cursor blinks expectantly. I move it once, twice, then stop. The words in front of me look meaningless. All I can think about is Anne in the lobby—those dark circles, that flat voice, the way she moved to the other elevators as if she couldn’t wait to get away from me.
I pinch the bridge of my nose and try again, but time flies by and I’m still rooted here, reading the same paragraph over and over again and not picking up any of it. I check my watch; only an hour has passed, but it feels like six.
