9. Maeve
9
MAEVE
“ Y ou got out of the hospital yesterday ,” Adrian begins, sighing as he leans back in his chair. “Maeve, it’s been a rough couple of weeks for you, so why don’t we just put this move on pause until you’re a little more settled?”
He is sitting at his desk looking as pristine as always. He’s cleared his desk of any paperwork, and despite him asking me to sit down with him, I won’t.
As soon as I sit, it puts him in the power position, and I have absolutely no intention of submitting to him.
“How about we don’t?” I retort, shrugging. “We’ve had a good run, Ades, let’s just leave it at that.” My tone is far more patronising than his is, but I think it gets my point across.
I don’t know why he thinks this is a game or some sort of tactic when I made my intentions extremely clear from the moment he hired his nephew. I don’t want to be here any more.
I don’t feel safe. I don’t feel comfortable, and more than that… I don’t have trust in Adrian Graves.
I’m sick of the control he’s exerting over me, and I’m so fucking done with my life here not being my own.
I’m sick of men making decisions about me without my permission. I’m sick of not even being the fucking passenger in my own life.
I made the decision to leave when I was clear-headed, before my heat hit, before the note came, before any of the extra shit.
Me wanting to leave isn’t a reaction because of the pain and “trauma” I’ve undergone, like he’s implying. It pisses me off that he even thinks it is.
Adrian’s glare, once intimidating, now leaves me unfazed. His stern expression is the first real expression he’s shown. “I don’t know if you think you’re funny, Maeve, but you’re not.” He drops the annoyance and lets me see a more vulnerable side of him.
I wish I could pretend I cared.
I don’t.
He’s a politician—a good one at that. I guarantee he can fucking cry on command, never mind do a sad look that’s meant to tug at my heartstrings.
But hasn’t he heard what they all say? I’m the snobbiest ice queen around, with more venom than a vortexian. I don’t have heartstrings to tug at.
“I really don’t want you to leave,” he says. His tone is so gentle, his words echoing through the room, dripped in that feigned political sadness.
I laugh, trying to quell my hurt at the lack of apathy from him.
Immediately, he wipes the caring farce away, and he sighs, the scent of his disappointment so strong it practically chokes me.
“It’s a Monday, Adrian,” I say with a smirk. “Such a nice, good day to start my new life.”
If he doesn’t care, why should I?
The growl he utters at my words is hilarious and embarrassing because it’s fully human. He’s a unicorn. They can neigh and grumble, but they don’t growl .
Oh, bless him, I can understand why he’s struggling. It’s so hard when your chess pieces realise they’ve got free will and won’t willingly let themselves be sacrificed.
“Maeve, I care for you?—”
My eyes widen, and I can feel my fury burning my insides. My nerves are tingling, and I feel a pressure in my eyes as I glare at him.
“You care for me?” I ask with a scoff. “No, you don’t. You care about dictating how I live my life. You care about controlling me as the last remaining chromius. You don’t care about me. There’s a difference. A huge fucking difference. ”
I’m done being nice. I’m done being rational.
Fuck Adrian Graves, and fuck trying to minimise the damage he’s caused.
“Controlling you? I just want what is best for you!” Anger laces his words, and I adjust my position to stand taller at the face of his fury, too.
I won’t let him intimidate me. What’s he going to do?
“I’m sure you think you do.” I look down my nose at him, letting my disdain show.
“Look, Maeve, I know you’re unhappy here, but let’s not be hasty with making a decision that could affect the rest of your life.”
“Don’t you get it, Adrian? This”—I gesture around the room—“isn’t a life. I’m not living, Adrian. My life was ruined the moment my fucking dad?—”
“Stepdad,” Adrian says, as if that makes it any better.
“Yes, him. My life was ruined from the moment he decided to take from me, and all you’ve done since is continue making my life harder .”
He sighs, some of his fight draining out of him. “Don’t be like this, Maeve. We can reassess and make a new plan, but this quick and hasty?—”
“There’s that word again. Hasty? It’s been a planned leave for a couple of weeks now, Adrian, and it includes a trial period . It’s not a hasty decision that I’ve not thought out.”
Does he really think I’m that stupid?
I roll my eyes, glaring at the unicorn in front of me. “Why the fuck are you standing here trying to beg me to stay?”
“Because I care!” He shakes his head at my mocking laugh. “Maeve, you’ve just suffered through a hugely traumatic ordeal?—”
“I was a whiny bitch crying for an orgasm, Adrian.”
He flinches, his cheeks reddening, as he slides in closer to his desk.
What? He can say heats and knots, but orgasm is where he gets embarrassed?
Poor Helen.
“No, Maeve, you weren’t,” he says gently. His steel blue eyes fill with sadness. “You suffered through a trauma. It was hard on your mental space, your body… your heat wasn’t something little that can be so easily dismissed.”
“Oh, so because I had a hard time, it makes me unable to make decisions?” I cock my hip. “I planned this out all the way back before I even realised that my heat was due. What’s your excuse now?”
“Yes, but that was just because you were upset about Julian. You didn’t really mean it.”
“Oh, wow, I’m so glad you know how I feel better than I do.”
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.” He glares at the ceiling, muttering something inaudible under his breath.
“Do you think I’m doing this to, what… have you on ?” I ask, laughing bitterly. “I’m leaving, Adrian, because you’re a joke. You’re a terrible leader, and an even worse guardian. Did you really think I’d fall for your pathetic tricks?”
“Tricks?” He arches a brow, leaning back in his chair, as if my hurt is nothing to him.
Well, at least that part isn’t feigned.
“Making your nephew pretend to be my mate.” I hold up one finger, and he rolls his eyes.
“Getting him a job at my place of work to try and give us a cute little workplace romance.” I hold up a second finger, and he snorts, genuine amusement covering his face.
“Getting him here just in time for my heat, after threatening me last time with never spending another one alone.” I hold up a third finger, and he sighs.
“Sending me a pathetic threatening letter, written in red ink, pretending it’s someone’s blood.” I hold up my fourth finger, and his nostrils flare as he leans forward in his seat.
“Lying about—” I start, but this time, he cuts me off with a low snarl.
“What are you talking about?” he demands. “What letter?”
“The one you sent me,” I say the words slowly, giving him a dirty look for interrupting me as I was finally getting to air my grievances. “It was cute, pretending you murdered someone on the compound because I smiled at him, but we all know how annoyingly safe it is here.”
“How do you know about someone being dead?” he asks, his tone deathly calm.
“ You wrote the letter,” I say.
“Where is this letter, Maeve?” His words are hypnotising, and even if I wanted to continue our disagreement, I know that this isn’t the time.
He didn’t write the letter.
My hands tremble as I reach down for my bag, the memory of the letter’s contents making my stomach churn. I struggle with the zip on the top of the bag, and Adrian silently watches.
I spot the offending article and grasp it with just my thumb and forefinger as if touching it alone can burn me. I place it on his desk, my eyes narrowing, as my heart races erratically.
“This was one of your tricks, right?” My voice is small, uneasy.
I need him to have done this. I can hate him for it, but it’s better than the alternative. Right?
He uses his pen to gently pull it towards himself, and as he reads over the letter I received the other week, the air in the room feels heavier. My chest tightens, and a prickling sensation spreads across my skin.
It takes thirty seconds for him to snarl loudly enough that I jump in surprise. His fury is clear to see, and as his presence takes up more space, the walls start to close in.
Within two minutes, the door to his office flies open, and Helen comes rushing in. I can smell her fear and see the unease within her. As she moves over to Adrian, I back away, moving to the corner of the room so that I can take in the situation in front of me that much easier.
Adrian pulls his mate into his arms, holding her close, and I can’t hear what they’re saying to each other as they’re using their mind link, but they’re not happy at all.
But their unease is only making mine grow. I can’t hear much past the thudding of my heart, and no matter how much I try to calm down, all I can see is that letter in front of me on the desk.
The letter written in blood. He told me that he wrote it in his blood, and I thought it was a lie because I thought it came from Adrian.
I thought Adrian was trying to scare me. That he was trying to keep me in line and get me to obey.
I had no reason to doubt that this was one of Adrian’s more underhanded tactics.
And yet, this time, it seems Adrian and my stepfather aren’t the only villains in my life.
I lean against the wall and hope that the cold feeling of it will keep me grounded in the moment. I can’t lose it now. Adrian can’t think he’s right about me.
I can do this. I’m not a victim. I’m stronger than this .
Anxiety is a bitch. But if I force my body to panic about the way I’m touching a wall instead of the stalker, then I’ll be okay. I can control it. I can make my anxiety obey me for a change.
A heaving breath escapes me as my legs start to tremble. The wall isn’t enough to support me. It’s not enough to keep me calm.
I slide down it, my bum hitting the floor.
I was wrong. I won’t be okay.
Adrian’s head snaps over to mine, and I don’t need my enhanced sense of smell to tell that he’s annoyed with my interruption.
My breath comes in shallow gasps, each one feeling like a struggle. My vision blurs at the edges, my nose itching.
The door opens again, the dark oak slamming against the wall with their ferocity, and five men come in. Each of them are strong mythical shifters, but with my anxiety, I can’t differentiate whose scent is who.
They’re tall, move as one, and are wearing the enforcers uniforms. The dark midnight blue has silver accents that catch the light as they move.
Despite not being an official tactical unit, they’re wearing cargo pants and a tactical vest. Their heavy boots should thud against the floor, but they’ve mastered a silent walk that gives me chills.
Who’s to say Adrian didn’t still send this letter, and it was one of these goons who killed for him?
I wish that was the case.
They carry a firm air of authority and readiness, and no matter how much I try to look away from them, I can’t. I’m terrified.
Adrian’s voice is full of anger as he speaks, but I don’t take in any of the words he says. Helen is by his side doing her best to keep Adrian calm.
I wish I could be calm. I wish I could live in the ignorance that I have been.
Adrian’s reacting as if he didn’t send me this letter.
And if it wasn’t him… I gag seconds before I throw up all over the floor in front of me. My throat is burning, my eyes stinging, and the loud sobs are causing my head to pound so much more. Whoever is crying that dramatically needs to stop.
I feel disgusting. Sitting here having so much touch me, vomit in front of me… but I don’t care.
Can’t breathe. It’s too much.
It’s too loud.
I need to escape.
But where will I go?
I swore I’d never be a victim again.
I can’t be put into that situation again.
But someone wants to make me into one.
“Help me,” I whisper as my vision goes black.
E very sound is too loud, every light too bright, even with my eyes closed. The scent of fear, sweat, and the lingering aroma of coffee from Adrian’s desk mix nauseatingly in the air.
Have I already thrown up? Is that my vomit?
“Breathe,” someone murmurs. It’s a masculine voice, one that sounds pleasant and gentle. I want to listen to it. I want to trust them, to trust that they know what is best for me.
But how can I breathe when my body is on fire?
Every muscle in my body feels like it’s been wrung out. My limbs are heavy, and it takes all my strength just to keep my brain focused.
“Come on, Maeve, breathe,” they repeat, still using that low tone of voice.
But I am breathing, aren’t I? I’ve got to be.
I try to open my eyes properly, but they’re stinging and still so blurry. Everything is fuzzy and out of focus.
When did I lose my sight?
“Copy me,” the voice says.
I don’t know who is speaking, but I try my best to obey. I hear their steady breathing, and I try my best to copy them.
“Good girl,” he says. “You’re doing so well.”
Shame washes over me, hot and suffocating. I lost it. Once again. Pathetic Maeve can’t get her shit together.
“Good girl?” I croak out, leaning backwards onto the wall for some support. The feel of the cool, smooth surface makes my skin crawl, but it’s better than the alternative. “How. Long?”
My little two word sentence sounds like two separate words with the heaving effort it takes from me.
“Fifteen minutes,” Adrian says, and I frown hearing his voice. It’s so different from the first one. “Are you able to stand, Maeve?”
Even as my breathing begins to steady, the tremors in my limbs persist. The room is still too bright, the tension still too heavy… it’s too uncomfortable.
I’m drained, barely able to lift my head, to keep myself focused.
“I’m fine here,” I say as my eyes flutter shut. I hate this feeling more than anything else.
The shame for letting anyone see me like this.
The underlying anxiety from having such an epic panic attack.
And the exhaustion from going up to such a high to dropping to such a low.
The door flies open, and I wish I could have acted like a normal, rational person. I wish I didn’t care.
I wish… I wish… I— fuck.