Anya POV
The elevator ride to the Alpha's floor felt like an ascent to the gallows. When the steel doors slid open, the silence of the corridor hit me harder than a physical blow. The air up here was different—thinner, colder, and saturated with a power that made the fine hairs on my arms stand up.
I clutched my purse to my chest, my knuckles white, and forced my legs to move. The thick, dark carpet swallowed the sound of my footsteps, making me feel like a ghost haunting a place I had no right to be.
Standing guard outside the double mahogany doors of Room 1501 was a man I recognized only from company newsletters. Heath Jacobson, the Alpha's Beta. He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed over a chest that looked like it was carved from granite.
He straightened as I approached, his expression shifting from boredom to a guarded alertness.
"Ms. Carroll," he said, his voice low and devoid of warmth. He didn't ask how I got up here; he just stepped in front of the door, a human barricade. "You shouldn't be here."
"I know," I breathed, my voice trembling despite my best efforts. "Please, Mr. Jacobson. I left something inside. The Shadow Creek files. It's... it's a matter of life and death for my career."
Heath looked down at me, his eyes narrowing slightly. There was no pity in his gaze, only the calculation of a man whose sole job was to protect his leader. "The Alpha is not to be disturbed. Especially not by you. Not tonight."
"I just need the folder," I pleaded, desperation clawing at my throat. "I don't even need to see him. If you could just—"
Suddenly, Heath went rigid. His eyes glazed over, staring at something I couldn't see. The air around him seemed to vibrate. He was Mind-Linking.
A chill ran down my spine. Declan.
A moment later, Heath blinked, the connection severed. He looked at me with a new, unsettling expression—something between confusion and wary respect. He stepped aside, gesturing to the door.
"The Alpha will see you now."
My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. I reached for the handle, my hand shaking, and pushed the door open.
The scent hit me instantly.
It was a storm trapped in a bottle—ozone, wet pine, and deep, dark earth. It was heavy, cloying, and terrifyingly masculine. It wrapped around me, pulling me in, making my knees weak.
Declan was standing by the floor-to-ceiling window, his back to me. He had discarded his suit jacket, and his white dress shirt was unbuttoned at the cuffs, sleeves rolled up to reveal powerful forearms.
"I... I didn't mean to intrude," I stammered, staying close to the door, ready to bolt. "I just need the blue folder I left. Then I'll disappear."
Declan turned slowly. His golden eyes locked onto mine, and I felt the weight of his gaze press down on me, pinning me to the spot. He didn't look angry. He looked... hungry. Like a predator toying with a wounded rabbit.
He took a step toward me, the movement fluid and predatory.
"A folder?" His voice was a low rumble that vibrated in my chest. "From which night are you referring to? The one where a wolfless girl thought she could summon her Alpha to her bed and then scurry away like a frightened mouse?"
The shame burned my cheeks, hot and stinging. He was twisting the knife, using my own actions to flay me open.
"I was drunk," I whispered, unable to meet his intense stare. "I... I sent that text by mistake. I don't remember anything that happened after. I'm sorry."
"You don't remember," he repeated, his tone unreadable. He stopped just a few feet away from me. The proximity was suffocating. "How convenient."
"Please, Sir. Just give me the file."
He ignored my request entirely. He walked past me to the wet bar, the casual dismissal stinging more than his words. He poured a glass of water, the sound of liquid hitting crystal echoing in the silent room.
"My investigators tell me your mother, Marie, has been on the transplant waiting list for three years," he said, his back to me again. "Congestive heart failure. Stage four. She doesn't have much time left, does she?"
I froze. The blood drained from my face. "Leave my mother out of this."
"The state insurance won't cover the specialist she needs," he continued, turning around to face me, the glass of water untouched in his hand. "But I can. I can have the best cardiac surgeon in the country fly in tonight. I can cover the surgery, the recovery, the medication. Everything."
My breath hitched. Hope, cruel and sharp, pierced through my fear. "Why? Why would you do that?"
Declan set the glass down on the counter with a deliberate clink. He looked at me with a cold, terrifying resolve.
"Because I need something from you."
He walked toward me until he was looming over me, his scent overwhelming my senses. He leaned down, his golden eyes burning into my soul.
"Marry me."
I stared at him, my mouth falling open. The words made no sense. "What?"
"You heard me," he said, his voice devoid of emotion, like he was closing a business deal. "I need a wife. You need your mother to live. We can be at the courthouse tomorrow morning."
The room spun. This wasn't a proposal. It was a trap. A golden, deadly trap set by a King who held my mother's life in one hand and my freedom in the other.
