Chapter 5
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.
This is pathetic.
I push back from my desk, grab my empty mug, and head out into the corridor. My feet carry me down to her floor like they have a mind of their own, following a pattern I’ve fallen hopelessly into over the last couple of weeks.
The break room door swings open, and I head straight to the coffee maker.
I pour myself a cup like I’m dying for a caffeine kick.
But I’m not here for the caffeine; I never am.
My eyes peer through the glass partition into the main office space the same way they’ve done every workday for the last two weeks.
I can see into her cubicle from here. She’s sitting hunched over her computer, fingers moving across the keyboard. I see the way her blouse hangs slightly loose at the shoulders, the sharpness of her collarbone visible even from this distance when she turns around to reach for a file.
“She has lost weight,” I mutter bitterly, and my hand grips the mug hard enough that I’m surprised it doesn’t crack.
A colleague stops by her desk and says something with a smile. Anne looks up and returns the smile, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. It’s mechanical, practiced. Tired. The colleague lingers for several seconds, then moves on, and Anne’s face falls back into blankness as soon as she’s alone again.
I force myself to turn around and go back to my office before I do something reckless.
The rest of the day drags on with me sitting uselessly in front of my computer, unable to get a single thing done. When I finally look up again, it’s already evening, dark enough outside that I’m sure everyone has gone home.
I grab my jacket and head out. The parking lot is nearly empty when I reach it, just a few cars scattered across the spaces. I’m halfway to mine when I notice Anne’s at the far end of the lot.
She’s still here? At this time?
Just then, I hear footsteps sound behind me, and I turn.
Anne is walking out of the building, bag slung over her shoulder, head down as she scrolls through her phone. She doesn’t see me at first, too focused on her screen, and I watch her approach with my throat tight. She looks exhausted—not merely tired but bone-deep weary.
The words come out before I can stop them. “Long day at work today?”
She stops and looks up. For a moment when our eyes meet, I see something flash there—anger, maybe, or else fatigue so complete that it has swallowed everything else.
“Yeah.” The single word is clipped.
Then, she’s moving again, heading for her car, unlocking it with a beep that sounds too loud in the quiet lot. She slips into the driver’s seat, starts the engine, and pulls out without another glance in my direction.
I stand there watching her taillights disappear, then exhale the breath I’d been holding since I last spoke.
She’s avoiding me. Of course she is. Even when we were kids, she was always very respectful of other people’s boundaries, and now I’ve set one between us. A boundary based on a fucking lie.
I get in my car and drive home on autopilot.
My apartment is dark when I arrive, and I don’t even bother with lights.
I just head straight for the kitchen, pour three fingers of whiskey into a glass, and down it in one burning swallow.
My tie ends up on the floor, jacket flung over the back of the couch, and I stand at the window staring out at the city lights below while my mind replays every time I’ve seen her over the last three weeks.
Sleep doesn’t come easily. I lie on my back, staring at the ceiling.
Every time I close my eyes, I see those dark circles around hers.
I see the way her face carried a heaviness when she looked at me in that parking lot and walked past me like I was a piece of furniture.
I should be relieved; this is what I wanted, after all. But it haunts me even in my dreams.
The next day follows the same ridiculous pattern of going to work and struggling to focus. My hand keeps tapping one side of my laptop as agitation eats away at me. It ultimately wins; I push back from my desk and go down to the break room for “coffee.”
But as soon as I step inside, I freeze.
Anne is there, sitting at one of the small tables in the far corner, a takeout container open in front of her. There are several other staff members around, chatting in small groups, but she’s alone. Completely isolated in a room full of people.
She glances up, and our eyes meet as I stand there. After blinking once, she looks back down at her lunch.
I force myself to move, crossing to the coffee maker, pouring a cup, and adding nothing to it. I turn around, lean back against the counter, and sip slowly while my attention stays locked on her. I try to make it look casual.
She’s not actually eating. Just pushing the food around with her fork, moving it from one side of the container to the other in slow circles. Her eyes are unfocused, staring at nothing, and the blankness in her expression makes my chest feel too tight.
I’ve seen looks like that before. Back with the organization, during the worst of it, I saw people slip into this type of listless depression. Saw them stop eating, stop caring. Saw the light go out of their eyes right before they decided it was better to end their lives themselves.
But that’s not Anne. She wouldn’t—
The thought barely forms in my head when I see her stand abruptly, taking her barely touched food and tossing it in the trash. Then, she walks out of the break room without a word to anyone.
My heart pauses, then beats fast. I don’t think; I just drop my cup in the sink and follow her.
She gets in an elevator. I hang back, watching the numbers light up as she ascends. She goes all the way to the top floor, where the indicator stops and stays.
I take the next elevator with my pulse hammering in my throat.
The top floor is quiet when I reach it. I scan the space quickly and catch movement through the glass doors that lead to the rooftop.
Images of mangled bodies after they jumped from the organization’s facility flood my mind. What if…
I sprint to the doors and out onto the rooftop. I only stop when Anne comes back into view. Her back is to me as she stands by the railing, leaning on it slightly. Then, she dips her hand into her bag and pulls out a pack of cigarettes.
Relief floods my veins, and I let out a huge breath. Of course Anne wouldn’t do anything stupid.
Still, my pulse picks up again because now she’s placing a cigarette between her lips. Without hesitation, I stride over to her, reach out, and pluck the cigarette from her mouth right as she’s about to light it.
She jerks back, eyes going wide with shock before narrowing quickly. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“I should ask you that,” I say as I crush the cigarette between my fingers and let it fall to the ground. “You should know smoking is bad for your health.”
Her jaw drops open. “Are you serious right now? What the hell.”
She tuts and pulls another cigarette from the pack, but I snatch it before she can bring it to her lips. She tries again, and this time I take the whole pack and toss it off the roof.
“What the hell is the matter with you?!”
“I can’t let you do that. It’s bad for you,” I tell her, my voice rough.
“Mind your own fucking business, Kain.”
But you are my business! I’m half a second from saying the words out loud before I stop myself. The sound of my name on her lips, blurted out with such sharp fury, hits hard. I swallow.
“It’s because of me, isn’t it?” I say.
She blinks. “What?”
“Smoking. You’re doing it because I can’t remember you. I can’t pretend not to notice and let you resort to destroying yourself because of me.”
She scoffs and rolls her eyes with what I can only imagine is disbelief quickly mixing with hot rage. Her palm pushes against my chest, and only then do I realize how close to her I’m standing.
“Are you pitying me?”
“That’s not what I—”
“No, you know what?” She steps closer, one finger jabbing toward my chest but not quite touching. “I don’t need your pity. You don’t get to come here and tell me how to live my life. This has nothing to do with you.”
“It has everything to do with me.” My tone comes out sharper than I expect. “It’s my fault you’re doing this, and I—”
“Stop!” She cuts me off, breathing hard. “You don’t even know who I am!”
The words may as well be physical blows with how hard they land. My jaw locks up, every muscle in my body going rigid with the effort of not grabbing her right here and telling her the truth.
“You’re right. I don’t know who you are,” I finally say. “But I know a person spiraling when I see one, and you’re spiraling.”
A fierceness appears in her eyes. “So? You said it yourself: the person you were, the person I knew, is gone. I don’t know you, and you don’t know me.”
She bends down and picks up the uncrumpled cigarette from the ground. She puts it between her lips, and this time, I don’t move. She lights it.
“You can save your pity. I don’t need it. Just leave me the fuck alone, Kain,” she says as she blows smoke into the air.
I don’t reply. She takes two more puffs before crushing the butt under her heel. Then, she moves past me and walks away, shoulders straight, head high, leaving me standing alone on the rooftop with stamped cigarettes at my feet and guilt burning a hole through my chest.