Chapter Twelve
Henry
I sit in the boardroom, surrounded by the familiar faces of colleagues and clients, but my thoughts are miles away. The hum of voices and the shuffle of papers blur into background noise as I catch myself thinking about tonight, about Leila.
My thoughts wander further, replaying the conversation I had with her father.
When I told him of my intentions and my wish to ask for her hand, his response was measured.
He did not grant me his outright approval, but neither did he refuse.
He merely said that he would not stand in our way should she choose to be with me.
His words were not the unreserved blessing I had hoped for, but the fact that he did not forbid me fills me with a quiet thrill.
The thought that I am free to pursue her and win her sends a ripple of anticipation through me.
I force my attention back to the spreadsheet projected on the screen.
Numbers and graphs flicker before my eyes, but none of it sticks.
My mind drifts to her smile, the way her laughter sounds, and the way the sweet cinnamon scent of her pheromones sticks with me even when she’s not here.
I tap my pen against the table, glancing at the clock.
The meeting drags on, each minute stretching like an eternity.
I can’t take it any longer. I lean over to my secretary, Susan, who’s seated beside me, diligently taking notes. "Susan," I murmur, "I'm going to step out. Handle the rest of the meeting for me, will you?"
She looks up, surprised, but she quickly masks it with a professional nod. "Of course, Mr. Henry. I’ll make sure everything is taken care of."
I stand, pushing my chair back quietly. I catch the questioning glances from a few of the board members, but I offer them a reassuring smile. "I trust you all to finalize the details. Susan will fill me in on anything important."
Without waiting for further response, I stride out of the room. The tension eases from my shoulders as I walk down the corridor, my thoughts already racing ahead to Leila. Tonight, nothing else matters.
Back home, I head straight to the bedroom, shedding the suit and tie that mark my day.
I opt for something relaxed, but sharp: a navy blazer over a crisp white shirt and dark jeans that strike a balance between casual and polished.
After a quick glance in the mirror, I grab my keys and head out the door.
I drive through familiar streets, feeling the anticipation build as I approach the restaurant.
It’s one of mine, a place I know inside and out, but tonight it feels different.
Tonight, I won’t be meeting potential partners to talk about business. Tonight, it’s personal.
I've been here for a while, letting the atmosphere settle around me like a familiar embrace.
The city lights twinkle below, a sprawling constellation spread out beneath the balcony of the restaurant.
I intentionally chose this spot, drawn to the way it reminds me of the first time Leila and I spoke.
When Leila walks in, the air shifts. She enters with that unmistakable confidence, the kind that turns heads and commands attention without effort.
Her bodyguard hovers for a moment before stepping outside, leaving her to make her way toward me.
She’s stunning tonight, her beauty accentuated by the grace in her stride.
As she approaches, I rise from my seat, moving to pull out her chair.
“There’s no one else here,” she observes, her voice tinged with curiosity as she glances around the empty restaurant.
“Yeah, I made sure of that,” I reply, watching as her expression changes, her curiosity sharpening into something almost suspicious.
She looks at me, a question in her eyes, so I offer the answer before she asks. “You do know I own the place, right?”
The tension breaks, and she lets out a modest laugh. “You’re about as modest with your powers as you are with your wealth,” she teases.
I smile, savoring the moment. This is what I wanted: a night with no distractions, just the two of us, and it’s already off to a perfect start.
The food and wine are immaculate, as they should be.
I made sure we were served the very best from the menu, each course arriving at perfect intervals.
But I can hardly concentrate on the taste now.
My attention is on Leila, on every subtle thing about her—the way she eats, with a quiet elegance that makes every movement seem deliberate and calculated; the way she steals glances at me, her eyes flickering with something I can’t quite decipher; even the way she wipes her mouth with a napkin, and delicately holds her wine glass.
The food might be exceptional, but right now, all I want to do is watch her.
“Do you eat modestly, too, Henry?” Leila breaks the silence, her voice laced with sarcasm as she peers at me with a raised eyebrow.
“No,” I reply. “I just like to watch you.”
She giggles, and for a brief moment, I relish the sound, the way my words can draw out her laughter.
But then, her expression shifts, the playful ease giving way to something more serious. “I’m curious,” she begins, clearing her throat as she places her glass down. “How is it that you’re powerful and rich but stay under the radar? You’re hardly ever in the tabloids.”
There’s a weight to her question, a genuine curiosity that makes me pause. She’s looking for something beneath the surface, and I’m tempted to let her see it.
“Let’s just say I’m not the kind of guy who likes to lead with that,” I say, giving her a thoughtful smile. “I only really use my powers when it’s absolutely necessary.”
She pauses, her eyes drifting as she considers my words.
She looks at me, a mixture of amusement and confusion playing across her face.
“You’re second only to Ares in terms of strength.
Most Alphas I know would be tooting their horns everywhere.
There are even some who aren’t as strong as you who can’t shut up about how strong they are,” she says.
I can’t help but chuckle at the thought. The image of lesser Alphas puffing themselves up stirs a humor within me. “There’s no need for that,” I begin, my voice light. “I know who I am, so there’s no need to be noisy about it.” I let the words settle between us.
“Besides,” I continue, “Ares is the strongest Alpha, and he takes up more than enough attention, especially with the tabloids. I like that. Too much attention just isn’t for me.”
She studies me a moment longer, her expression softening as my words sink in. There’s a quiet understanding in her eyes, but then something changes. Her face clouds over as if she’s turning over a weighty thought.
“You said people thought you would be the strongest Alpha when you were a kid,” she begins, her voice thoughtful. “Your parents must have been really excited,” she adds, a small smile tugging at her lips.
“Yes. Especially my dad. He made sure I got the best training from the best tutors,” I say, pausing for a moment as the memories surface. “But then I met Ares, and it became clear I wasn’t going to be the strongest after all,” I conclude, my tone even.
I notice her brows twitch slightly at the mention of “training.” It’s a subtle reaction, but one so sudden that I can’t help but notice it.
“Are you close with your parents?” she asks, steering the conversation forward.
“Not really,” I admit. “They’re retired now and spend most of their time traveling the world.”
As I speak, I see her expression transfer again, and this time, it’s to something more reflective and almost sad. I watch her closely, considering how to ask if she’s okay, but before I can, she continues.
“When I was younger, people thought I would be the strongest Omega. My mom trained me a lot, too,” she says slowly, each word weighed down with something unspoken.
I nod, sensing there’s more she wants to say.
“Sometimes we’d train for hours,” she continues, her voice barely above a whisper. “I wouldn’t have my meals or sleep until I mastered the techniques she tried to teach.”
The sadness in her voice is palpable. Seeing her so solemn and burdened by memories, I can’t help it—I reach out and clasp her hand on the table. I can see the pain she’s trying to hide.
“I’m sorry, Leila,” I say softly, my voice gentle. “That sounds abusive.”
The word hangs in the air between us, heavy and raw. She immediately pulls her hand back, retreating as if the word “abusive” itself had burned her.
“It made me strong,” she replies, her tone almost defiant, as if trying to convince herself as much as me.
I hold her gaze, understanding that beneath her words lies a complex truth she’s not yet ready to fully confront.
Her gaze drifts, settling on the city lights beneath us.
I can sense the flood of memories she’s trying to navigate, memories she seems reluctant to share.
I feel a deep kinship with her reaction.
I am no stranger to the fact that sometimes words fall short.
In those moments when I am overwhelmed and I can’t find the right words, I find solace in nature.
“Ya know,” I begin softly, “whenever I feel things that words can’t quite express, one thing I love to do is go out in nature.”
Her eyes lift, and a hint of a smile is on her face as she responds, “I love that too. I love how free it makes me feel.”
“We should do that together sometime,” I suggest, noticing her demeanor change.
“As long as it’s somewhere with no reporters,” she retorts, and we both share a light laugh.
As our laughter fades, I can’t help but remember the incident at the gala when I had let my pheromones loose, and it caused her to panic. A pang of guilt washes over me.
“I’m sorry about what happened last time with my pheromones,” I say, my voice sincere.
Her smile falters as she nods. “It’s okay. Don’t apologize,” she begins. Then, her expression tilts to something more direct. “I liked it,” she finishes, her gaze unwavering.