Chapter 36
Chapter Thirty-Six
Leif
By the time I step through the front doors of Pinecrest Academy, the morning rush is already over.
Quiet fills the lobby in that strange way schools only become once the first bell has rung. Lockers stand closed along the walls, fluorescent lights humming overhead while the distant murmur of a classroom lecture drifts down the hall.
As promised, Emily picked Quinn and Sprinkles up at the dock and dropped them off so the little girl wouldn’t have to see my attempt to cover the bruises.
Which is why I waited until the building was full before coming in.
Fewer witnesses.
Fewer questions.
When the doors close behind me, Ms. Heinrich looks up. Her eyes linger for half a heartbeat too long before her attention returns to her computer screen.
What rumors has Carson already seeded for her not to ask questions? She’s a gossipy woman most days, but now she doesn’t even greet me.
I stop in front of her desk. “Is the dean in his office?”
She hesitates long enough to confirm my suspicion. “He’s making his morning rounds.”
Of course, he is.
“If you’d prefer to wait,” she adds, gesturing toward the open door behind her desk, “you can sit in his office.”
Every instinct I have warns me that stepping into Carson Whitaker’s private space is a mistake.
But avoiding him isn’t why I came today.
“Thank you.”
Ms. Heinrich doesn’t respond as I pass her desk.
The faint trace of leather and cedar polish fills Carson’s office, and his pheromones linger in the air, a territorial marker. Sunlight filters through the tall windows behind his desk, casting neat lines across the framed diplomas arranged on the wall.
I stop a few steps inside the room, my pulse ticking faster in the quiet.
Then I pull my phone from my pocket and flip open the camera.
The concealer softened the worst of the bruising, but the swelling still spreads dark beneath the skin. When I tilt my head, the yellowing edges of the bruise catch the light.
Not subtle enough.
I lean closer, studying the damage with a tight jaw.
“Well,” Carson purrs from the doorway behind me. “At least you had the decency to try and hide your shame.”
A jolt races down my spine, and I lower the phone, setting it on the corner of his desk before turning.
Carson stands with one shoulder propped on the frame.
He lingers in the doorway, studying me the way a hunter studies an animal already caught in a snare. My bruise earns a flicker of open satisfaction before he shuts the door behind him, never once turning away.
“I was wondering if you would come in today to discuss things like an adult, or if you would hide like a child.” The collar of Carson’s shirt sits aligned beneath his crimson tie, without a wrinkle in sight. He hadn’t spent a single second of the weekend worried as I had. “I’m proud of you.”
Am I supposed to be pleased by his praise? My throat tightens as he speaks, but I hold my position by the desk.
“The bruise is healing well.” His mouth curves upward. “An unfortunate but predictable outcome when you refuse guidance from someone who understands both the professional world and the biological realities of our dynamics.”
He circles the desk, his cherries-and-iron scent expanding to fill the office with each passing second.
“You’ve always struggled with accepting structure.” Carson trails his fingers along the polished wood of his desk as he moves. “That’s why I created this position for you. Did you know the board balked at creating the new role for an Omega when I first brought it up?”
The question hangs between us, but he doesn’t want a real answer. I’m within his clutches now, so all this is theatrics.
He stops at the corner of the desk nearest me, close enough that his intensifying pheromones surround me. “I persuaded them by vouching for your capabilities under proper supervision.”
My pulse quickens, but I keep my expression neutral, allowing him to continue his monologue.
“The opportunity I’ve created for you is rare, Leif,” he murmurs, intimate despite the professional setting. “Parents don’t trust Omegas with leadership roles. Your continued employment depends on maintaining the stability I’ve worked so hard to build for you.”
The sunlight shifts as a cloud passes outside, dimming the room for a moment. Carson moves another step closer.
“That stability requires cooperation.” His hand adjusts his tie pin. “Not only in the classroom, but in private matters as well.”
Carson’s satisfaction radiates from him in waves, his pheromones thickening until they smother me. “Your professional loyalty, your personal availability, your willingness to acknowledge the Alpha investing so much effort in shaping your future... These aren’t unreasonable expectations.”
I swallow, keeping my body still while every instinct urges me to retreat from his presence. “When you speak of loyalty, what does that mean?”
Carson blinks, surprised by my question. “It means putting the needs of the institution and those who guide it above your personal comfort.”
“And who decides when the institution’s needs conflict with mine?”
“Those with the experience and authority to make such judgments.” His hand rises to straighten his already perfect collar. “Your perspective is valuable, Leif, but limited by your position and your nature.”
I avoid looking at my phone on his desk.
“You mentioned stability,” I continue. “Who determines whether that stability exists?”
Carson’s mouth curves. “The board follows my recommendations regarding staff performance. Parent committees rely on my assessments. The school administration trusts my judgment when it comes to evaluating risks to our educational environment.”
“And Quinn’s support program?” I ask. “Does that stability extend to her as well?”
“Of course.” He steps closer, misreading my questions as capitulation. “Children with special needs require consistent structure. Any disruption in their support systems can have lasting consequences.”
“So my relationship with you affects Quinn’s accommodations?”
His eyebrows rise. “Everything in a school this size is connected, Leif. Quinn’s services depend on consistent advocacy from staff the board trusts. Your position provides the advocacy, and my recommendation ensures you keep the position.”
“And if I refuse these expectations?” I ask, pushing harder now. “If I decline any personal arrangement?”
“You misunderstand the nature of our professional relationship.” The temperature in the office drops. “Your position exists because I advocated for it. Your continued effectiveness depends on my continued support.”
He straightens from the desk. “Reputations in education are built on perception, not reality. A teacher who displays emotional instability loses the confidence of parents and administrators.”
The implied threat sends ice through my veins.
“Reports of inconsistent behavior would necessitate closer supervision,” he continues. “Concerns about judgment would trigger review of any sensitive responsibilities.”
My hands curl into fists at my sides. “Such as Quinn’s support program.”
His face remains pleasant while his words cut deep. “The accommodations committee would have no choice but to reconsider arrangements that might expose vulnerable students to unpredictable influences.”
“You would use a child’s well-being as leverage.”
Carson tuts in soft reprimand. “I would fulfill my obligation to protect this institution from potential disruptions. Your interpretation of that duty reflects more on your priorities than mine.”
He steps away from the desk, creating distance now that he believes his message has been delivered.
“I regret how these steps may become necessary,” he adds, softening with false concern. “But I will not allow personal feelings to interfere with my school.”
I hang my head, shoulders curving forward.
His pupils dilate as he commands, “Don’t look away from me, Leif.”
The Alpha timbre vibrates through my bones, and I raise my head, exposing my throat while peering at him through lowered lashes.
“Do you understand what I’m offering you?” Carson’s nostrils flare, scenting the air between us. “And the consequences for refusing?”
“I understand,” I murmur with the breathy quality he expects from an Omega acknowledging an Alpha’s claim.
“Good.” Carson leans back on the desk, his posture opening, legs spreading as his body language shifts from predatory to possessive, and the metallic sweetness of his scent thickens with unmistakable arousal.
“You were always meant to end up under me, Leif. You simply took a longer route than was necessary to understanding it.”
Sunlight filters through the blinds, highlighting the hunger in his eyes as his focus drops to the pulse beating at my neck.
“Take the rest of the morning to collect yourself.” He adjusts his tie, fingers sliding down its length, and his tongue sweeps across his lower lip.
As if unable to help himself, he reaches out, his fingertips grazing my bruised cheek before sliding down to my split lip. His thumb massages the tender flesh where it had cracked and bled days earlier. “Visible injuries can lead to unfortunate speculation among parents and students.”
My stomach knots as he leans in, his breath on my lips.
When his tongue darts out to lick the wound, every muscle in my body goes rigid.
I force myself to remain still, though my lungs burn with held breath and bile rises in my throat.
As he pulls back, his pupils are dilated with a desire that makes my skin crawl.
His thumb swipes across my lip, smearing the saliva he left there. “Once you’ve regained your composure, return to your committee duties.”
He examines the glistening moisture on his thumb with satisfaction. “We’ll revisit our personal arrangement in the coming weeks, when you’ve had sufficient time to wrap up any personal affairs that will interfere with our courtship.”
Carson crosses to the door with unhurried steps, the sound of his expensive shoes muffled by the carpet. His hand closes around the doorknob, and he pauses to look back at me over his shoulder.
“Quinn’s quarterly review is next Tuesday,” he reminds me. “I trust you’ll have the documentation prepared.”
The door opens and closes behind him with a soft click. His footsteps fade down the hallway, leaving behind only the lingering scent of his pheromones, claiming ownership of the space in his absence.
I remain standing where I am for several seconds, the adrenaline that carried me through the conversation crashing hard enough to make my hands tremble. My heart hammers, and sweat beads along my hairline.
With a trembling hand, I reach for the phone resting on the desk and stop the recording. The screen illuminates with confirmation of twenty-seven minutes and forty-three seconds captured.
Every threat.
Every implication.
Every word of coercion, preserved in Carson’s own voice.
The evidence exists now, not because I tricked Carson or forced a confession, but because he was so confident of his power and my weakness that he never thought I’d be brave enough to betray him.
My bruised cheek throbs with my pulse as I slip the phone into my pocket. Then I straighten my shoulders and turn toward the door.
Carson believes he won my surrender.
He couldn’t be more wrong.